Bogart gazed at him, apparently taken aback. “You going soft on me, Decker?”
Decker put his hands in his pockets and didn’t answer.
“What do you think this is about, anyway? Easy answer would be drugs. Smells like it.”
“Could be. Amaya may not want to talk because he’s in deep.”
“You mean dealing?” asked Bogart.
“Somewhere along the supply chain. I know that world a lot better than the one I’m in right now. Dealers and street punks versus cabinet secretaries leaning on agency directors. It’s like a different planet.”
“Not to worry. I’ve been in this world my entire working life, and sometimes it makes no sense to me either.” He paused. “So you think Amaya screwed up? Skimming maybe?”
“Well, they didn’t come here tonight to give him a performance bonus.”
“If he won’t cooperate there’s not a lot the cops can do.”
“Then I’ll just have to make him cooperate.”
“You think you have a way to do that?”
“I think I have eleven of them,” replied Decker.
“You mean the kid, Danny,” said Bogart. “Eleven years old.”
“If I were the guys after Tomas, that would be my next target.”
“You want me to ask the cops to put them in protection?”
“We live in the building. We can keep an eye out.”
“Look, I don’t need you and Jamison getting killed over this.”
“I’m not looking to get killed over this either. But it sort of comes with the territory.”
“You mean wearing the badge?”
“No, being a fucking landlord, apparently.”
*
Decker ended up driving with Jamison to pick up Danny. The boy had paled when they showed up at the door of the friend’s house, but they quickly explained that his father was okay. Since the car was only a two-seater, Danny had to ride in Decker’s lap with the seat belt around both of them. Luckily, it wasn’t far to drive.
“They came back,” said Danny nervously as they drove back. “Didn’t they? Those guys.”
“Actually, it was two new guys, but we think it’s all connected.”
“Did you catch them?” he asked.
“They won’t be bothering your dad anymore, that I can guarantee,” said Decker. “But they might send some other guys.”
“So what do we do?” asked Danny helplessly.
Jamison said, “We need your dad to talk to the police. Without that, there’s not much that can be done.”
“I’ve tried to get him to do that. But he won’t. He just keeps telling me not to worry. But that’s all I do, worry.”
“Well, we’re going to have to be more convincing,” said Decker.
*
When they reached the apartment building, the crime scene was still being processed but the bodies had been taken away. They escorted Danny up to his apartment. His father was sitting on the couch holding an ice pack against one side of his face and a beer in his other hand.
Danny ran to him and hugged his father. They spoke in low voices. All the while Tomas kept a wary eye on Decker and Jamison.
“Mr. Amaya, it won’t stop here,” said Jamison. “They’ll just send other people.”
Amaya looked away even as his son clutched at him more tightly.
Decker added, “And next time it won’t be just you. It’ll be your son.”
A trembling Danny looked back at Decker. Amaya turned his head to stare at Decker.
Decker approached Amaya and sat on the couch next to him. The furniture groaned under his bulk.
“You know that’s the way it’s going to play out, right? That’s your Achilles’ heel. Whatever you’re involved in, that’s where they’ll come at you next. And we can’t be here all the time to protect Danny. So what are you going to do? Wait until they come and take him?”
Amaya abruptly rose and threw the beer and the ice pack across the room. Danny sprang back and Decker gazed steadily up at the man.
Amaya shouted, “Get out of mi casa. Ahora!”
Decker held his gaze for a few more moments and then rose. He glanced at Danny. “You see anyone suspicious around here, call us.” He handed Danny a card with his cell phone number on it. “But call 911 first.” Then he looked back at Amaya, who stood there, his hands balled into fists and his chest heaving.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Amaya. Because you only have one hijo.”
CHAPTER
23
THE NEXT MORNING, Decker, gun in holster, watched Danny and his father drive off. Then Decker went back to his apartment, changed into his workout gear, tramped back downstairs, and started to jog.
His run took him along the waterfront where seagulls swooped and soared and the stiff surface current collected trash along the riverbanks. The sweat pouring, his breaths coming faster, Decker kept going until he could go no farther. He felt onion rings and French fries marching up his throat.
He stopped and took a couple minutes to cool down, letting his blood pressure and breathing settle slowly, and stretching out tired muscles. And then he started to walk. The sun had risen and he could see people emerging from their homes and climbing into their cars or walking down the streets.
He had put aside the issue of the Amayas and come back to the Dabney/Berkshire investigation. He sat down on a bench, looked out over the river, and closed his eyes.
There were far too many questions, and, as of now, basically no answers.
Harper Brown had told them that Dabney was selling secrets to cover gambling debts. That may or may not have been true.
But what DIA couldn’t tell them was why he had targeted and killed Berkshire.
Berkshire’s history was full of holes and shadows and contradictions. A murder victim with that sort of past? They had to be connected. Whatever had led Dabney to kill her had to have something to do with the woman’s past. And if that was the case, then Dabney had to have some connection to that past. Now they just had to find out what Berkshire’s past really was.
Decker stood, his tired legs quivering a bit. He fast-walked back to the apartment and found Jamison sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and peering out the window. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down across from her.
“Good workout?” she asked, without looking at him.
“Any workout I have that doesn’t involve a coronary is a good workout for me.”
She smiled weakly and then looked down at her cup.
“Something on your mind?” asked Decker.
“I don’t think you’d understand.”
“Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”
She gazed up at him. “I’m always giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
He studied her. “And coming away disappointed with the results, you mean?”
She shrugged. “I know it’s the way you’re wired. You can’t help…” Her voice trailed off.
“I can’t help being oblivious to most things?”
“If that’s how you want to describe it.”
He sat back and fingered his bottle. “Last night I remembered something I had forgotten.”
“I thought you never forgot anything.”