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AMOS DECKER WOULD forever remember all three of their violent deaths in the most paralyzing shade of blue. It would cut into him at unpredictable moments, like a gutting knife made of colored light. He would never be free from it.
Small observations can lead to large breakthroughs.
“Damn, this thing keeps getting more and more complicated.” “No, it’s getting more and more premeditated, Mary.”
“It didn’t bring everything back to me.” She looked stunned. “But I thought—” “Because it never left me. Now, I have someplace to be.”
“And we found a match.” His grip tightened around the phone. “A match? To what?” “To the gun that killed your wife.”
“Because he’s inexplicable. And I don’t like people who are inexplicable.”
“But what specifically makes you think there could be more than one man involved?” asked Bogart. “Because no one can be in two places at the same time.”
“Mary is up to it.” “How do you know that?” “Because I know Lancaster. She’s tougher than you and me combined.”
If this turned out badly for him he would miss Lancaster, Miller, and Jamison. And maybe even Agent Bogart. But that was about it.
