Decker said, “What was the make on the revolver?”

“Smith and Wesson,” Marge said. “I had Path check the hands and clothes for residue, try to give us an angle on who fired the handgun. Nothing. Hands were just too fucked up from the shotgun blasts. Now, the big question. What is going on here?”

“A lot of things come to mind.”

Marge said, “How about, Luke was the intended hit. The others were incidental, came in at the wrong time. Then someone got the brilliant idea of killing them all with a shotgun to make it seem like they were all murdered for the same purpose.”

“No bullet holes were found on the others?”

“None,” Marge said. “Then again, the shotgun blasts may have obscured the bullet holes. We’re talking hamburger…bad, Pete. I feel really bad for Katie. That poor little girl.”

“Yeah,” Decker said softly. He allowed himself to think about it for a moment, then snapped himself out of it. “My murder-suicide theory has just been shot to hell, no pun intended. Luke couldn’t have blown off his legs and his head at the same time.”

“This is true.”

“This case is not going to be straightforward,” Decker said. “Find out about the John Doe’s clothing and marks ASAP, Margie.”

“Right away.”

Decker cut the line and walked over to the coffee machine. His mug was oversized, held sixteen ounces, and he filled it to the rim with the black mud that layered the bottom of the pot.

Two weapons, both of them gone.

Two murderers?

He sipped his coffee. Bitter as castor oil.

Mike Hollander lumbered into the squad room, joined Decker at the coffeepot with his C-cup boob mug. Today, Hollander wore black pants, white short-sleeved shirt, and a red paisley clip-on tie that stopped an inch above his navel.

He said, “You get a hickey from Rina?”

Decker said, “What are you talking about?”

“You got a big red bump right above your shirt collar. Keeeenkeeeee.”

Decker’s hand went to the nape of his neck. “That’s a bee sting, Mike.”

“Oh.” Mike poured the last of the coffee into his cup. “I heard about that one. Listen, if you want to work on that shit, I can help you on your back cases. My own load’s not too bad.”

Decker thought about the offer. On the active file today: one morning court appearance at ten—testifying on a sexual assault, that one should be cut-and-dried because of all the physical evidence. Another court appearance at three, the rape survivor due to testify. He’d have to be there for that one. She was fragile and needed all the support she could get. At four, he’d have to meet Marge at Sophi’s, talk to Sue Beth Litton.