“You’re saying that she went up to the mountains at three in the morning…with guns and silencers…and happened to discover her husband and a young boy in a compromising position…and went crazy?” Decker frowned. “C’mon, Bert. That kind of damage done quickly and quietly points to a pro.”

“Then maybe Dee knew about the affair and hired out. Afterward, she felt extreme guilt and whacked herself.”

Decker wasn’t happy with that picture, either. “Webster questioned one of the kids…Riley Barns. He saw a couple of shadows lurking around the tent in the early hours.”

“That’s news to me.” Martinez shrugged. “Anyway, the rental agent’s name is Athena Eaton, and she informed me that this little ditty here—a two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath number—rents for ten grand a month. The last time she saw Dee Baldwin was when Dee and Mervin signed the contract three weeks ago. A full year at ten grand a month, including a first, last, and a one-month cleaning deposit. That’s one hundred and twenty Gs out the window. Their practice must be cleaning up.”

“It was cleaning up,” Decker said.

“Speaking of cleaning up, the owner is going to need every bit of the damage deposit. The bedroom carpet is white.”

“Lots of splatter?”

“Enough that it can’t be cleaned. Dee’s lying in a good-size pond of blood. Single shot through the mouth with a .32.”

“Through the mouth,” Decker said. “You said ‘to the head.’”

Martinez reddened. “I meant it came out in the back of the head.”

“You examined the body?”

The blush deepened. “Sort of.”

“Gunpowder residue?”

“Appears that way.”

Decker smoothed his mustache and said nothing.

Martinez said, “We’ll know more after Shot Squad and Forensics examine the angles, and the position of the body after she fell…. Uh-oh. Heads up, Loo. The sheriff’s main man is on his way. We gotta look friendly.”

Martinez introduced Decker to a man around forty years in age, with a deep tan, a good suit, and blow-dried hair. His face held lines, some of them deeper than others, and he had cop’s eyes despite the trappings of being Mr. Beachcomber.

“Detective Don Baum.” He shook Decker’s hand. “I want to thank Detective Martinez for calling in the local authorities right away. It shows cooperation, not to mention good manners. And that’s what we’re going to give you in return. Cooperation. It gets things done. And that’s what it’s all about—getting the job done.”

“You bet!” Decker answered. “Is the coroner here?”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant. The coroner just came. Let’s have a look.”

They started walking toward the building—a series of white stucco townhouses covered with blue Spanish tiles.

Decker said, “Who found her?”

“I went in first,” Martinez said. “Unfortunately, Ms. Eaton—the real estate agent—followed me. From the look on her face, I think she sincerely wishes she hadn’t.”