“What? Hold on! Justin! Come here this instant! There’s a man—”

“I’m towing the car now.”

“Hold on!”

“Can’t do that,” Decker said. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“There’s a mistake—”

“No mistake. Some of the tickets are over a year old.”

“Wait! Don’t tow the car. Just hold on!” She screamed, “Justin! Get over here right now!”

Purposely, Decker didn’t answer. A moment later the gate began to swing open. Light spilled out from the front door. A woman came running after him. “Excuse me! Who are you?”

She was knife-edge thin and looked equally as hard. A pinched nose, hollow cheeks, a strong chin, a shiny white forehead with straight black hair sprayed stiff and combed straight back.

“Just what do you think you’re do—” Panting, she glanced about with jerks of the head. “I don’t see any tow truck.”

Decker took out his ID and badge and showed it to her. “That’s because there is no tow truck. I’m the lead investigator on the Baldwin murder case. And I bet you know why I’m here, Mrs. Frammel.”

Panicked eyes went from the ID folder to Decker’s face, then back to the badge. “I…I want to—”

“Let’s take it inside. No reason for the entire neighborhood to hear us.” Decker began to urge her forward by her elbow, but she resisted.

“You’ll have to come back when my husband’s home.”

“You’re harboring a fugitive wanted for murder,” Decker replied. “I think not.”

Again the woman was stunned. “Wanted for…no, no, no, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“So let’s go inside, and Erin and you can explain it to me.”

At the mention of her niece’s name, the woman winced. “God damn it! How do I end up in these situations?”

“Let’s go inside.”

“How do I know that badge is real? How do I know you’re not going to attack me once I let you inside?”

“Because I would have attacked you by now.” Decker sidestepped her, jogged up to the front door, and pushed it open. Walking in, he took two steps down, his feet sinking into deep-piled gray carpet, his eyes drawn to the glass wall before him.

The view was breathtaking—a stunning panorama of twinkling, multicolored lights. Below the switchboard sky were long stretches of onyx black that probably held the wooded copses seen only in the daytime. The room held modern furniture in vogue about fifteen, twenty years ago—sling-back leather sofas and chairs, chrome and glass tables. A stone wet bar sat against one wall; a granite fireplace stood on the other. Resting above the mantel was a tremendous, unframed canvas of some kind of leaping animal. It could have been a deer, a cougar, or even a Matisse-type dancer.

“Where is she?” Decker asked.

“I want to call a lawyer.”