Freddie was first at bat. Slim and tan, he had dark curly hair, a round face, and soft features. His emotion seemed genuine, as he stopped several times to compose himself. He spoke about his father’s work ethic, touched on his dad’s sense of justice, and talked about his father’s loyalty to his fellow officers.

Cal J went next: dry-eyed and stoic. He reiterated many of his brother’s themes, calling his father a great investigator, a tireless worker, and a constant pursuer of justice. The ex didn’t speak, but several of his fellow cops did. Perhaps Arnie Lamar had the most to say and even that wasn’t too much. All of Vitton’s accolades dealt with Cal the cop and not much about Cal the family man.

The service lasted a little over an hour. Afterward there was a reception in the church’s social hall. Plenty of room to disperse but the group was centered on the food—several tables of pastries, cookies, fruit, and finger sandwiches. The beverages included coffee and tea, but no booze, which almost guaranteed a short-lived gathering.

Since the Vitton brothers were busy accepting condolences, Decker figured it was a good time to buttonhole Detective Shirley Redkin, catching her just as she popped a piece of pineapple into her mouth. Her dark eyes widened and she held up a finger.

Decker said, “I hate when that happens. There isn’t a graceful way to chew when you know someone’s waiting to talk to you.”

Chew, chew, swallow, swallow. “Exactly. I’ve been meaning to call you about the autopsy.” She looked around for a less-populated space to talk. They decided on a corner spot. “The coroner ruled it inconclusive, but his real feeling was that it was a suicide.”

“What swayed him away from ruling it a suicide?” Decker asked.

“Nothing at the death scene. Vitton’s hand was tattooed with blood spatter and gun powder and the right amount of stippling for someone who had just pulled the trigger at closeish range. The pills were old, but they still retained enough active ingredients to put him under. There wasn’t anything suspicious in his blood—other than booze and oxycodone.”

“So I repeat. Why inconclusive?”

“The circumstances surrounding the death. You had just talked to Vitton about an old cold case, and twelve hours later he was dead. I think the ME wants some wiggle room if other evidence surfaces and we need to reopen the case.”

“Have you told the family about the ruling?”

“I did, and they seemed okay with it.”

Decker said, “Did he leave behind anything of value?”

“His house and around ten grand in savings split between the sons.”

“I’m not familiar with Simi Valley. What’s his house worth?”