Lamar bristled. “That’s a loaded question, Lieutenant. When the case remains open, you always feel that there’s something more that you can do. But sometimes you just fail. And as you both know, that ain’t a good feeling.”

CHAPTER 11

A NUGGET POPPED INTO Decker’s mind.

When he had asked Arnie Lamar about Calvin Vitton’s sons, the retired detective had responded: The Nashville son, Freddy, is a producer of country songs, whatever that means. Earlier in the day when he had talked to Donatti and asked him about Primo Ekerling, he had said, He’s a music producer. What’d he do?

There were tens of thousands of people in the recording industry. It wasn’t much of a coincidence, but Decker was alone in an ocean, grabbing at any log that happened to be floating by. As soon as he got into his office, he phoned Lamar. “It’s Pete Decker again.”

“What’s going on?”

“A quick question about Cal’s boys. How old would they be?”

“Freddy’s around thirty-five, Cal J’s a few years younger. Why are you asking?”

“I like to have a mental picture before I do interviews.”

Lamar paused. “There’s more to it than you’re lettin’ on.”

“Then please tell me what I’m holding back. I can use all the help I can get.”

“Say hello to the Vitton boys for me.”

He cut the line before Decker had a chance to respond. Just as he set the phone down, Marge knocked on the doorjamb. She was with Oliver, and Decker motioned them in. Their mission was to bring him up to date on Melinda Little Warren.

“We want to go over her finances at the time of the murder,” Oliver said. “See if there was any money coming in or out before Little died.”

Marge added, “We know the original detectives went through her bank accounts, but we need to make sure that nothing was overlooked.”

Decker said, “Sounds reasonable enough, but I don’t know how much luck you’ll have with fifteen-year-old records.”

“We know where she banked,” Oliver said. “Everything was computerized fifteen years ago. I don’t think we’ll have any problem with it.”

“Did you get her permission?”

“She said she’d sign something.”

“And you still suspect her?” Decker asked.

Oliver said, “She’s a compulsive gambler: Little had insurance. If she was in the hole…”

Decker looked at Marge.

“Haven’t ruled her out,” she told him.

“How did she react to Cal Vitton’s suicide?” Decker asked.

Oliver cocked a thumb in Marge’s direction. “She cut me off. The sergeant wants to use the suicide as an excuse in case we want to come back and question her again.”

“Oh…” Decker nodded. “That’s good thinking.”

Oliver snapped, “To me, it made more sense to lay it out and see how she reacted.”