The living room led into a dining area and then the kitchen—around ten feet by ten feet and as dark as a bunker with the blinds drawn. Scratched laminate cabinets lined the walls and the old linoleum flooring had buckled in several spots. The fridge was newer, as was the stove. There were no dishes in the sink. On impulse, he opened the refrigerator. There wasn’t anything rotten inside—several six-packs of beer and a fresh salad. A steak was defrosting on the countertop.

“Lamar?” Decker called out.

He went on to check the bedrooms. In the master—if you could call it that—the bed had been made. Lamar had used redwood burl tree stumps for nightstands. Opposite the bed was a homemade pine armoire with an old-fashioned TV on the top shelf. No cable box or DVD player in sight. Then Decker remembered that there was an antenna on the roof.

Free TV: now there was an old-fashioned concept.

“Arnie?”

Silence.

Down the hallway was the spare bedroom, its door shut tight. Decker became aware of his racing heart and his overactive sweat glands. No bad odor coming from the room, no telltale blackflies buzzing around the door. There was that one obnoxious horsefly relentlessly attacking his face, but that pesky critter had followed him from the outside. He swatted the air and pressed his ear to the door and heard electronic noise…a radio or a television that was suffering from lots of interference.

He gripped the knob and rotated it slowly. The door swung open, revealing a room that was dark and sweltering, without an ounce of circulation.

Decker choked back a cough, his eyes focused on Arnie Lamar slumped in a recliner chair, his bare feet propped up and crossed at the ankles. His head tilted back, his mouth wide open, drool was dripping down from the corners of his cracked lips. His face was bathed in moisture, his eyes shut tightly, and his arms drooped lifelessly at his sides.

He was snoring logs.

There was an empty can of beer on the table next to the chair, and a radio was playing fifties music over the constant crackle of static.

Decker went over to the retired detective and laid a solid hand squarely on his shoulder, a gesture that didn’t register in Lamar’s consciousness. An earthquake wouldn’t have aroused the man.

“Hey, Arnie.” Decker shook him forcefully and did it several times. Lamar began to stir. “Wake up!”

One eye popped open and immediately Lamar recognized the face. He bolted out of the chair, wiping his wet mouth on his forearm. “Lordy Lord, what time is it?”

“Twenty-five after two.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.” He made a grab for the beer can and brought it to his mouth. When nothing came out, he crumpled it in his hand. “Man, it’s hot in here.”

“No shit.”

“You want a beer?”