Page 145 of One Wrong Move
As jittery as he was, the last thing the dude needed was more caffeine.
Harper looked over at him.
He nodded. They had this.
Randy retook his seat, and Deckard waited for him to start. And waited ... “Okay. I’m guessing they had you destroy the shirt,” Deckard said, when he could wait no longer.
“No.” Randy shook his head. “They had me deliver it.”
Deliver it? Deckard took a steadying breath. Was it possible Randy had seen the men ... seen something? “Who did you deliver it to?”
Randy took a sip of coffee, and they waited again.
Anticipation tingled through Deckard’s limbs, his knee bouncing.
“They told me to drive to Elephant Butte.”
“Okay...” Deckard nudged.
“They had me go to Rock Canyon Marina alone. They said if I’d told the Bureau, if they saw anyone else there, they’d kill Debbie, and they would take their time. I won’t go into the details of what they said they’d do to her.” He looked at Harper. “Not in front of you.” She nodded her thanks. “But it was brutal, and I believed them.”
“So you took the shirt,” Deckard said, trying to keep Randy on track, not let him get stuck in the weeds.
“They told me there was a life-preserver box on the main dock leading to the slips, to put the shirt in it and drive away. Don’t lookback, they said. Don’t say a word or they’d come for my sister and me both. I didn’t care about me, but I couldn’t let them harm Debbie.”
“So you did as they said?” Deckard said, understanding the man’s love and concern for his sister.
“No,” Randy said.
Deckard pulled his chin in. He hadn’t expected that.
“I drove away, but I went up to the hill overlooking the marina, parked a ways back, crawled in, and watched, looking through my telephoto camera lens. I needed insurance. A bargaining chip if they ever threatened my family again.”
“So you saw who retrieved the shirt?” Harper asked. Hope drenched her voice.
Please,let this be it,Lord.
“Better yet,” Randy said, holding up a photograph. “I got his picture.”
SIXTY-TWO
THANK YOU, JESUS.Finally, a lead. Deckard reached for the photo.
He narrowed his eyes. He’d seen the man in the photograph before, but where? His brain tracked back, trying to place him. He noted the signet ring on his finger. “Masonic lodge,” he said, holding up the photo and pointing at the ring.
Randy nodded, the muscle in his jaw flickering. “He grabbed the shirt and looked around the parking lot. I guess to be sure I’d gone. Then he strode down the dock to a boat. Another man met him there and took the shirt.” Randy pulled out a second picture and handed it to Deckard.
He looked down, his eyes widening. It was quite a bit farther away, but the image was clear enough. “That’s Councilman Markowitz.” Wearing what appeared to be the same signet ring. “Anne Marlowe worked for Markowitz,” Deckard said.
“You think he killed her?” Harper asked.
“No. Well, he probably had a hand in it, but...” Deckard sat back as the puzzle finally fell in place—at least the big pieces. He raked a shaky hand through his hair. It couldn’t be.
“Deckard,” Harper said. “You all right? You just went white.”
“I know who killed Anne.” He had a picture in his house of him, the councilman, and the man who’d retrieved the shirt at a charitydinner. Deckard gripped the photo tighter. And all three wore the same Masonic signet ring.
“Who?” Harper asked, her voice echoing through his thoughts.
