“No apologies necessary. I said guard my ass and you guarded it. Sometimes I lose track of time.”

“I’ll go back and wait outside.”

“I’ll come with you.” Once back in the common hallway, Decker gently pulled the door to the jamb, making sure it didn’t close. He stowed his gun back inside his harness.

McAdams said, “James Marx called me back. He was out here at 10:42 P.M.”

“After Inez Camero took action into her own hands. They probably both missed the killer by minutes.” Decker took out his cell phone.

“Killer?” McAdams felt woozy, but kept his balance. “Latham’s dead?”

“I found a desecrated male body.” Decker punched in 911 and brought his cell to his ear. “If that was Latham, God rest his soul.”

CHAPTER 15

IT WAS AFTER three in the afternoon by the time Decker and McAdams had given their statements to the Summer Village detectives. Decker hadn’t slept for over thirty-six hours and he could feel his brain starting to shut down. He needed to pull himself together for Angeline’s parents, his scattered thoughts trying to focus on two horrific murders. The Summer Village Police Department was smaller and less bureaucratic than Boston PD, but big enough to have resources and actual detectives. That was a plus. Explaining why Decker and McAdams were there and why they broke into the apartment took up a lot of time. After the requisite questions, the detectives were generous enough to let them stick around while Summer Village brought in the coroner and their forensics team.

The apartment had not only been the scene of a struggle but it had been ransacked. No staging, at least to Decker’s eye. The killer appeared to be looking for something. No one turned up Latham’s phone, laptop, or tablet. There weren’t any Tiffany panels hiding in a closet or under the bed. But a careful probe did turn up a hidden ring of unmarked keys. Decker was allowed to make a copy at a local locksmith: maybe it contained the key to Angeline’s apartment thus providing a link between the two cases. He returned the originals to Summer Village detectives. Decker asked them if he could come back in a day or two and search for storage bins in the area. The lead detective equivocated, saying they’d be in touch. Good enough because he was way too tired and pressed for time to check today. He had to get back to Greenbury and Angeline’s parents.

Summer Village would be stuck doing the notification for Latham. Although the body was mutilated, the face was still recognizable as the image that McAdams had pulled up on the Internet. That was in marked contrast to Angeline where time, heat, and gases had distorted everything, meaning that she was probably murdered first.

Decker’s stomach was long past empty. His head was pounding and he knew if he didn’t get more than caffeine into his system he’d pass out. “I need to eat something.”

“You can eat after witnessing that . . . horror?”

“Survival, Tyler. Before we hit the road, I need to fill the tank and get some calories.” He drove about a mile, neither of them speaking, until they reached a gas station with a Stop-N-Go. “You get the gas, I’ll get food. Do you want anything?”

“I suppose I should eat. Whatever you get is fine. I don’t even have the energy to be disagreeable.”

Decker went inside the minimart and picked up a pack of six onion bagels, a tub of cream cheese, two cartons of orange juice, two bags of honey peanuts, two energy bars, and two giant coffees. They ate in the parking lot, making the most minimal of conversation. Ten minutes later, with a semifull belly, Decker put the key in the ignition and crawled through the streets until he hit the highway.

McAdams spoke first. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”

“No, I’m awake. Thanks for asking. You can sleep, Harvard. You’ve earned it.”

But McAdams continued to stare out the windshield. The sun grew stronger as it made its descent in the winter sky. “That was . . . intense.”

“Gruesome even for someone experienced. Not part of your job description when you signed up in Greenbury?”

“Whoda thunk?” McAdams sipped coffee from a thermos. “Not that I was staring at the corpse. Au contraire, I was watching the pros . . . trying to hold down my stomach and learn a few pointers at the same time.”

“Good for you.”

“None of it sank in—shock and fatigue took care of that.” His eyes remained forward as he spoke. His voice seemed to come from somewhere far away and deep inside. “I know that the Tiffany panels are valuable, but surely they are not worth the wholesale slaughtering of two human beings.”

“Are you making an ethical judgment or are you talking about the motive for the crime?”

“Motive.” He was still visibly upset. “The panels can’t be the motive for something that abominable, right?”

“I’ve seen men gutted for a pack of cigarettes,” Decker said. “But I know what you’re saying and I agree. These cases are not just about the panels. All we can say so far is that we have two bad murders and the killings are probably connected. Next question: Are the two murders related to the Tiffany thefts?”

“What else is there?”

“There’s probably way more. Right now, beyond the murders and the theft, do we know anything else?”

“Besides the fact that I’m exhausted and sick to my stomach?”

“Bagel didn’t go down well?”

“I ate too fast. I always eat too fast. What do we know beyond the two murders and a theft?” He shrugged. “Beats me.”

“The two murders were overkill.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.”

“In both cases there was not only a struggle, but the apartments appeared genuinely ransacked. The murderer was looking for something.”

“The Tiffany panels?”

“Possibly. But like you said, do you butcher your victims over stolen Tiffany panels?” Silence. Decker said, “Let’s start throwing out some ideas.”

“You go first.”

“We have two victims we suspect were doing something illegal because Angeline suddenly came into money. She started toting around designer accoutrements and only did that after she met John Latham.”

“Right.”

“We also suspect that she might have been involved with the forgery of the two Tiffany panel replacements. Angeline did stained glass and she liked Tiffany.”

“Right again.”

“And the forgeries might have something to do with the murders.”

“Correct.”

“Tyler, if we think the forgeries are even one of the reasons for the murders, then it would behoove us to look at who was wronged by the forgeries.”

“That would be the Sobel family. But I can’t believe anyone in the family would do something that extreme. That doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree. The theft per se isn’t the reason for the murder. As I said before, it was probably the discovery of the theft that put Angeline and Latham in danger.”

“Because they were involved in other thefts and did them at the behest of someone. Meaning those other burglaries might now be discovered.”

“Exactly. So any ideas?”

“Let me think.” McAdams was tapping the dashboard.

“There’s no right or wrong answer. Just say what’s on your mind.”

McAdams continued to drum the dash. “I looked at art thefts. I didn’t find anything recent in the area. If someone has been selling stolen art, I’m thinking that he or she is a pro and has been doing it for a while. He—or she—just hasn’t been caught.”

Decker nodded. “And you know about the Art Loss Register, right?”

“Yes, I do know from my father. It’s a stolen-art site. Before museums, auction houses, and galleries acquire any work, the purchaser looks up the piece in question to make sure the work wasn’t stolen.” McAdams started snacking on nuts. “Maybe I should start looking up cases on the register. I mean I’m not saying that our alleged buyer—” He paused. “Alleged? Is that even the right word? This person may be entirely fictitious.”