Page 41 of Deathmarch

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” His father reached for another slice of bacon. “He was always talking about society falling apart.” Then he said, carefully, “How is Allie Bianchi doing?”

“The more I find out, the less I think she had anything to do with the murder.”

“Who, then?”

“One of Lamm’s friends. I think the victim let in the killer. Let the guy get close to him with a gun. No real sign of forced entry. No struggle.”

Lamm had no other injuries beyond the single gunshot to the head. He hadn’t been roughed up. Which meant the killer hadn’t had to beat the location of the safe out of him. Which meant the killer already had known the location of the safe.

A number of people in Broslin could have suspected that Lamm had gold and silver and he kept it at home. But who would have known where the safe was hidden? Only the people who pitched in to build the stash—Lamm’s prepper buddies.

“Anyone other than Frank Carmelo you think the old man might have hung out with?” he asked.

His father shook his head. “Don’t know. Sorry, son. On the rare occasion that he came into the pub, he always came alone.”

“One lead is better than no leads. Thanks.” Harper paused plowing through his food, nodding toward the packed bags at the bottom of the stairs. “Ready for the trip?”

His father went down to Louisiana for a week at the end of March each year for some wild hog hunting and catching up with his brothers and cousins.

Sean Finnegan scooped up a fried egg. “You could still come along.”

“Not in the middle of a murder case.” Harper finished his coffee and stood to take his plate to the sink. “But say hi to the crew for me.”

He found his mother on his way out, thanked her for breakfast, then he headed straight over to Frank Carmelo’s place.

The tidy townhome where Frank lived with his granddaughter and her kids sat in a small development near the flea market that operated in a giant hangar on Sundays, the only remnant of a small local airport. Houses were all variations on the same plan, the only differences being the color of the siding and the front door. All built by the same builder, most bought by GIs some seventy years ago, courtesy of GI home loans.

Since Lamm’s prepper club had an arsenal of weapons at their headquarters, Harper figured they would keep guns at home too, so he checked his service weapon as he walked up to the front door.

He rang the bell, and when the door opened, he greeted the man behind it by his first name. “Frank.” He knew the guy from Finnegan’s. “How are you?”

“Harper.” Frank Carmelo appeared more haggard than usual, his face drawn, his shoulders collapsed. His thinning white hair looked uncombed, his face unshaved, his blue checkered shirt untucked. “Is this about Chuck?”

“Heard you were friends.”

“We were that.”

“You think I could come in?”

Frank stepped aside. “Have the house to myself. Everybody is either at work or school.”

He showed Harper into a simple but clean living room, offered him a soda from the fridge, which Harper accepted before cutting to the chase.

“I have to ask, just as a formality, where were you the night before last, between six and eight p.m.?” The coroner had put the time of death at around seven.

Frank paled and didn’t so much sit in his recliner as collapse into it. He was short of breath as he asked, “You think I killed Chuck?”

“No, sir.” Harper kept his tone friendly. He didn’t want the man to clam up. “I have to ask everyone I talk to in connection to the murder.”

The explanation didn’t appease Frank, but after a few seconds, he answered the question anyway, even if with a disapproving scowl. “I was right here.”

“Can your granddaughter confirm?”

“Monday evening?” The man gave a frustrated huff. “Every other day but that. She was over at a friend’s house. Sleepover party for the kids, then the storm hit, and Tiffany stayed over too, didn’t want to drive home. Power kept going in and out. Guess her friend could use the help.”

“Hell of a storm.” Harper nodded.And no alibi.“I was out plowing. Could barely see past the hood of the truck.”

Frank shifted in his seat. “They say you arrested Tony Bianchi’s daughter. Tony back in town? Hope he didn’t talk that girl into something.”