death was not from natural causes, I’m sorry to say.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “Someone…hurt him?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Pine sat forward. “That’s why it’s so important to tell us anything you can remember. His friends. Anyone he might have mentioned. Someone you might have seen lurking around here?”
“I don’t remember anything like that. Frankie hasn’t really been here all that long.”
“What was he wearing that day?”
“Jeans, a red pullover, and sneakers. Was…was he found in them?”
“Not exactly, no. What about your husband? Could he know something useful?”
“Roger didn’t spend a lot of time with Frankie. I mean, he’s good with the kids and all. He’s as committed as I am to them. But he works long hours.”
“Did he ever take Frankie to work with him?” asked Laredo. “Little boys love cars.”
“Well, now that you mention it, he did. Once or twice. On the weekends.”
“What sort of cars does the dealership sell?” asked Pine, giving Laredo a sideways glance.
“Mercedes-Benz.” She smiled. “It’s funny.”
“What is?” asked Pine.
“Roger drives a ten-year-old GMC pickup truck, and I have a third-hand Kia.” She looked up at them and smiled brightly through the sheen of tears. “But if you need a fancy car to make you happy, well, something’s wrong.”
“Makes me think of the Janis Joplin song about God buying her a Mercedes-Benz,” said Laredo. “But unlike Janis, my friends don’t drive Porsches, either,” he added.
“You said your husband is at work now?” asked Pine.
“Yes. He was really upset about Frankie. He and some other fathers from the neighborhood went looking for him and asking people if they’d seen him. But nobody had.”
“We’ll need to talk to him.”
“I can give you the address. It’s on the other side of town.”
“Thank you. By chance, do you know anyone named Hanna Rebane or Beth Clemmons?”
Pine watched the woman closely for her reaction. She seemed sincerely befuddled.
“No, who are they?”
“Just some other people who might have a connection to the case. Do you have a photo of Frankie?”
“Yes, I took one on my phone when he got here. I had it printed out and framed. We do that for all the kids. To make them feel part of the family.”
“That’s very nice. Do you mind if we borrow it?” asked Wallis. “We’ll be sure to get it back to you.”
She fetched the photo for them, handed it to Wallis, and led them to the door.
“I can call Roger and tell him you’re on the way.”
“No need to do that,” said Pine quickly. “It’ll be fine. We probably won’t need to talk to him long.”
“Okay,” said Duncan, looking confused.
Wallis said, “One last thing.” He took the St. Christopher’s medal from his pocket and held it up. “Do you recognize this? Did Frankie wear it?”
“No, he never wore anything like that.”
“Well, thank you.”
They walked back to their car.
Wallis said, “Well, either Frankie picked up the medal somewhere or the killer put it on him. I’m opting for the latter explanation.”
“Why didn’t you want Ms. Duncan to phone her husband?” Laredo asked Pine.
“Just a gut thing. I wonder how many dealerships in Georgia sell Paganis?”
“Pagani?” exclaimed Wallis. “What the hell is that?”
“An Italian-made car that costs about three mill,” replied Laredo.
Wallis looked at the FBI agent in disbelief. “Three million dollars! For a car.”
“There are people who will pay it.”
“In Georgia?” said a disbelieving Wallis.
“You never know.”
“But Duncan’s husband works at a Mercedes dealership, not, not this Pagani thing,” pointed out Wallis.
“Right,” said Pine absently. Her mind was obviously racing ahead.
“And what’s a Pagani got to do with anything?” persisted Wallis.
“One was spotted watching Atlee’s old house,” said Laredo.
Wallis shook his head. “A three-million-dollar car in Andersonville? Now that’s something I thought I’d never see.”
“Well, I’d like to see that Pagani and whoever was driving it,” said Pine. “But for now, let’s stick to Mercedes-Benz. And Roger Duncan.” She glanced at Laredo. “My friends don’t drive Porsches, either.”
“Well, instead of buying us a Mercedes, maybe God can give us a lead on this case.”
“Can I get an amen to that?” said Wallis.
“Amen,” said Pine and Laredo together.
Chapter 54
ROGER DUNCAN SLOWLY wiped his hands off on a greasy rag and motioned for them to follow him to a small room off the work bay where he had been laboring on a Mercedes sedan with a matte-gray finish.
He was tall and lanky with thick, muscled forearms.
They had explained why they were there. He leaned back against the wall, rubbed a shock of blond hair out of his face, folded his arms over his chest, and