David Baldacci - Memory Man

“We can charge him with wasting police time, obstruction of justice.”

“As I said, he was off his meds. He could not form the intent necessary for either of those two crimes.”

Lynch said, “I believe that given time—”

Abernathy cut her off. “Do you have any evidence other than the recanted confession tying the defendant to the crimes alleged against him?”

Obviously flustered, Lynch said, “Your Honor, the defendant turned himself in to the police and confessed to the crime. Thus we have not attempted to build a forensic case against him.”

“Did he sign the confession?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“Did it include details that only the actual perpetrator of this crime would know?”

Lynch was again caught off guard. “I... I don’t believe so, no. I’m sure that additional questioning was going to take place, but—”

Interrupting, Abernathy said, “So with the confession off the table you have no evidence?”

“No,” Lynch admitted, her anger evident but restrained.

“And now we know for certain that Mr. Leopold was seventy miles away in jail when the murders were committed.”

“Yes, we do,” said the PD, barely able to hide a smile.

“Please step back,” said Abernathy pleasantly.

The counsels returned to their respective corners.

Abernathy peered down from the bench. “The charges against the defendant Sebastian Leopold are dismissed without prejudice. Mr. Leopold, you are free to go. And stay on your meds.”

He smacked his gavel.

His lawyer turned to Leopold to shake his hand, but Leopold was looking around the courtroom as though he was still unsure of where he was. When his gaze fell on Decker, he smiled weakly and gave a tiny, shy wave.

Decker didn’t smile or wave back as the officers took Leopold out of the room.

As Abernathy disappeared back into chambers, Decker watched as Lynch and the PD exchanged sharp words. Then Decker rose and headed out of the courtroom.

Alex Jamison walked out with him.

“Did Leopold wave to you, Mr. Decker?” she asked, her tone curious, and in its undertones, a trace of suspicion seemed to percolate.

“I don’t know what he did.”

“Have you met him before?”

Decker kept walking.

She called after him. “People would like to hear your side of things.”

He turned and walked back to her. “My side of things on what?”

“Do you know Leopold, because I think he made eye contact with you. He smiled and waved. You were the only one sitting there.”

“I don’t know him.”

“But you two did talk before, didn’t you? In his prison cell?”

Decker made the connection instantly. Brimmer . This was her way of getting back at him for juking her at the jail. She had leaked his meeting with Leopold to Jamison.

“Why did you meet with the man accused of killing your family?”

Decker turned and walked away. And this time he kept going.

Decker had taken a bus directly over because he didn’t want to miss the man.

As he waited, he watched folks walking and driving past. Burlington had a deeply wounded look to it, as though an evil had stolen into town and taken its most valuable possessions. Which was exactly what had happened.

Twenty minutes later Decker stiffened slightly as the door to the facility opened and Sebastian Leopold stepped out dressed in the clothes he had walked in with, the orange prison jumpsuit and shackles stripped off him along with the murder charges.

He looked around for a few moments as though orienting himself to his surroundings. Then he turned right and started walking north.

Decker waited about twenty seconds and then followed him, staying on the other side of the street. Paralleling the man, he kept his gaze forward but his peripheral on Leopold.

Fifteen minutes later they had reached an area of Burlington that Decker knew well — seedy, disreputable, and known to harbor criminal elements with relish.

A dive bar was on the right. Leopold walked down the short set of wobbly brick steps and went inside.

Decker looked from side to side and then hustled across the street and down the same steps. He had been in this bar during a couple of stakeouts years ago and had come away empty each time. Maybe the third crack would be the charm.

Leopold was seated at the center of the bar. The interior was dark and dreary, the lights turned down low. Decker knew this was primarily because everything in the place was filthy and the owner probably thought that would be a turnoff to business. Decker doubted the patrons cared, though. When he had been here they were mostly stoned on liquor, drugs, or both.

He settled into a table at the back with a chest-high partition that he could see over but that provided him with some cover. He was hard to miss, and even though he had only met Leopold once, he had to assume the man would remember him. He had seemed to recognize Decker in the courtroom.

But that’s not right. We’ve met twice, according to Leopold. When I dissed him at that 7-Eleven. So why can’t I remember that when I can remember everything?

Leopold ordered a drink, and when the bartender delivered it he just stared at the glass for a long minute before raising it to his lips and taking a small sip before replacing it exactly in the same spot. He maneuvered the glass a bit, apparently to match the water ring on the bar.

This did not escape Decker’s notice.

Possibly OCD.

During his earlier meeting with the man Decker had noted the constant movement of Leopold’s hands. Was he really not all there? The PD said he was bipolar but was now back on his meds. Maybe they could finally have a cogent conversation.

A waitress came over to Decker. She was tall and thin with a sea of bleached blonde hair all done up in curls that nearly covered her face. The smell of the chemically treated hair wafted over him, sweet and slightly nauseating. He ordered a beer, which she brought to him a minute later.

He took a drink, wiped his mouth, and waited. There was no mirror behind the bar, so Leopold had no way to spot Decker behind him unless he turned around.

Twenty minutes passed and no one had approached Leopold. The man had taken exactly two more sips of his drink and was staring down at it as though he was unaware of how it had gotten there.

Decker left two bucks on his table, picked up his beer, walked up to the bar, and sat down next to him.

Leopold didn’t look over. He was still staring at his drink.

“Feel good to be out?” asked Decker. “Celebrating?”

Leopold looked at him. “You were in the courtroom. I saw you.”

“I was also in your jail cell.”

Leopold nodded, but the statement had not really seemed to register with him. He mumbled something Decker did not catch.

Decker’s gaze ran swiftly over the man. They had cleaned him up for his two court appearances and his clothes had been laundered, probably because the cops couldn’t stand the stink.

Leopold said in a louder voice, “In my jail cell. That’s right. We talked.”

“Yes, we did. So you recanted?”

Leopold looked alarmed. “I did what?”

“Took back your confession.”

Leopold picked up his drink and took another sip. “I don’t really drink. But this is good.”

“Celebrating, like I said.”

“What do I have to celebrate?” Leopold asked curiously.

“Not being charged with a triple homicide. Not being in jail. Both good things, wouldn’t you say?”

Leopold shrugged. “They fed me. I had a bed.”

“Is that why you confessed to the murders? For a bed and three squares?”

Leopold shrugged again.