David Baldacci - Memory Man

Decker stared at the words for the longest time.

Then he turned and left the room, took the steps two at a time, and walked outside. Lancaster and Miller followed him. She caught up with him at the end of the driveway.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry for all this, Mary.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. My family is fine.”

“They won’t be next time. They’ll be dead.”

“No they won’t. Look, this is not about you. It’s about them .”

“No, it’s about me and them.”

He set off down the street as snowflakes swirled around him.

Decker was sitting on the bed in his room at the Residence Inn. The snow continued to fall outside, but the ground was warm enough that most of it wasn’t sticking. It was just slush. Just like his mind was.

My wonderfully perfect mind that remembers all.

But parts of his thoughts were crystal clear.

In his hand Decker held his pistol. A nice, serviceable weapon. He had carried it with him as a detective. And had brought it with him into civilian life.

This was also the pistol he had first stuck in his mouth and then placed against his head as he sat on the floor staring at his dead daughter.

He had not pulled the trigger that night and still didn’t exactly know why. With a perfect memory did not come a perfect mind, or resolute decisions. Sometimes with perfection on one end of the equation, one was left with stark imprecision on the other. Perhaps it was nature’s way of balancing things.

Regardless, he had not killed himself that night.

But tonight was a new night, wasn’t it?

He racked the slide and heard a round fall neatly into the chamber. He nudged off the safety and raised the weapon to his head, placing it against his right temple.

Find the courage. Don’t be a coward, bro. End it now.

Decker thought that there must be both courage and cowardice in killing oneself. Did he have enough of both? Or was he totally lacking?

Yet he thought he did. Now, anyway.

He closed his eyes and let his finger drift to the trigger guard and then to the trigger. A couple foot-pounds of pressure and it would be over. It was the narrowest gap in the world, between the finger and the trigger. A simple movement, hook the digit and pull back. Folks did it every day, only not with a gun.

He tried to clear his mind, to just relax and let go of whatever it was that was tethering him to this world. It couldn’t be much. What exactly did he have left?

The image of first Molly and then Cassie eased into his mind. Two frames of memory he could never let go, even if he could somehow release all the others.

He held on them. His DVR momentarily frozen.

The knock on the door caused him to open his eyes. He didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Amos? Amos, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”

The images of Cassie and Molly held for an instant longer and then the frames rolled through and other visuals took their place.

Decker rose and opened the door.

Captain Miller stared back at him, the collar of his overcoat turned up against the cold, beaten-up old galoshes on his feet.

“I want to talk to you,” said Miller. “Right now.”

He didn’t wait to be invited in. He strode past Decker into the small room. His gaze alighted on the pistol on the bed where Decker had dropped it. Miller glanced sharply at him.

“You do that, they win, you know.”

“Do they?” Decker said.

Miller picked up the pistol, engaged the safety, and placed it on the bureau against the wall before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Decker closed the door and sat in a chair across from him.

“Of course they do,” said Miller. “Since you’re the only one who has a shot at taking them down. They get you to eliminate yourself, they have free rein to keep doing what they’re doing.”

“If their goal is to punish me, destroy me, then once they do, there’s nothing more for them to do.”

“Until they figure that someone else has disrespected them. And there’s the small matter of letting this filth get away with killing all those people. I don’t intend to let it happen. And I don’t think you do either.”

Decker glanced over at the gun and then back at Miller.

Miller said, “We can’t bring any of them back. The only thing we can do is make this right by catching the people who killed them and make sure they never, ever hurt anyone else. That’s it. May not sound like much, but in a civilized world it’s all we’ve got.”

“Civilized world?”

“Which always has parts that aren’t civilized.”

Decker shifted slightly in his seat and more dramatically in his thoughts. “Who called it in? The incident at Lancaster’s house?”

“Earl Lancaster did. He was out with Sandy at a school function. They didn’t get home until nearly eleven. That’s when they found what they found and called 911.”

“Anyone see or hear anything?”

“Still canvassing. Nothing yet. It was dark and messy. Easy enough to slip in. They could have brought the mannequins in deflated and then quickly inflated them.” He rubbed his forehead. “Thank God they didn’t opt for the real thing.”

“Which is puzzling, since they’ve had no problem killing anyone.”

Miller nodded thoughtfully. “You know, it’s like these people can turn invisible.”

“Not invisible. Innocuous.”

“How do you mean?” asked Miller.

“Nonthreatening. Blend in. Someone so commonplace that no one notices them even though they’re there. That makes them invisible because people don’t remember them.”

“Well, one of them dressed like a cop to snare Lafferty.”

“Not a cop. A cop draws notice. They used that disguise specifically to get to Lafferty. No, I mean in a neighborhood someone that just blends in.”

“Well, we’ll have the canvassing reports at both places ready in about an hour. Why don’t you come down to the precinct and go over them?”

Decker eyed his former commander. “Is this busy work?”

Miller rose. “Amos, you’re a grown man. If you want to kill yourself you will. Nothing I can do to stop that. But while I have you alive and kicking I’d like to avail myself of your services. So let’s go down to the precinct and see what we can see.”

He turned and walked out the door.

Decker sat there for a few seconds, then rose, grabbed his gun, slipped it into his coat pocket, and followed.

Four cups of coffee and a stale breakfast burrito later, Decker pushed back from the table where he had been going over all aspects of the case and hit the john. When he came out, Alex Jamison was leaning against the wall, apparently waiting for him.

She looked up at him, her arms folded across her chest, her heel tapping against the dulled linoleum.

“I guess I missed my flight out of here,” she said.

“There’s always another one.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll go someplace warm. When we’re all done here.”

“This is not your fight. Or your concern.”

“Don’t even go there, Decker.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. Let you know that I was still working the case. And Miller called me. He knew I went with you to the institute and that I was with you when you found Sizemore.”

“So?”

Miller appeared from around the corner. “So I thought another pair of fresh eyes on this sucker can’t hurt. I’m not too proud to ask for help.” He pointed at the two of them. “So why don’t you get to it?”

“She’s not on the force.”

“Neither are you,” shot back Jamison.