Дэвид Балдаччи - Redemption

“Why would he come back here, dying, to ask us to clear his name if he’s not innocent?”

“I can think of one reason, benefiting him.”

She took another puff and shook her head. “I don’t see it that way. You get to the end of the line, you start to think differently. Not a moment to waste.”

Decker looked at the open cardboard boxes. “You guys moving?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? How can you not be sure?”

Lancaster shrugged. “What about life is guaranteed?”

“How’re things in Burlington?”

“Town’s hanging in there.”

“Unemployment’s down around the country.”

“Yeah, we have lots of ten-dollar-an-hour jobs. If you can live on twenty grand a year, even in Burlington, more power to you.”

“Where are Earl and Sandy?”

“School function. Earl handles those more than me. Work’s been a bitch lately. Bad times make for bad crimes. Lots of drug-related stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that. Why did Hawkins come to see you?”

“We worked that case together, Decker. It was our first homicide investigation.”

“When did he get out? And is he really terminal? He definitely looks it.”

“He wandered into the station two days ago. Shocked the hell out of me. At first I thought he’d escaped or something. I didn’t accept his story but straight away checked with the prison. He’s telling the truth about his cancer. And his release.”

“So they can just kick out terminally ill prisoners to die on their own?”

“Apparently some see it as a good cost-cutting tactic.”

“He told me he’s staying in town a couple more days. He’s at the Residence Inn.”

“Where you used to live.”

“He could use some fattening up with the buffet, but I doubt he has much appetite. He says he gets by on street drugs, basically.”

“Sad state of affairs.”

“He wants to meet with me again.”

She took another puff. “I’m sure.”

“He came to see me at the cemetery .”

Lancaster took one more luxurious drag on her smoke and then crushed it out in an ashtray set on a table next to her chair. She eyed the remnants with longing.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t tell him exactly why you were in town when he came back to the station earlier today and asked, though I did tell him about your family. And I didn’t actually tell him to go to the cemetery.” She studied Decker, her pale eyes finally focusing on his. “I presume you’ve gone over the case in immaculate detail in your head?”

“I have. And I don’t see any issues with what we did. We went over the crime scene, collected evidence. That evidence pointed like a laser to Hawkins. He was arrested and put on trial. We testified. Hawkins’s lawyer put on a defense and cross-examined the crap out of us both. And the jury convicted him. He got life without parole when he could have gotten the death penalty. It all made sense to me.”

Lancaster sat back in her chair.

Decker ran his gaze over her. “You don’t look so good, Mary.”

“I haven’t looked good for at least ten years, Amos. You above all should know that.”

“But still.”

“You’ve lost a lot of weight since you left here, Amos.”

“Jamison’s doing, mostly. She’s got me working out and watching my diet. She cooks a lot of the meals. All salads and vegetables, and tofu . And she got her FBI badge and creds. Worked hard for them. Really proud of her.”

“So you two are living together, then?” said Lancaster with hiked eyebrows.

“We are in the sense that we’re residing in the same condo in D.C.”

“Okay, then are you two more than work partners?”

“Mary, I’m a lot older than she is.”

“You didn’t answer my question. And, news flash, lots of older men date much younger women.”

“No, we’re not more than work partners.”

“Okay.” She sat forward. “So, Hawkins?”

“Why are you having doubts? It was a clear-cut case.”

“Maybe too clear-cut.”

“That doesn’t make sense. And what’s your evidence?”

“I don’t have any. And I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not. But I just think since the guy’s dying and he came back here to clear his name, maybe it’s worth a second look.”

Decker did not look convinced but said, “Okay, how about now?”

“What?” she said, looking startled.

“Let’s go over to where the murders took place. I’m sure no one’s moved in there after all this time, not after what happened.” He paused. “Just like my old home.”

“Well, you’re wrong there. Someone did move into your old place.”

Decker’s jaw slackened. “Who?”

“A young couple with a little girl. The Hendersons.”

“You know them?”

“Not really. But I know they moved in about six months ago.”

“And the other place? Is there someone there too?”

“Somebody moved in there about five years ago. But they left about a year ago when the plastics manufacturing facility closed down and went overseas to join all the other factories that used to be in the Midwest. It’s been abandoned since then.”

Decker rose. “Okay, you coming? It’ll be like old times.”

“I’m not sure I need any more ‘old times.’” But Lancaster rose too and grabbed a coat that was hanging on a wall peg. “And what if it turns out Hawkins was telling the truth?” she asked as they headed to the door.

“Then we need to find out who really did it. But we’re not there yet. In fact, we’re not even close.”

“You don’t work here anymore, Decker. Finding a murderer here after all this time isn’t your job.”

“Finding killers is my only job. Wherever they might be.”

The Richardses’ home. The scene of the crime thirteen years ago.

It was down a rutted crushed-gravel road. Two houses on the left and two on the right, with the Richardses’ now-dilapidated dwelling smack at the end of the cul-de-sac on an acre lot of dead grass crammed with fat, overgrown bushes.

It had been lonely and creepy back then, and it was more so over a decade later.

They pulled to a stop in front of the house and climbed out of Decker’s car. Lancaster shivered slightly, and it was not entirely due to the coolness of the night.

“Hasn’t changed all that much,” said Decker.

“Well, the family that was living here fixed it up some before they left. It needed it. Mostly on the interior. Paint and carpet, things like that. The place had been abandoned for a long time. Nobody wanted to live here after what happened.”

“You’d think a banker would have lived in something nicer.”

“He was a loan officer. They make squat, especially in a town like this. And this house is a lot bigger than mine, Decker, with a lot more land.”

They walked up to the front porch of the home. Decker tried the door.

“Locked.”

“Well, why don’t you unlock it?” said Lancaster.

“Are you giving me permission to break and enter?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. And it’s not like we’re screwing up a crime scene.”

Decker broke the side glass, reached through, and unlocked the door. He switched on his Maglite and led her inside.

“Do you remember?” said Lancaster. “That’s a rhetorical question, of course.”

Decker didn’t appear to be listening. In his mind’s eye, he was a recently minted homicide investigator after riding a beat for ten years and then working robbery, burglary, and drugs for several years as a detective. He and Lancaster had been called to the Richardses’ house after the report of a disturbance and the discovery of bodies inside by the first responders. This being their maiden homicide investigation, neither wanted to screw it up.