Дэвид Балдаччи - Redemption

After a few minutes, Lancaster called out, “Hey, Decker?”

He walked into the large closet to see Lancaster holding something up.

“What?” he asked.

She held the item up higher. It was a short-haired wig.

Blonde.

Decker lifted his gaze to Lancaster’s. “You think Sally impersonated Susan Richards?” he said.

“I think she might have. It wasn’t Gardiner. And if it wasn’t Katz, who else fits the description?”

“Sally was the right height and build,” conceded Decker. Lancaster fingered the wig. “And this is nearly the cut and style of Susan Richards’s hairdo. And from a distance, with her back turned and an old woman looking out into the darkness? She could have been fooled.”

Decker took the wig in his hand and looked it over. The memory came back to him effortlessly. Sally at the park. She had on a trench coat, gloves, and a hat. Exactly what the person leaving Richards’s house was seen wearing.

“So if she participated in that, did she know Richards might be in that suitcase, either already dead or drugged?” he said.

“I can’t believe she didn’t know,” replied Lancaster. “But then the question becomes why would she do it?”

“She was acting funny,” said Decker. “When she interacted with me. Before and after Richards went missing.”

“Funny how?”

“Guilty, maybe. But then I just associated that with her having a fling with Natty.”

“Guilt, then, but of a different nature.” Lancaster shook her head. “Brimmer was such a straight arrow in my book. Why in the hell would she have become involved in something like this?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure that she was. We found a wig that looks like Richards’s hair, but that could be a coincidence. Women do have wigs in their closets.”

“That’s true. And even if we find evidence of Sally’s hair inside this wig, it’ll prove nothing. If she’s not involved, she presumably bought the wig to wear it.”

“We have to find other proof. If she was paid off, we might be able to find a record of that in her financial accounts.”

“And if she wasn’t paid off?”

“Then someone might have coerced her into doing this.”

“How?”

“Maybe someone who knew about her relationship with Natty?”

“Well, that could be. They kept it pretty secret. Hell, I didn’t know.”

Lancaster took back the wig and placed it into an evidence bag she drew from her coat pocket. “And you still think the motivation to kill Richards was to place blame for Hawkins’s murder on her?”

“They had to cut that investigation off, Mary. The police start looking into Hawkins’s claims, things could get dicey for whoever’s behind all this. Her seeming to commit suicide was a good way to do that.”

“Only it didn’t work.”

“They couldn’t know that. They had to try. And Richards was their best bet for that.”

“Why not Rachel Katz? She had a motive to kill Hawkins too.”

“That’s right, she did. But I don’t think they could afford to kill Katz.”

“Why not? Someone ended up trying to kill her.”

“That was later.”

“So how’d they choose between the two women?”

“Look at it this way: Katz has prospered since the death of her husband. Richards hasn’t.”

“So you think Katz was involved with the murders thirteen years ago?”

“I’m not going to go that far, Mary. But I think Katz ended up being useful. Richards didn’t. So she was dispensable.”

“What in the world is going on here, Decker?”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s been going on for at least thirteen years.”

“Dating back to the murders?”

“Actually sometime before them, probably.”

Lancaster looked at the bagged evidence. “I’m going to have to tell Natty about this. He’s in charge of the investigation now.”

“I don’t think he’s going to take us suspecting Sally of being an accomplice in Richards’s murder very well.”

“That’s an understatement. Unless he’s involved as well,” she added with a sudden thought. “Do you think he might be?”

“I think everybody’s a suspect until they’re not.”

“How’s it going down there?” Alex Jamison asked.

It was the next evening and Decker was in his room at the Residence Inn, on his phone.

“It’s going. How about you?”

“Long road ahead, I’m afraid. Not making much headway. Bogart is missing your horsepower.”

“Did he say that?”

“I can tell.”

“He laid down the law to me when we last spoke. I’m not sure I’ll have a place on the task force when I’m done here.” He said this in part to get it off his chest, but also to get Jamison’s reaction.

“I’m not sure about that either, Decker.”

His spirits plunged. It had occurred to him that he did want to go back to the FBI after this was over. Now that might not be possible.

“I guess I can see that,” he said.

“Look, if it were up to Bogart, I think you’d be okay. But he’s got bosses too. And they know you’re still in Burlington despite orders to the contrary. And they’re not happy about it. Bogart went out on a limb for you, Decker, on a number of occasions. He shielded you from heat from the higher-ups. Now, we all know what you’ve done for the Bureau, and the number of lives you’ve saved in the past. But that will not always save you, I guess is what I’m saying.”

“Thanks for your candor, Alex. I appreciate it.”

“I’d expect the same from you if our positions were reversed.”

“Not to change the subject, but if I send you a list of companies, could you find time to check them out?”

“Decker! Are you kidding me?”

“I know, Alex. I know. But it’s really important.”

“And what I’m currently doing isn’t?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way. Only we don’t have the resources that the FBI does.”

There was such a pregnant pause that he thought she might have hung up on him. Then, finally, “Email them to me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Alex, I appreciate it.”

He sent her the names of the companies and then lay down on his bed. The wind was picking up outside, which probably meant another storm was coming. Since it was getting colder, they might get some sleet or a dusting of snow with it.

Decker wrapped himself more tightly in his coat because the Residence Inn didn’t have the best heating system in the world. It was like it only had the capacity to push heat a certain distance into the hotel before giving up and letting the majority of the unfortunate guests fend for themselves.

He didn’t miss the Ohio winters. The East Coast had its share of cold weather, for sure. But there was nothing to stop the wind here; it beat relentlessly across the land.

But still, this was his hometown, his home state. He had played for the mighty Buckeyes and then, albeit briefly, the Cleveland Browns. He was a product of the Midwest. He never got too high and never got too low. He looked at the world realistically. He was a jeans and beer kind of guy. He could never fit inside a Ferrari, not that he would ever want to. He always tried to do the right thing. He helped others when they needed it.

And he tracked down killers nonstop.

And that was pretty much the sum total of Amos Decker.

He lifted his hands from his pockets and rubbed his temples. He scrunched his eyes closed. Something was funny up there. He felt a pang of anxiety start up from deep within him. He lurched up and went into the bathroom and drank handfuls of water in an effort to calm himself down.

He tried to push back visions of volcanic masses of memory loops cascading down on him, but he was powerless to stop his own mind from tormenting him.