Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

“Early on in the proceedings. The judge accepted the motion I filed, and of course the defense had no objection.”

Puller finally found his voice and said, “The letter wasn’t in the file.”

“I’m not surprised about that. It wasn’t technically part of the record.”

“Do you remember what else it said?” asked Puller.

“I actually kept a copy. If you give me your email I can scan it in and forward it to you.”

Puller gave him a business card and said, “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” asked Fletcher.

Knox said hastily. “If there is we’ll get back to you.”

They left a moody-looking Fletcher sitting behind his desk.

As they walked out Knox said, “You obviously didn’t know your father had written a letter.”

“He was at the VA by then. I didn’t think he had the capacity to even write his own name.”

“Well, he might have found the capacity to help a son fighting for his life.”

“But it seemed to me that he didn’t care what happened to Bobby.”

“Maybe your dad didn’t want to admit his feelings to you. Some men have a problem with that. You think your father fits into that category?”

“As far as I knew, my father never had any feelings,” said Puller tersely.

CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA, was the next stop on their list. They made it from Charlottesville in a little over four hours with Puller driving fast the whole way. He liked to drive because it gave him time to think. And he had a lot to think about, particularly about a letter a father had written in an attempt to save his oldest son from a death sentence.

“I don’t have any pennies on me, but I’ll fork over folding money to see inside your head.”

He looked over at Knox, who was staring at him with a worried expression.

“I was thinking about my dad.”

“And why he wrote the letter?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Despite what you said, I’m sure your father has feelings.”

“I’ve heard him go off about my brother when I visited him at the VA. Unless I was somehow misconstruing his shouts and cursing, I’m not sure he was a real fan of what my brother allegedly did.”

“Well, knowing what we know now about your brother’s motivation to tank his own defense to protect you and your father, maybe you can tell him one day that his son was innocent.”

“I’d like Bobby to be able to do that himself.”

Knox placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope he can too.”

“I want to ask defense counsel point-blank why he didn’t pursue that angle. I mean, if he knew Bobby was being threatened, why wasn’t there an investigation?”

“Well, according to what Shireen Kirk told you, there was no evidence to that effect except your brother’s statement. And he wouldn’t let counsel pursue it, namely because he thought harm would come to you and your father.”

“So he lets an innocent man go to prison?”

“No, he put on the defense he had and a panel of his peers sent Robert Puller to prison.”

“You know it’s not that simple or straightforward.”

“What I know is that we need more proof than we have right now.”

“Macri was bought off. And Susan Reynolds is lying. And so was Niles Robinson.”

“I believe it. But can we convince others? Even with the financial evidence we have? And more important, can we tie it into your brother’s case? Because all most people know is that he escaped from DB and left a dead man behind. Whether that man should have been there or not is largely irrelevant for most people. First and foremost your brother is a killer, at least that’s what they think. Whatever the truth is, it’s complicated, and complicated is not what our information-overloaded society is good at grasping, because they would have to focus for longer than five seconds, which most folks can’t do anymore.”

“So all this is for shit, then? Everything we’re doing?” Puller retorted.

“Of course it’s not. But I want you to understand really clearly that what we have now is not enough. It’s not even close to enough. I don’t see light at the end of the tunnel yet and neither should you. We have to keep plugging.”

“That’s all I ever do, Knox. I just keep plugging.”

Knox had scrounged up government travel vouchers that would allow them to stay at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Charlotte for a reduced rate that would not cause a DoD bean counter to slash his wrists. They got rooms on the same floor, on either side of the elevator bank. They made arrangements to meet in the lobby thirty minutes later and then go have a late dinner.

Puller quickly showered and put on a set of clean clothes he’d grabbed from his duffel. He made some phone calls, including one to the VA hospital to check on his dad.

“Resting comfortably,” was the reply he got to his question. Puller knew that meant the old man wasn’t yelling at anybody.

He left a message on Shireen’s voice mail telling her where they were and what they had found out. He knew he would have to report in soon to General Rinehart and Schindler from the NSC. How much he would tell them he wasn’t sure.

He checked his watch, gunned up, and headed to the elevator.

Knox was standing there waiting for the elevator car to arrive. She wore a cream-colored skirt that hit right above the knee, an emerald green blouse, and high-heeled, open-toed shoes revealing rose-colored nail polish. Her auburn hair was highlighted against the green fabric and was done up in a way that revealed her long, curved neck. She carried a clutch purse and a wrap was loosely draped around her shoulders. He caught a whiff of her perfume and felt a little lightheaded as he approached.

He looked down at his khakis, polo shirt, and old corduroy jacket. “I’m feeling a little underdressed next to you, Knox.”

She smiled. “You look fine.”

“Where to?” he asked when they reached the lobby. “I don’t know the town that well.”

“I made reservations at a place. Easy walking distance.”

He eyed her spikes. “Even in those shoes?”

She smiled. “I have great balance.”

He eyed her purse. “Gunned up?”

She nodded. “Compact but good stopping power. I use it as a backup ordinarily.”

The air was warm and the dark sky clear. The walk was only two blocks. The restaurant was fairly full at the late hour. The clientele was made up of well-dressed twenty-somethings who looked like lawyers, bankers, techies, and other assorted professionals taking a break from busy lives to play. When Puller saw the prices on the menu he glanced sharply at Knox.

“My per diem doesn’t cover this.”

“Relax, it’s on me.”

They split a bottle of wine and Puller had sirloin steak medium rare, while Knox ordered salmon served on a cedar plank. They divided up a piece of carrot cake over coffee for dessert.

They were the last customers to leave the restaurant.

As they walked back, Knox slipped her arm through his. She leaned into him and for some reason he interpreted this as more for support than anything else. When he glanced at her she confirmed this by saying, “I admit, the heels were a bad idea.”

“Well, they look great on you. Just like the dress.”

She squeezed his arm. “I wasn’t sure you had noticed.”

“I noticed,” said Puller. He paused. “Just like I noticed the four guys following us. Two across the street and two behind us.”

Knox kept looking straight ahead. “And they definitely seem interested in us?”

“They were outside the restaurant when we left. They split into pairs and headed our way. And they’re still there matching us stride for stride but keeping just back.”