Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fix

Before Decker could answer, Jamison said, “National security.”

Jenkins’s jaw dropped, “Oh my goodness, right.” He handed them the printed pages.

“I have to go and make my nightly rounds,” he said. “Feel free to use my office as long as necessary.”

He left, and Decker and Jamison started going over the pages.

“What are we looking for, Decker?”

“Anything that seems out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not sure how we can tell that by looking at people’s ages and pictures. I mean, what would she be doing here anyway? And we’re not even sure if these people were here at the same time she was. I mean, if she wanted to talk to someone they would have to be here, right? And she only visited with a few patients. Maybe we can ask Jenkins if he knows—”

“Prisoner,” exclaimed Decker.

He had jumped up and raced out, leaving Jamison sitting holding sheets of paper and looking stunned.

She slumped back in her seat for a few moments before getting up and hustling after him. “I swear to God, one day I’m just going to kill him.”

Decker stood in the darkened doorway and looked down at the little boy.

Joey Scott was sound asleep in his bed.

The rain continued to pour down outside.

Decker’s gaze swept the room, taking it all in. Then he saw what he had come here for.

A moment later Jamison came to stand next to him.

“What are you—”

When Jamison saw Joey she fell silent. She looked up at Decker.

He said in a low voice, “He has leukemia. The really bad kind. He’s not going to make it.”

Jamison’s mouth quivered. “How old?” she said in a crackling voice.

“Ten. His name is Joey.”

Jamison’s gaze ran along the lines running to his body from the IV stand. The monitor’s greenish screen was filled with the boy’s weak vitals.

“But why are you here?”

“Because of that.”

He walked over and picked the book off the shelf next to the bed. He looked down at the cover.

The Prisoner of Azkaban.

“Hello?”

Decker turned to see Joey staring up at him.

“Hello, Joey.”

“You’re the Cleveland Brown.”

“That’s right. Amos Decker.”

“What are you doing here?”

Decker looked over his shoulder and said, “I brought my friend Alex to meet you, Joey.”

He eyed Jamison, who still stood in the doorway, and inclined his head toward Joey. She slowly came into the room and drew close to the bed.

“Hi, Joey.”

“Hi, Alex.”

He glanced at Decker’s hand. “Did you come to read to me? Is it morning yet?”

“No, it’s nighttime. We didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I wake up sometimes just because.”

Decker and Jamison together watched the slender chest rise and fall, as Joey seemed to work to catch his breath.

“Do you need us to get help?” asked Jamison nervously.

Joey shook his head. “No. It happens sometimes. It’ll pass.”

They waited another minute or so and Joey’s breathing became normal.

Decker sat down in the chair next to the bed and held up the book. “Anne was reading this to you?”

“Yeah.”

A spear of lightning lit the sky. It was followed by a boom of thunder that made Jamison jump.

“Did she read the first two in the series to you?” Decker asked.

“The first two?”

“Yeah, this one is the third one. There are two books before it and four that come after it. You learn where Harry Potter came from. And how he got to go to Hogwarts and meet his friends. Stuff like that.”

Joey looked confused. “No. That was the only one she’d been reading to me.”

“And she leaves it here?”

“Well, sometimes. But other times she takes it with her. But then she always brings it back. We don’t have too many pages left. I think I can make it to the end.” He sucked in a huge breath. “I hope I can anyway.”

At this, Jamison looked away, her eyes filling with tears.

Decker looked very tense as he prepared to speak. “Does anyone else come here and read this book to you, Joey?”

Jamison shot him a glance.

“No. Just Anne. Nobody else.”

Decker said, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Just Anne. I think it’s her book. Why?”

“We were just wondering, Joey,” said Jamison hastily when it didn’t appear that Decker was going to answer. “Do you like the story? The Harry Potter series is great. I started reading them when I was in elementary school.”

“Yeah, it’s good. I like Harry. But Hermione is my favorite.”

“Why is that?”

“She likes to read. I do too. I did anyway. Lots of books.” He pointed at Decker. “But I played football too, like him, before I got sick. I bet I would have been pretty good.”

“I bet you would have been pretty great,” said Jamison, trying very hard to keep her voice from cracking.

Decker looked down at the book as though it had somehow failed him.

“Well, thanks, Joey,” he said. “Maybe I’ll come back and finish reading this book to you.”

“And maybe I can come too,” said Jamison suddenly, seeming to surprise even herself with the comment.

“That would be good,” said Joey. “Thanks. Maybe you can meet Anne.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Decker.

“I used to do a lot of volunteer work,” said Jamison. “Maybe I can volunteer here. How about that, Joey?”

“Sure,” he said, but then his smile faded and all his energy seemed to disappear along with it. He closed his eyes and his breathing deepened a bit.

“This is beyond sad,” whispered Jamison. “He’s just a little boy. Doesn’t he have anybody?”

“No. He was going to be adopted, but the people apparently pulled out when he got sick.”

“What bastards!”

“And the world is full of them, Alex.”

“What were you hoping to prove with that book?”

“Just trying to make sense out of something. I was pretty sure, but that goes to show that anybody can be wrong.”

Decker rose and was about to put the book back when Joey opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him.

“It’s funny, though,” said Joey.

“What is?” asked Decker quickly.

“I woke up tonight and saw you with the book.”

Decker glanced down at the book and then back up at Joey. “Yeah? What’s funny about that?”

“Well, I’ve woken up a couple times I guess during the night, and I saw him with the book too. That was what’s funny. I mean, it’s not like he reads to me. And then he walked out with it. But when I woke up the next morning it was back on the shelf. Both times.”

“Who?” asked Decker, his voice unusually tight. “Who took the book?”

“The guy with the glasses. I think his name is...” He stopped to think for a moment. “You know, like the chipmunk?”

“You mean,” began Jamison.

Decker had already turned and rushed out of the room.

“Alvin,” finished Jamison before turning and running after Decker.

An irritated Decker hovered at the front entrance to Dominion Hospice.

Bogart was talking to a police officer in the front parking lot. The man hurried off and Bogart turned and headed over to Decker.

The reality was not a good one.

Alvin Jenkins was nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t gone to make rounds. He had apparently fled the premises right after leaving Decker and Jamison in his office.

Decker had called Bogart in immediately. The last several hours had been spent searching the building and finding nothing helpful.

Bogart said, “We have a BOLO out on him. And we have a team at his apartment. Or at least at the address that was in his file.”