Дэвид Балдаччи: The Fix

Decker stared down at Walter Dabney for a few moments, as his mind whirred back to the morning when he’d seen this man walking down the street, seemingly without a care, until he pulled out a gun and murdered Anne Berkshire in front of Decker and dozens of other people. Decker’s perfect memory went step by step through that scenario. He came out at the other end, though, not as enlightened as he would have liked.

Sitting in the same chair she had been in earlier was Ellie Dabney. Milligan stood by the door. Bogart and Jamison were on the other side of the bed. Ellie still clasped her husband’s hand.

Decker had learned that the critically injured man had said nothing. He had never even regained consciousness.

Decker knelt next to Ellie. “Mrs. Dabney, when your husband left the house this morning were you up?”

She nodded, the grip on her husband’s hand lessening a bit. “I made him some coffee. And he had his breakfast. Eggs, bacon, roasted potatoes, and toast,” she added, smiling weakly. “I could never get him to eat better.”

“So his appetite was good?”

“He ate everything and had three cups of coffee.”

“You never saw a gun?”

Ellie shook her head. “He had his briefcase already packed. I guess it could have been in there, but I didn’t see it. As I told the other agents, I didn’t even know he had a gun. As far as I knew he didn’t even like them. I certainly didn’t. When our kids were small we had a neighbor who had one. Our kids went over there to play one day. He left his loaded gun out and one of his children accidentally shot his sister. She died. Walter and I were stunned. All we could think was that it could have been our child.”

“I understand. Now, I’m sure you’ve been asked this, but this morning, your husband didn’t appear upset or anything to indicate something was wrong?”

“No. He had a meeting to go to. I suppose at the FBI. I know he was working on something for them. He kissed me goodbye.”

“So nothing out of the ordinary, then?” Decker persisted.

Ellie stiffened a bit. “Well, come to think of it, he didn’t say he’d see me for dinner.” She looked at Decker. “He always would tell me he’d see me for dinner. I mean when he was in town and didn’t have a previous engagement, which I knew he didn’t today.”

“So he didn’t say he’d see you tonight, then?” said Decker.

“No.” She shook her head wearily. “It’s such a small thing, but it always made me feel... good. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it until now.”

“You’ve had a lot to deal with, Mrs. Dabney.”

“So he must have known he wasn’t coming home,” she said blankly. “And I didn’t pick up on it.” She suddenly jerked upright. “Oh my God, maybe if I had—” She looked like she might start sobbing.

Bogart went over, put a hand on her arm, and said, “There was absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent this.”

Decker rose and looked at Bogart. The FBI agent said, “Mrs. Dabney, I know the timing couldn’t be worse, but we’re going to have to send a team of people to your home to do a search. We’re doing the same for your husband’s office too.”

Ellie didn’t object. She simply nodded, squeezed her husband’s hand, and said, “Do you know when Jules will be here?”

“Her flight gets in in another hour. We’re sending people to bring her directly here.”

“Thank you,” she said dully.

Decker walked over to a corner of the room and motioned for Bogart to join him there. In a low voice he said, “I’d like to be there when they go through the home and office.”

Bogart nodded. “Todd can stay here with me for now. You can take Alex with you. Anything of interest with Berkshire?”

“She spent time with dying people. Everyone has nice things to say about her. She lives in a place that it doesn’t seem she can afford on a substitute teacher’s salary. And it looks like no one has even really lived there. And we can find nothing on her past ten years ago.”

“So, odd, to say the least?”

“Different, anyway,” noted Decker.

“Does that mean you think she was specifically targeted by Dabney?”

Decker shrugged. “Too early to tell. But a random victim with some weird shit in their lives? I don’t know. Could be a coincidence, or it could be a clue as to why she was killed in the first place.”

“Which would entail Dabney having some connection with her.”

Decker shrugged again. “If her money came through some lawsuit or inheritance, then maybe the connection lies there, though I can’t see what that might be. It could be personal between the two.”

“Mrs. Dabney is certain that her husband didn’t know Berkshire.”

“But you also told me she said she knows nothing of her husband’s business. So if it was a professional relationship she might not know about it.”

“But maybe someone at his office would,” pointed out Bogart.

“We can only hope.”

Decker looked at Jamison and said, “Let’s go.”

Walter Dabney and Associates was located off the Fairfax County Parkway in Reston, Virginia. The area was home to lots of government contractors, from massive ones like Lockheed Martin to one-person shops. Dabney’s business wasn’t a Fortune 500 behemoth, but as Decker and Jamison walked into the bright, open, and fashionably furnished reception area on the top floor of a modern glass-and-steel six-story building, it was apparent that Dabney had built a very successful enterprise. Though the hour was late, the news had reached the local and national pipelines and people who worked here had not gone home, as normal. They were out in the hallways looking pale, confused, and distraught.

After showing their IDs, Decker and Jamison were escorted to a small conference room by a young woman. A minute later a woman in her late thirties opened the door and stepped in. She was about five-five, with a runner’s trim build, shoulder-length reddish-blonde hair, and square-rimmed glasses perched on her freckled face.

“I’m Faye Thompson. I’m a partner here. Is it... is it really true?”

Decker said, “I’m afraid so.”

“Is Walter...?”

“He’s still alive, but the prognosis is not good,” said Jamison.

Decker said, “We’d like to ask some questions.”

“Of course, please have a seat. Would you like anything? Coffee, water?”

Jamison opted for water and Decker for black coffee. Thompson ordered a hot tea.

When the drinks arrived and the door closed behind the assistant, Decker took a sip of his coffee and said, “Tell us about Walter Dabney.”

Jamison took a small recorder out of her pocket and put it on the table. “Do you mind if I record this?”

Thompson shook her head and sat back. “I’m not sure where to begin. Walter is a great guy. I joined the firm a year out of college. I’ve been here fifteen years, made partner eight years ago. He was a wonderful mentor and friend. And also one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. I can’t believe what happened.”

“So nothing you observed to explain what he did?” asked Decker.

“That Walter would shoot and kill someone on the street? No. No way. It’s unthinkable.”

“We know he went downtown this morning for a meeting at the FBI. Were you aware of that?”

“Yes. We’re consulting with the Bureau on some projects. We partner with some major contractors, lending our expertise to give the Bureau the best possible resources so they can do their job at optimal levels.”

Decker said, “That’s the official pitch anyway.”

Thompson stared defiantly at him. “And it’s also the truth. We’re very highly ranked in our space. Our reputation is stellar.”