Дэвид Балдаччи - Long Road to Mercy

The man braced for an attack as he looked directly at her.

Pine snapped his picture with her phone and then she pulled her gun.

I’m just going to shoot the son of a bitch.

But, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Pine floored it.

Five minutes later, after many turns, she slipped into a parking lot at the back of a Starbucks.

She put the car in park and looked at Russell. He had no pulse. His eyes were glassed over, unresponsive. He was dead. She felt the back of his neck.

His vertebrae were like a jigsaw puzzle that had fallen out of a box.

One kick thrown through the small opening of a car window to the head had literally shattered a very large man’s spine.

She sat there thinking for a few minutes. When she arrived at her decision, she wasn’t happy about it, but she could see no other way. At least no other way that would allow her to remain an FBI agent and stay out of prison.

Pine put the car in gear and drove off.

She now had to do something she had never thought she would.

I have to dispose of a body.

Atlee Pine was incredibly strong.

But a corpse was, understandably enough, dead weight, and not so easy to move.

She opened the passenger door of the Mustang, squatted down, clutched the late Simon Russell under the armpits, and hoisted him out of the car. Before he toppled over, she set him against the side of the car, propping him up there by wedging her thigh against his knees, pinning his long legs tight against the Mustang. With her forearm, she kept his torso upright.

Okay, this is just like any other lift.

She counted to three and let go of the body. As he toppled forward, she squatted down and caught him at the waist with her shoulder and then stood. The tall, lean man was hoisted into the air, bent in half over her broad shoulder.

She moved forward slowly.

Pine had debated with great difficulty over what she was about to do. There was nothing “normal” about an FBI agent carrying a corpse and putting it anywhere. She was breaking every crime scene protocol there was, along with more than a few laws.

And sitting in her Mustang, thinking all of this through, tormented by doubt and guilt, and conflicted in a way she never had been before, Pine had decided that this was the only path forward. If she tried to go into the Bureau with a dead body in tow, she figured she would be Blum’s age before she ever saw the light of day.

It would have been easier for her to just drop Russell’s body in the woods, but she couldn’t do that. He would be ravaged by wild animals, which would be not only disrespectful to him, but also disruptive for the forensic investigation to follow. Atlee Pine, criminal investigator, could never be a party to that.

She had picked her location well, far out in rural Virginia. No CCTV cameras, no one else around. One road in and one out. She had driven around until she had found it. She knew this area from having worked a murder scene here years ago while stationed at the WFO. It was typical serial killer land: remote, lots of dirt in which to bury bodies, no police nearby, lonely roads, no witnesses. Same old, same old.

The old house looked like it had been built in the sixties. The chain-link fence had fallen down. The concrete stoop was cracked. The paint was peeling off the siding, and the yard was all weeds.

But it had doors and windows and not a single neighbor. She had no idea who had once owned it, or why someone had built it here.

It smelled of rot and mildew and all the traces the years left on everything.

She pushed open the front door with her boot, carried Russell inside, and set him down on the plank floor. She took a note she had written from her pocket and stuck it in his shirt. It provided details about what had happened to Russell for the police to find and use.

As she hovered over the dead man who stared up at her, Pine said, “I’m sorry, Simon. I... I didn’t mean for it to end this way. But I’m going to get the guy who took your life. No matter what.”

She left the house, got back into her car, and slowly drove away, her lights out.

Once she reached the main road she clicked on her headlights and picked up speed.

When she was about twenty minutes away she used a new burner phone to call 911, giving them the location and what they would find there.

She got back to the condo in Ballston in the wee hours of the morning.

She found Blum dozing on the couch in her pajamas.

Pine debated whether to wake her or not, then gently nudged the woman’s shoulder.

Blum blinked and then sat up as Pine went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a beer.

“Where have you been?” Blum asked sleepily.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“That’s okay. I was waiting up for you, but I guess I didn’t make it. What happened?”

Pine popped open the beer and took the chair opposite. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I could make you an accessory.”

“I’m afraid that ship sailed a long time ago, my dear. And if it makes you feel any better, I was an extremely willing participant.”

Pine took a sip of her beer and winced. Her mouth still ached from where the Asian had clobbered her. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Pine methodically set out what had happened.

When she got to the part about Russell’s death from one kick, Blum said, “You’re lucky that man didn’t kill you the other night.”

“I’m not feeling too lucky right now, but I see your point. I did manage to get this.” She took out her phone and brought the picture of the man up on the screen. She held it up.

“He looks totally innocuous.”

“Good cover, because he’s totally lethal.” Pine chugged her beer. “I need to check out this SFG place, obviously.”

“Not to sound like a concerned mom, but how about the next move being you get some sleep? If you’re exhausted you’re not going to be much good to anyone.”

Pine slowly stood and said in a contrite tone, “I shouldn’t have involved you in this, Carol. It wasn’t right of me to ask. I can’t keep count of the laws I’ve broken. My career at the FBI is over, no matter how this turns out. Hell, I’m probably going to prison.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it.”

Pine glanced at her in surprise. “What’s the other way?”

“That you solve this case and they give you a big medal. And a decent chair to sit in.”

Pine gave her a grim smile. “Is that J. Edgar Hoover talking?”

“No, Special Agent Pine, that’s pure Carol Blum.”

When had sleep ever come easily?

Ever?

Pine rolled over and checked the time on her phone.

Nine a.m.

She could hear people walking down the hall from other condos. The hum of the elevator. And outside, cars driving down the street.

All normal noises. Nothing that should have unduly interrupted her sleep. The drapes were closed tight so no sunlight could get in.

She was exhausted.

And yet here she was. Awake.

She got out of bed, padded over to the dresser, and picked up her cred pack.

Stuck behind her official ID card was her most cherished possession. It meant more to her than her second most prized possession: her FBI shield.

She slid the old photo out and held it in her palm. It was small, just like the subjects captured in it.

It was the last photo of her and Mercy together. In fact, it was the only photo that Pine could remember of them together. It had been taken three days before her sister vanished. It was one of those instant color Polaroids that had once been so popular.