David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“And how did that get you to the Marses?”

Montgomery looked down again, his thumbs pressing together, his brow furrowed.

“See, I didn’t know that was their name, not at first.”

“Okay, but walk us through that night,” said Decker.

“I come into town the night before, just passing through. Didn’t know nobody and nobody knew me. It was a one-traffic-light shithole.”

“You said the night before. Did you stay anywhere?” asked Bogart.

Montgomery looked at him crossly. “And pay with what? I had nothing in my pocket. Not even no change. I was hungry but I couldn’t buy no food either. Much less a place to stay. I slept in my car.”

“Keep going,” said Decker.

“I drove past this pawnshop the next day. It was in the little downtown area. At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then I got an idea. I went inside, thinking maybe I might pawn something. I had my medals, and an old service pistol. If I pawned those I could get something to eat. And I was riding on close to vapors. So I could maybe fill up my tank and head on to the next shithole. Anyways, there was a dude in there. Tall, white guy.”

“That was Roy Mars,” said Jamison. “He worked there.”

Montgomery nodded. “But I didn’t know that was his name back then. I pulled out my stuff and showed him. But he told me they weren’t interested in crap like that. Lotta former soldiers in Texas, he said, and then he pointed to a case full of guns and old medals dudes had pawned and never come back for.”

Bogart and Decker exchanged a glance.

Montgomery continued. “Anyway, that pissed me off. I asked the guy if he was a vet and he said that was none of my business and if I was looking for a handout I’d come to the wrong place because they were barely making a living as it was. Then the door opened and another customer came in. I walked over to the corner and watched. When the man opened the cash register I saw all the money in there. That’s when I knew the dude had lied to me. He had money. He wasn’t barely getting by. That pissed me off even more.”

“What did you do then?” asked Bogart.

“Went back to my car and waited. Army teaches patience. I was hunting this dude and didn’t care how long it took. He closed the shop up at nine, got in his car and drove off. I followed him. He got to his place, which was in the middle of nowhere. No other homes around. That was fine with me. He went inside. I parked my car and got out.”

“What kind of car were you driving?” asked Decker.

Montgomery didn’t hesitate. “Rusted-out piece of shit ’77 V-eight Pontiac Grand Prix, dark blue, big as a house. You could land a chopper on the sucker’s hood.”

“Surprised you remember that in such detail.”

“I lived in that car for about a year.”

“Did you own it?” asked Decker.

Montgomery lifted his gaze to him. “I stole it from somewhere and got plates off a ride in an impoundment lot in Tennessee. Don’t remember where.”

“So you were waiting outside the house?” prompted Decker.

“Right. I pulled surveillance on the place. Again, what the Army taught me. I was able to see in a couple of windows without being seen. It was just the two of them. Him and, I supposed, his wife. I remember she was black, which surprised me him being white.”

“Okay,” said Decker. “What then?”

“I waited until maybe eleven-thirty or a little later.”

“You’re sure about that?” asked Decker.

Montgomery flashed him a surprised look. “Yeah, why?”

“Just trying to confirm. Keep going.”

“So’s I got in through the back door. It wasn’t locked. I had my gun out.”

“What kind of gun?” asked Bogart.

“My service piece, one I tried to pawn.”

Decker nodded. “And then what?”

“They weren’t downstairs. I had seen the lights go out and then the lights go on upstairs. Figured they were going to bed. I snuck up the stairs, but I got messed up on the room they were in. I went into one bedroom but it was empty. Girlie posters on the wall, athletic gear everywhere, so I was guessing it was their kid’s room. I was worried maybe their kid was sleeping in the bed, but it was empty.”

“And that’s when you saw it?” asked Decker, which drew a sharp glance from Jamison and Davenport.

Montgomery licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. The shotgun was in a rack on the wall. I thought if I was going to do this, I couldn’t use my service piece. They might be able to trace it to me, you know, through ballistics.”

“Not if they didn’t have your gun,” pointed out Bogart.

“Yeah, but they might arrest me and then they’d have my gun,” countered Montgomery.

“Keep going,” said Decker.

“I took the shotgun, found the ammo for it in a little drawer attached to the rack, and loaded it. Then I went into their bedroom. They were in bed asleep, but I got ’em up. They were scared shitless. Dude remembered me. I told him I wanted the money from the till back at the pawnshop. If he did that I’d let ’em live. He said that was impossible because the owner took it every night and put it in the bank’s night deposit slot. That really ticked me off. See, I thought he was the owner, but he was just some little prick clerk. But he had talked big like he owned the damn place. I don’t like people lying to me. Don’t sit well. Bet the sonofabitch never wore the uniform. And he’s looking down on me? Telling me he’s not giving me a handout ?” Montgomery shook his head with finality. “Who the hell does he think he is? No way I’m letting that pass. So I blew him away. His wife was screaming. I couldn’t let her live, right? So I shot her too.”

Montgomery stopped abruptly and looked around at Jamison and Davenport.

“What’s wrong?” asked Decker.

“I felt bad about popping the woman, but there was nothing else I could do.” He shrugged. “I’ve killed people. On the battlefield and off. But I never killed no woman before. It was his fault, not hers.”

“And then what did you do?” asked Decker, hiding his disgust at the man’s apportioning of blame for Lucinda Mars’s murder onto her husband.

Milligan was busy writing all this down in his tablet, but he too looked upset at what he was hearing.

“I panicked. I mean, you get the adrenaline rush when you’re doing it. But when it’s done it’s like you’re coming off a crack high. You crash. My first thought was just to run for it. But then I looked down at the bodies and thought of something else. When I had been scoping out the place I peeked in the garage. Saw the gas can. I ran down and got it and poured the gas over them and then set them on fire.”

“But why?” asked Bogart.

“I thought...” He faltered. “I thought maybe if they and the house burned down they might just think it was a fire that killed ’em. And not that nobody had shot ’em.”

“What’d you do with the shotgun?” asked Decker.

“Put it back on the rack.”

“Then you left?”

“Yeah. I jumped in my car and hightailed it out of there.”

“Did you see another vehicle while you were driving away?” asked Decker.

Montgomery shook his head. “I was so screwed up in the head right then I coulda passed a convoy of Army tanks and never even noticed it.”

“Were you wearing gloves?” asked Decker.

“Gloves?”

“When you picked up the shotgun?”

“Oh yeah, I had on gloves. Didn’t want to leave no prints behind. I was in the Army, they were on file.” He paused and looked at Decker. “And that’s... it.”

“Not quite. How’d you find out about Melvin Mars?”

“Oh, that,” said Montgomery offhandedly. “This was just within the last year. I was here in prison. Dude told me about Mars. He said he heard it from a guy over in Texas.”