David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“Do you know the name of the doctor?”

“No.” He paused. “I guess back then it was all about me, Decker. I really didn’t have that much to do with my parents. I was so busy with football. But... but I still loved them. I was going to take care of them. But... shit.”

He looked down, his features full of a guilty misery.

“You were dealing with a lot for a young guy, Melvin. I wouldn’t beat yourself up too badly.”

“This brain cancer. Do you think it has anything to do with their deaths?”

“I don’t see how. But what I don’t see right now could fill a library.”

Mars sat up and wiped his face again. “What do I do if they let me loose, Decker?” he said in a hollow tone. He looked across at Decker like a little boy lost in a world he didn’t even know existed.

Decker appeared uncomfortable at this query and said nothing.

Mars looked down and continued, “I was nearly twenty-two when I left the world. I’m almost forty-two now. I was a kid then, now I’m a man. But back then I still had plans. Lots of ’em. Now, I don’t have a... damn clue what I’m supposed to do.”

He glanced up at Decker, saw the blank face staring back at him, and looked away. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out. Always do.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time, Melvin.”

“Yeah, right,” said Mars absently.

Decker leaned forward. It was time to discuss what he had come here to talk about.

“What if you didn’t do it and Charles Montgomery also didn’t do it?”

Mars sat up looking bewildered. “What?”

“What’s the third option, Melvin? That’s what I want to know.”

“Third option?”

“Your parents’ past is too fuzzy. Nobody looked at that back then because they had you dead to rights for the murders. But there are too many holes. There might be something in one of those holes that would explain why they were killed.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“But why don’t you believe Montgomery? He knew stuff from my house.”

“He could have been told all that by whoever really did it.”

“But why would he do that? Confess to a crime he didn’t commit?”

“Because he’s already a dead man. What’s two more murders? They can’t execute him a second time. And what if someone asked him to do it in return for setting up his wife and kid for life?”

Mars slumped back in his chair. “Set them up for life? That’s big money. My parents... why would anyone with big money care about them? Or care about getting me outta prison after all this time?”

“I don’t have answers for that. I just have the questions.”

Mars rubbed his face with a sweaty hand. “You’re throwing me for a loop with all this shit, man. First you tell me my mom had cancer and now this,” he added angrily.

“I figured you might want to know the truth. The real truth. If I spent twenty years of my life in prison for something I didn’t do, I’d want to know exactly who put me there. And why.”

Mars stared at him for a few seconds and then started to nod. “Yeah, me too. So how can I help?”

“By remembering anything you can about your parents. Something they said that seemed odd. Letters, phone calls they might have gotten that seemed off somehow. Visitors. Anything that might tell us where they really came from.”

“I’ll have to give that some thought.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

Milligan put down his cup of coffee and stared across the table at Decker.

The team was having dinner at an Applebee’s in Austin, where they had moved Mars after his release from the rehab facility. The rain was pouring down outside and they had spent a long day going over the details of everything they could find about Charles Montgomery.

Milligan said, “There is a life insurance policy that does pay off when Montgomery dies.”

“But it’s only for thirty thousand dollars,” said Jamison, who was sitting next to Decker.

“But it’s big money to her, I bet,” replied Milligan.

“Not enough to buy a house and not have to work,” pointed out Davenport.

“So maybe Tommy Montgomery was exaggerating,” countered Milligan.

“I don’t think so.”

Milligan said, “Why don’t you just tell us why you really think Montgomery is lying? Come on, Decker, we’re a team, right? We need to share information.”

Decker put down his fork and wiped his mouth using his napkin.

“It’s a question of cash flow.”

“Excuse me?” said Milligan in an aggressive tone. “With the wife?”

“No, the husband.” Decker had selected a salad, though he really wanted the ribs. When he’d made noises about ordering the rack of ribs Jamison had given him a look that had made him feel guilty enough to go with the leafy vegetables. He had dropped fifteen more pounds and his knees didn’t ache all the time anymore. But in an act of defiance, he had ordered an Amstel Light.

He finished off his beer and looked over at the man with the expression of someone having to do something he really didn’t want to be bothered doing.

“Montgomery told us he had no money when he got to town. That’s why he went to the pawnshop. He rode into town on an empty gas tank and an empty stomach. He told us after he killed the Marses he tore out of town. He didn’t steal anything from them, or anyone else. He didn’t work a job before he left. He said he drove all the way to Abilene, which is about a three-hour trip, without stopping.”

“Okay, so?”

“He was driving a ’77 Impala with a V-eight. I looked it up. Brand-new that car got about eighteen miles to the gallon highway. After nearly twenty years I doubt it would get much more than twelve at best. He’d need about fifteen gallons at minimum to make the trip. And back then gas was a little over a buck a gallon. So if he came into town on an empty tank and wallet and left with an empty tank and wallet, how’d he get all the way to Abilene without running out of gas? And on top of that he had to drive all the way out to the Marses’ house to kill them. That’s nearly two gallons right there. So tell me, how is that all possible?”

Davenport and Jamison exchanged a quick glance.

Bogart cleared his throat and said, “It’s not. Which means he was either lying or mistaken.”

Decker said, “I don’t buy it that he was mistaken. He was too specific on the details. It was just a small point that was overlooked when the cover story was put together.”

“Whoa,” said Milligan. “Where do you get a cover story?”

“Someone had to put it together.”

“That is a huge and, in my mind, unjustified leap of logic.”

“Well, I guess that’s just the difference between my mind and yours.”

Milligan screwed up his face at this comment and picked up his coffee. “And remember Lucinda’s blood in Melvin’s car? She never used that car,” he said. “So how’d the blood get there? Montgomery sure as hell couldn’t have put it there.”

Bogart’s phone rang. He answered the call, listened for a few moments, and then clicked off.

He looked around the table. “The Texas court has just decided to give Mars a full pardon. He’s being released from prison.”

“That’s great news,” said Jamison.

“If he’s innocent,” said Milligan sullenly. “Not so great if he’s not.”

“I wonder if he wants to go to Alabama,” said Bogart.

“Alabama?” asked Davenport. “Why?”

“Family members of the victims are entitled to witness the execution. And although technically Montgomery wasn’t convicted of the murders, he did confess to them, and it’s not like Mars will get a second chance to see him put to death.”