David Baldacci - The Last Mile

Bogart steered the vehicle onto a highway entrance ramp and punched the gas. “How so?” he asked.

“She was a loose end. They had to let her live long enough so that her husband was executed and couldn’t recant his confession. They had already given her some of the promised payout, which is how she bought all that stuff. But why let her live after her husband is dead? She probably knew too much. I doubt she knows exactly who is behind this, but she’s made contact with someone. And if she told us about that we could conceivably follow it back to the source. So, no more Regina.”

Bogart nodded. “That makes sense.”

“But now that they’ve eliminated her, we’ve lost that chance,” said Decker. He slammed the palm of his hand against the dash, making all of them jump. “I shouldn’t have left her like that. I should have known what would happen.” He looked at Bogart. “I blew it.”

“Well, actually, you were the only one who suspected her in the first place,” the FBI agent replied. “But let’s get out to her place and see what we can find.”

Decker nodded absently but his expression was not hopeful.

I’m an idiot. The woman is dead because I’m an idiot.

What the initial explosion had not destroyed, the resulting fire had pretty much taken care of. It was fortunate that no one had been living in the other part of the duplex. There was substantial damage to a number of other nearby units, but luckily there were no fatalities other than Regina Montgomery.

Decker surveyed the area. The fire was out. Montgomery’s home had been catastrophically damaged. It was truly a miracle that there was anything left of her to identify. Apparently the blast had blown her clear of the house before the fire consumed the duplex. The firemen had reported to the police that they had found her body in the front yard.

Bogart had parked the SUV well back of the area and they had walked the rest of the way. A light, misty rain had begun to fall, which, added to the smoke from the still smoldering fire, made it seem like they were taking a stroll through fog.

They gathered at the rear of an ambulance and one of the local police lifted the sheet off the corpse in back.

It clearly was Regina Montgomery. Her face was burned but otherwise intact. It might have been the concussive force of the blast that had killed her. One of her legs was missing, as well as the lower part of her right arm.

“She still has her Cartier watch on,” observed Jamison.

Decker’s gaze ran over the body, and then he looked over at the ruins of the duplex. Up and down the short street, folks were standing outside of their homes, wondering what the hell was going on. Some were dressed in tattered robes, others simply in their underwear.

Since the duplexes here each had their own propane tank, the authorities had seen no need to evacuate the area, as they probably would have had it been a natural gas explosion running off a main pipe.

Bogart took a few minutes to explain to the local police their theory on what might have happened.

One of them said, “Well, we’ll get the arson boys in here. They’ll be able to tell if someone deliberately started this thing. Always leaves signs behind.”

He left to report in, leaving the four of them there to look dismally around.

“Even if they can trace the point of origin of the blast, it might not provide any clues to who did it,” said Davenport.

Bogart and Jamison nodded at this obvious point; however, Decker was staring over at where the duplex had once stood, his attention evidently elsewhere.

“What is it?” asked Bogart when he noticed the distracted Decker.

“There’s only one road in or out of here. There is absolutely no cover for anyone to do a stakeout. It’s far enough off the main road so that whoever came and did this would have to risk leaving their car back there and make their way on foot. Otherwise, someone would have heard something. Or seen something.” He turned and looked at Bogart. “Did anyone see or hear anything?”

“I can sure find out.”

Bogart fast-walked over to a group of police officers who were huddled together near the destroyed duplex watching the firefighters pour more water on the remaining embers. He spoke with them for a few minutes and then came back over to Decker.

“They went house by house soon after they got here and took statements from everyone. No one saw or heard anything until the explosion occurred.”

Decker looked up and down the row of duplexes and the folks standing in front of each. “The duplex attached to Montgomery’s was vacant?”

Bogart nodded.

Decker looked up and down the duplex row again. “Any others vacant?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, there’re people standing in front of all these places except for that one.”

He indicated the fourth duplex down on the left. The lights were out and, as Decker had said, no one was standing outside it.

“There’s no car there, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not everyone who lives here has a car,” noted Bogart. “And the place might be vacant.”

Decker’s mind revolved back to both times they had been to visit Regina Montgomery. He had seen nothing when he had been here with Bogart. But last night he had seen a light on in that house and a car had been parked out front.

He told Bogart this and said, “The vehicle was a four-door tan Toyota Avalon. The license plates were not visible from where I was standing. But you can see ruts in the front of the house caused by the car’s wheels. They’re fresh.”

Bogart said, “Okay, that puts things in a different light. There might be someone there.”

“Let’s go see for ourselves,” said Decker. “And it would make sense to get some backup.”

He pulled his gun while Bogart motioned to one of the officers, who hurried over. After some whispered instructions the officer and his colleagues pulled their weapons and headed over to the darkened house. When they got there, they surrounded it. With Decker and Bogart behind the three officers in front, the lead cop pounded on the door, identified himself, and asked to be let in. No response came.

He called out one more time and then kicked the door in. The flimsy wood gave in on the first try. At the same instant the rear door was broken down and the two sets of cops flooded the small space.

A minute later the all-clear was given.

Decker and the others were allowed into the duplex.

There wasn’t much to see. It was empty. Not a stick of furniture or anything else.

“Doesn’t look like anyone was ever here,” said Davenport.

“But someone was,” said Decker.

Mars kept shaking his head in disbelief.

“Somebody just killed her? Blew up her house?”

Decker nodded.

They were sitting in the lobby of the hotel with Jamison and Davenport.

“But you said her son is okay?” said Mars.

“He’s fine, other than losing both his parents on pretty much the same day.”

“And you really think someone murdered her?”

“If not, it’s the biggest coincidence I’ve ever seen. And I don’t even believe in little coincidences.”

“Do you know who might have done it?”

“Whoever was paying her off, with Cartier watches and expensive clothes, and promises of a better life with her son.”

“So you think Tommy might be in danger?” asked Jamison.

“Bogart has state troopers looking after him,” replied Decker. “I doubt his mother told him anything, but whoever killed her can’t be certain of that. It was clear when we spoke to Tommy that he just thought it was insurance money.”

Mars glanced at him. “What do we do now?”

At that moment Bogart walked into the room looking agitated and upset.