David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“And Charles Montgomery didn’t mention taking anything from here,” added Jamison.

Decker nodded. “And if your dad had been surprised by an intruder in bed he would have had a gun to defend himself.”

“What does that tell us?” asked Davenport, looking suddenly intrigued.

“That they forgot that part of the story,” said Decker. “Melvin, did you tell anyone about the pistols?”

“No, nobody asked me.”

“And you didn’t testify at trial,” added Decker. “So what happened to the guns?”

Davenport looked around. “Well, somebody could have come along and taken them later.”

Decker shook his head. “The police would have searched this place from top to bottom long before any souvenir hunter could have taken anything. And if they had found two pistols it would have been listed in the inventory. They weren’t, so that means the pistols were not found here.” He looked at Mars. “You said he kept them locked up. Where?”

“Portable gun case he kept in the hall closet.”

“How big?”

“About two feet square.”

“Show me.”

They trooped to the closet and Mars pointed to the spot, a shelf above the clothes rack. Decker already knew there was no gun case there, because he had looked in the closet during his first visit here.

Decker said, “Your parents were killed by the shotgun you had and which was found here, and then their bodies were burned. No reason to inquire about handguns. And the police didn’t.” He shot Mars a glance. “Who would have known about the gun case?”

Mars shrugged. “I knew. My mom knew. We never had visitors here. So maybe nobody else knew.”

“Well, someone must have, because they’re gone.” Decker added, “Why did he have two pistols?”

“Everybody in Texas has guns.”

“Shotguns, rifles, yeah, but why two handguns?”

“We lived in the boonies. For protection, I guess.”

“Did you see them any other time except when he took one up to bed with him?”

“One night my dad was cleaning them.”

“That the only time you saw him cleaning them?” asked Decker.

Mars nodded.

“When was that?”

“Why does that matter?” snapped Mars, but then he calmed. “I’m not sure. Sometime around—”

“Around the time you went to the elementary school? Maybe a few days after?”

Mars looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, how’d you figure that?”

Jamison answered. “Because your dad might have assumed someone saw him on the telecast and recognized him.”

Davenport added, “So your father was getting ready in case someone from his past came calling.”

Decker concluded, “And they apparently did.”

Jamison gave Decker a curious look. “Okay, I get them taking out their revenge or whatever on the parents, but why frame Melvin for it?”

“Maybe payback by association,” said Decker. “They wanted to take out the whole family.”

“But why not just kill me too?” asked Mars. “Why set up this elaborate frame?”

“I wish I could answer that, but I can’t,” said Decker. “But for some reason they wanted you to pay the penalty for their crime.”

Davenport cleared her throat and the others turned to her. She glanced nervously at Mars. “I’m not saying this is the case, Melvin.”

“What?” he said abruptly. “What’s not the case?”

“Whoever killed your parents may have mimicked whatever wrong, or perceived wrong,” she added quickly, “that may have been committed against them.”

“Wait a damn minute, are you saying my parents committed crimes against someone else? Killed somebody and they did what they did to get even?”

“It’s a possibility only,” said Davenport delicately. “And probably not a plausible one.”

“I can’t believe my parents were criminals!”

“As I said before, lots of people get put into Witness Protection who are not criminals,” said Decker. “And your parents may well be in that category.”

“Yeah, well, when will we find out for sure?”

“I hope soon. You want to go upstairs now?”

“No.” But Mars nonetheless headed for the stairs.

I can’t believe this stuff is still here.”

They were in Mars’s bedroom. He eyed the posters hanging on the wall.

“And my bed too.” He put a hand on the headboard. “It’s like it’s twenty years ago,” he said absently.

“Only it’s not, Melvin,” said Decker. “It’s today.”

Decker had placed his broad back against one wall to steady himself. The color blue had hit him as soon as his foot touched the first riser coming up, just like when he was here with Bogart.

Jamison had observed this, but not known the cause. Davenport had glanced curiously at Decker too, and given him a supportive smile.

Now that they were in the bedroom, Decker was able to come to terms with the color, at least enough to function again.

“Anything strike you?” he asked.

Mars walked around the small footprint of the room. “What happened to all my other things?”

“Did you come back here after your parents were murdered?”

“No. They wouldn’t let me. It was a crime scene. I stayed with some friends. And then they arrested me. This is the first time I’ve been back since they died.”

Davenport walked over to him. “It may help to sit on the bed, close your eyes, and just let your mind wander back to the last time you were in this house, or in this room. Then you may remember something that will help us.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“Or I can hypnotize you.”

Mars scoffed. “You can’t hypnotize me.”

“Really?” she said, smiling. “Would you like to bet?”

His skeptical look faded. “How would you do it?”

“Sit on the bed.”

He looked at Decker and then Jamison, as though wondering when they were going to put a stop to this nonsense. Neither said anything.

Mars looked back at Davenport.

“Sit on the bed,” she said. “This won’t hurt. I promise.”

He sat. She stood in front of him and took a pen out of her pocket. She held it up in front of him at an angle that made him lift his gaze a bit.

“Can you keep your eyes on this pen?”

“This is silly.”

Decker said, “Melvin, just do it, okay? It’s worth a shot.”

Mars sighed and focused on the pen. “Okay, now what?”

“Just follow the pen.”

Davenport started to move the pen slowly up and down and then from side to side. She spoke in a low, conversational voice the entire time.

Mars did as she asked and his gaze went wherever the pen did. The movements were slow, rhythmic, and her voice began to modulate, matching the movements of the pen.

Then Mars shook his head. “This is stupid.”

Davenport kept the pen raised and said, “I know many athletes get into a zone before they play a game. Did you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Pretend you’re getting ready to play a football game. Get your head right. Relax. But focus.” She glanced sideways at Decker. “You’re about to play Ohio State and run over Decker again.” She then pointed to the pen. “This is the zone, Melvin. You can get there. The big game. For all the marbles. Just concentrate. This pen is the goal line. Go get it.”

Mars settled back and stared at the pen, his gaze still slightly elevated due to the angle at which Davenport was holding it.

In a whisper to Decker she said, “Give him some football direction, low even tones.”

Decker looked wildly uncertain about this.

Davenport said in a soothing voice, “You can do it, Amos. Just like when you were talking to Tommy Montgomery.”

Decker nodded and began speaking in a halting low voice as he gave Mars the scenario on the field: The ball was snapped. Mars took the handoff. The A-gap was clogged, the B-gap a possibility. Mars had to read the linebacker’s eyes, strong safety coming up on the left, right guard just had to maintain his block for another second, a glimpse of daylight.