David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“Okay, but Decker, your theory is riddled with holes,” said Davenport.

“It is full of holes,” admitted Decker, drawing a surprised look from Davenport. “That’s why it’s only a theory. It may well be disproved later on. But we have to run down the possibility anyway.”

Mars looked at him nervously. “So you think someone may still try to come after me?”

Decker considered this. “If they’re following us, which they may very well be, they would know that we’re searching for answers too. If they saw us at the bank and deduced what we were doing, they also know we left the place empty-handed.”

“So they might simply let us keep going until we do find something,” said Mars slowly.

“Right.”

“They have long memories,” said Mars. “If this goes back before I was born, we’re talking over forty years ago.”

“Well, I have a long memory too,” said Decker.

“Amen to that,” replied Mars. He looked up and saw Mary Oliver walk into the lobby.

“Mary, over here,” he said, rising and motioning to Oliver, who was heading toward the front desk. She was wearing a beige pantsuit and a smile.

“You look happy about something,” prompted Davenport.

“The state of Texas has agreed to the maximum of twenty-five thousand dollars in compensation to you, Melvin.”

“Well, it’s something,” said Mars.

“And I’m filing suit against them for what happened to you in prison. To the tune of fifty million dollars.”

Mars stared dumbstruck at her. “Are you kidding me?” he finally said.

“Melvin, you almost died. This was a conspiracy that included guards who were representatives of the state’s correctional system. And I discovered that these same guards have had other lawsuits filed against them and no disciplinary action was ever taken against them. That constitutes, at the least, willful negligence on the part of the state.”

Decker said, “This was the strategy you mentioned before?”

She nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Decker looked at Mars. “Well, at least monetarily fifty mil will make up for your not being able to play in the NFL.”

Oliver added, “Look, I won’t blow smoke up your butt. It’s a long shot and there’s no guarantee, but I’m going to give it my best effort.”

Mars was speechless for a few moments. Then he hugged her. “Thank you, Mary. Thank you.”

They sat down and the others let Mars compose himself.

No one noticed the three state troopers and plainclothes detective heading their way until they were right on top of them.

Decker spotted them and said, “Can I help you, Officers?”

They ignored him and surrounded Mars. “Mr. Mars, please stand up,” said the plainclothes, after he flashed his badge and told them he was a homicide detective.

“What? Why?” said Mars.

“Please stand up,” said the man more firmly.

“What is this about?” said Oliver, who did stand. “I’m his lawyer.”

“And you’ll get a chance to talk to your client. Just not now. Please stand, Mr. Mars. Last time I’ll ask.”

Mars glanced at Decker, who nodded. Mars stood and automatically put his hands behind his back. The plainclothes motioned to an officer, who came forward and handcuffed him.

The plainclothes said, “You are under arrest in connection with the murders of Roy and Lucinda Mars.” Then he read Mars his Miranda rights.

“He was pardoned for that!” snapped an incredulous Oliver.

“His pardon has been revoked. That’s why we’re here.”

“They can’t do that!” said Oliver.

The plainclothes handed her a sheaf of papers. “The court order doing just that. Let’s go, Mr. Mars.”

As they led Mars away, Oliver called after him, “Melvin, I’ll see you at the station.” She then read down the first page of the document.

“What does it say?” asked Jamison as she rose.

Oliver’s face paled as she finished skimming. She shot a glance at Decker.

He sighed. “I didn’t believe they would do this,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” snapped Jamison.

“You knew?” demanded Oliver.

“I suspected.”

“Will someone please tell us what the hell is going on?” barked Davenport, who had risen and was standing next to Jamison.

Decker said, “Our investigation has shown that it’s entirely probable that the Montgomerys were paid off to lie about Charles Montgomery killing Roy and Lucinda. That confession was the only reason Melvin was released and pardoned.” He looked at Oliver. “Am I right?”

She nodded but said nothing.

“Oh my God,” said Jamison.

“That means—” began Davenport.

Decker interrupted, “That means that as far as the state of Texas is concerned Melvin killed his parents. Hence his pardon was revoked.”

“How did they find out what we discovered?” asked Jamison.

“Texas sent its own people to Alabama to investigate Montgomery,” replied Decker. “And we talked about our suspicions and findings with the Alabama authorities. They must have relayed that to the Texas folks.”

“But he had nothing to do with the Montgomerys lying about this,” said Jamison.

“That doesn’t matter legally in Melvin’s case,” said Oliver. “It’s as if nothing has changed now. No confession, the sentence is reinstated. The allocution Montgomery made is no good if he lied.”

Jamison turned, horrified, to look at Decker. “So our work has sent him back to prison and maybe to his death?”

Decker didn’t answer. He had pulled out his phone and was heading toward the motel exit where a minute before Mars had left on his way back to prison. As he watched Mars being driven off, he punched in a number. After two rings there was an answer.

“Agent Bogart, it’s Decker. I’ll understand if you tell me to go to hell, but I have a big favor to ask.”

All rise,” said the burly bailiff.

All the persons in the courtroom rose, including the only one wearing shackles.

Judge Matthews, a wizened, balding man with a lumpy Adam’s apple, appeared through a doorway behind the bench, ascended the stairs, and sat down in his chair.

“Be seated,” commanded the bailiff, and everyone returned to their respective chairs.

Mary Oliver sat next to the shackled Mars. Decker, dressed in the suit he had bought while shopping with Jamison, sat on the other side of him.

The state prosecutor held forth at the other counsel table. He was in his midfifties, with a patch of soft white hair that didn’t come close to covering his pink scalp. His shirt collar was stiff from being overstarched, and this attribute neatly matched the man’s demeanor. He had a file in front of him labeled Mars, Melvin . He was silently moving his lips, as though rehearsing what he was about to say.

In the second row of the courtroom sat Davenport and Jamison. There was a goodly number of reporters present because word had gotten round that Mars had been arrested. There were also a few dozen gawking local citizens to round out the audience.

The judge eyed both counsel tables and their respective occupants, cleared his throat, and said, “The defendant filed the motion, so let’s hear from him first.”

Oliver rose and straightened the jacket of her two-piece suit and adjusted her shirt cuffs.

“Your Honor, the state’s actions in this matter can be summed up as follows: It wrongly convicted my client, Mr. Mars, locked him up for over twenty years and very nearly executed him until it saw the error of its ways when presented with evidence of his innocence. It then granted him his liberty and with it a full pardon, and also ordered that he be paid the maximum compensation for his erroneous incarceration, not that twenty-five thousand dollars can make up for over two decades in prison.” She took a breath and seemed to swell with righteous indignation. “And now, shortly after granting him his freedom, it has unilaterally revoked his pardon and his liberty, placed him under arrest, and he now sits shackled before us. All of this was accomplished without benefit of a trial, or representation by counsel, thus denying him due process. That is why I filed the habeas corpus petition, because it is clear beyond doubt that the state is illegally detaining my client. I therefore ask that he be released forthwith, and that both the terms of his pardon and compensation be fully honored and enforced by this court.”