David Baldacci - The Last Mile

They reached a set of double doors with a sign reading Memory Unit overhead. Deb had to use her key card to access the doors.

“Is that so no one in the unit can wander away?” noted Jamison.

“Exactly,” she said as they passed through the opening. “We don’t want anyone getting lost.”

She led them down the hall and then turned toward a door about halfway down. She knocked.

“Dr. Fisher, you have visitors.”

They heard a grunt from inside.

Deb turned to them. “He has good and bad days. I’m not sure which one this will be. He gets very frustrated, like many of our memory unit patients.” She eyed the FBI credential that rode on Decker’s hip. “Is Dr. Fisher in some sort of trouble?”

“He’s in no trouble at all,” said Decker.

“Well, that’s a relief. You know, when he first came here his memory was razor sharp. Probably better than yours.”

“I seriously doubt that,” said Decker as he pushed open the door and went inside.

A startled Deb looked at Jamison, who gazed at her awkwardly. “It’s a long story,” she said. “We’ll let you know when we’re done. Thanks.” She joined Decker inside the room and closed the door.

Fisher was sitting up in the chair next to his bed. He had on a hospital gown and his feet were resting in white slippers. He looked to be in his late eighties, bent and frail. When he looked up at them, Decker could see a lot of the grandson in the man.

“Dr. Fisher?” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” Fisher barked.

“This might be one of the bad days,” whispered Jamison.

Decker grew closer. “I’m a friend of your grandson. So is she.”

Fisher turned his gaze to Jamison. “She’s not my grandson.”

“No, she’s a friend of your grandson’s.”

Fisher looked down at his lap.

Jamison knelt next to him. “This is a very nice room.”

Fisher looked up at her. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Alex and this is Amos.”

“Amos and Andy. Like the show?” said Fisher.

“No, Alex and Amos. He’s Amos. I’m Alex.”

He glanced at Decker. “You’re very large.”

“Yes, I am.” He pulled up another chair and sat down. “Your grandson told us you were a dentist for a long time. You had a lot of patients.”

Fisher looked puzzled. “Dentist? My grandson, my grandson...”

“Lewis,” said Jamison helpfully.

“My name is Lewis,” he barked. Then he added in a quieter, desperate tone, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, and he was named after you.”

Fisher rapped his head with his knuckles. “This just all...”

“I know,” said Jamison soothingly. “I’m sure it’s frustrating.”

Decker said, “You were a dentist, Dr. Fisher. You had lots of patients. Do you remember the Mars family? Roy and Lucinda? And Melvin?”

“Mars? Like the planet? Are you talking about the planet Mars? It’s... it’s the red planet.” He smiled and looked pleased.

“No, not the planet. A family named Mars. They were killed. And the records in your office were used to confirm their identity.”

“Killed? The planet was killed? Are you... crazy?”

Jamison put a hand on Decker’s arm. “Let me try.”

She turned to Fisher and said very quietly, “They were patients of yours a long time ago. Twenty years. They were killed. Their bodies were burned, so they had to use their dental records to identify them. Records from your office.”

She looked at Fisher hopefully, but all she got back was a blank stare.

A minute went by and no one broke the silence.

Decker was about to say something when Jamison held up a hand.

“Dr. Fisher, I have a tooth problem. Do you remember me? I’m Lucinda Mars. This is my husband, Roy Mars. He has a tooth problem too. Can you help us? We’re your patients. You have our records.”

They waited a long moment. At first it didn’t seem Fisher would answer her.

Fisher said, “Maxillary second premolar.”

“What was that, Dr. Fisher?” said Jamison.

“Maxillary second premolar,” he repeated, shaking his head.

Jamison said, “What about it?”

“Not right.”

“What wasn’t right?”

“The second premolar. Just not right.”

Jamison knelt down next to him. “Whose? Roy’s or Lucinda’s?”

“Just not right. Should’ve said. Not right.” He looked up at Decker. “Who the hell are you?”

“A very grateful man.” Decker rose and said to Jamison, “Can you stay here and see if you can get anything more out of him? I’ll come back and get you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find a maxillary second premolar.”

A premolar?” said Bogart. “Seriously?”

He and Decker were standing in the musty warehouse where old police records were kept.

“That’s what he said. The maxillary second premolar. Something was not right with it.”

They stared at the shelves full of haphazardly stacked boxes.

Bogart said, “The sergeant I talked to said the records were a little—”

“Unorganized?” finished Decker. “I’d say he was seeing the glass half full.” He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get to it.”

The files were indeed in a shambles. The years were sometimes mixed up and the boxes themselves were not well inventoried. On more than one occasion the filing papers inside were just blank.

Six hours went past without any success.

Decker’s phone rang. It was Jamison and she was not happy.

“I took a cab back to the motel. When you said stay here and see if I could get something more out of him, I didn’t think you meant forever .”

“I’m sorry, Alex, I got distracted.”

“Gee, what a shock!”

“Did he say anything else that might be helpful?”

“Only that something wasn’t right. He just kept repeating that.”

“No clue on whether we’re talking about Roy or Lucinda?”

“No. Then he just fell asleep. I’ve been calling you for the last three hours, by the way.”

“I took my coat off. I heard this call because I had picked up my coat when you phoned.”

“Where are you?”

He told her. “But we’re not having much success.”

“Until now,” called out Bogart. He had lifted a box off the shelf and opened it.

“I gotta go,” said Decker, and he clicked off.

They pulled all the items out of the box and laid them on a table. Decker found it first. He pulled up the X-ray sheets for the two Marses that were labeled with their respective names.

“I Googled ‘premolar’ before I got here,” Decker said. He pulled out his phone and brought up an image of a mouth full of teeth. “These are second premolars.” He pointed at spots on the X-rays. “They help with mastication or chewing. The one on the right is the four and the left is the thirteen, in dentist numbering vernacular.”

“All fascinating,” said Bogart sarcastically. “But what was wrong , according to Fisher? The dental records for the Marses from Fisher’s office matched the dental records taken from the bodies at the crime scene.”

“Alex couldn’t find out. The guy has dementia. But he just blurted out ‘maxillary second premolar’—” He stopped, pulled out his phone, and punched in a number.

“Alex, did Fisher mention any numbers?”

“Numbers?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Okay,” said Decker, obviously disappointed.

“But it was weird, he held up four fingers a couple of times.”

“Four, you’re sure?”

“Yes. And he kept looking at them like they meant something.”

“Thanks.”

“De—”

Decker clicked off and turned to Bogart.