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He followed her in and stopped. The ceilings were twenty feet high with exposed metal beams and concrete columns constituting the support structure of the building. They all had been painted black. The space was wide open, with a large seating area near the twelve-foot-tall windows, and a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite counters. There were two large bedrooms with en suite baths. Down another hall was a large office with a desk and shelves and a window with wooden shutters. A laptop sat on top of the desk.
“That’s your office. I have a space next door. There’s also a Jacuzzi in there,” she added, pointing to a door on the left. “And a sauna. But I haven’t used either one. I’m not even sure if they work.”
?
?Holy shit, Jamison,” said Decker. “When you were describing the place as needing TLC, I sure wasn’t expecting this!”
She looked at him a bit guiltily. “This was the former building owner’s apartment. He put all the money into this space and went cheap everywhere else. The other apartments do not look like this.”
“What happened to him?”
She looked nervous. “I’d rather not say.”
“And why would that be?”
“I just wouldn’t.”
“Alex!”
“Okay, he got shot in the parking lot by some drug dealer he stiffed.”
“Shot as in dead?”
“Well, yeah. I thought that was sort of implied.”
Decker looked around. “And did he use the money he was supposed to pay to the dealer to build this out?”
“It’s not clear. But I wouldn’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not like we owe the drug dealer anything.”
“So he was never caught?”
“Well, the police had a suspect, but since there were no witnesses willing to come forward they had to let him go. The building went into bankruptcy and Melvin bought it. He got a really good deal, actually. Apparently there were no other bidders.”
“Shocking,” said Decker.
“But you like it, right?”
“Yeah, I like it. It’s a palace compared to what I’m used to.”
“I already brought my stuff up. You can move in anytime.”
“All my possessions fit inside one bag, so it won’t be a huge undertaking.”
She held out her hand. “Welcome to our new home, roomie.”
Before shaking her hand Decker said, “Let’s get a few more locks on the door.”
CHAPTER
10
THE NEXT MORNING Decker blinked himself awake and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
But they weren’t unfamiliar. They were the new digs. Big place, not a cardboard box. But with tenants. And maybe a pissed-off drug dealer lurking. The FBI had delivered his few personal belongings from his place in Quantico late last night. It had taken Decker about five minutes to put away all of his worldly possessions.
He sat up and got out of bed. He walked over to the window and peered out. It was still dark outside, but the sun would soon begin to rise.
As he continued to peer out, Decker saw a short, wiry man and a little boy walk outside and get into the car with the plastic bags taped over the rear side windows. The man was dressed in jeans, work boots, and a sweatshirt. He carried a yellow hard hat. The little boy had a large bag slung over his shoulder. They drove off, the car’s tailpipe peppering the air with dark fumes.
Down the road paralleling the building, Decker saw two people, a man and a woman, staggering along under the glow of a streetlight. They didn’t look homeless, but to Decker’s experienced eye, they weren’t too far removed from it. The man cuffed the woman on the side of the head and she fell. He kept going. Finally, the woman struggled up and followed. She pulled something from her pocket, raised her hand to her mouth, and swallowed whatever it was.
Decker watched them go, then used the bathroom, showered, and dressed. It was not yet seven o’clock. He walked down the hall to the kitchen and made himself coffee and a bowl of cereal. He had passed Jamison’s room and heard her soft snores through the partially open doorway.
He sat and drank his coffee and ate his cereal, but mostly stared out the window into the gathering light.
He had come a far distance from his former life in Burlington, Ohio.
He had lost his family, his job, and his home.
He had avenged the murders of his wife, daughter, and brother-in-law. But that did nothing to take away the loss, the pain. Nothing ever could. Time did not heal wounds for Decker. The passage of time was irrelevant to his unique mind. Everything he had ever experienced in life was as freshly minted in his brain as the moment it was created.
That was the vast downside of having a perfect memory. He had so much he wanted to forget. And couldn’t.
But that wasn’t all.
He was no longer who he used to be. He knew that he did things that irritated others. Leaving rooms too abruptly. Zoning out and becoming unresponsive. Not having as much empathy as others would have liked.
As he would have liked.
He rubbed his head. What was up there had changed. Meaning he had changed along with it. There was no separating the two: his brain and the rest of Amos Decker. That was just the way things worked.
That’s the way I work now.
He put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, sat back down, and thought about the case.
Berkshire the victim. Dabney the killer.
Berkshire’s hazy past. Did the answer lie there?
Or would the truth come from Dabney’s end?
Or a combination of the two?
He thought back to the shooting. He went through each frame in his head, looking for anything that would lead him in the right direction.
They had tracked Dabney’s movements that day. He had taken an Uber from his home in McLean to a coffee shop near the Hoover Building. Decker knew he had walked from there toward the FBI building, where he had murdered Berkshire.
As the frames whirred through his head an inconsistency popped up.
Decker loved inconsistencies. They tended to point him in the direction of the truth, or at least to a lead.
And right now he would dearly love a lead.
Ellie Dabney had told Decker that she had made her husband breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, and roasted potatoes. Dabney had eaten it all, she had told them. Plus three cups of coffee.
So why would he stop at a coffee shop on the way to his destination?
It could be nothing. He might have been killing time before his meeting. Or else he had a quick cup of coffee while going over some notes.
Although why do that if he knew he was never going to have that meeting? The man assuredly couldn’t have expected to murder someone in broad daylight with lots of witnesses around and then attend his meeting with the FBI as though nothing had happened. And it couldn’t have been a spur-of-the-moment thing commencing after he left the coffee shop. He had the gun in his briefcase. They had found traces of gun oil and other forensic fragments in there that proved this was so.
Decker made a mental note to go to the coffee shop and find someone who had seen Dabney. Maybe he met with someone there. They had checked his phone records. He had made no calls that morning and sent no texts and no emails.
Was that because he was about to commit murder? And he was steeling himself to do the deed? But if he did know Berkshire, how would he know she would be there that morning? The FBI had determined that she hadn’t called or scheduled a meeting with anyone. But then again, she might have been going there unannounced for some reason. Maybe she had something she wanted to tell the FBI.
And Dabney stopped her from doing that. That was an interesting theory.
