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Decker did not appear to catch the edge to her voice.
“It had to do with—”
“The man who forgets nothing,” she said.
He looked at her strangely. “What?”
She stood. “But that’s not entirely right.”
“What’s not entirely right?” he said in a perplexed tone.
“That you don’t forget anything.”
He drew closer. “I’m not following where this is going.”
“Well, then let me enlighten you.” She paused, drew a long breath that seemed to swell her body, and said in a strident tone, “You forgot that we were supposed to have dinner with Melvin tonight. Cottons on Fourteenth Street, seven-thirty?”
The color drained from Decker’s face. “Oh, shit, Alex, I’m—”
She pushed on, her voice starting to crack now. “We waited at the restaurant for two hours for you. Two fucking hours, Decker. I called Bogart. I called 911. I called everybody I could think of.”
“But why didn’t you call me?”
“I did! Twelve times.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He turned even paler.
“I forgot I turned it to silent.”
“Forgot something else, huh? Wow, that perfect memory of yours is just going to hell in a handbasket.”
“Alex, I’m—”
Tears crept into her eyes. “You can listen to my frantic voicemails later. You’ll probably get a real chuckle out of them. You asshole!”
Before he could say anything else she had turned and stormed down the hall to her room. He heard the door slam behind her.
Decker looked down at his phone and saw all the missed calls. He sat down at the kitchen table and listened to the increasingly panicked voicemails. Jamison sounded like she was going out of her mind with worry. And with the fact that he had been nearly killed twice recently and had enemies still out there, he could hardly blame her.
The old Decker would have gone to her door, knocked, and profusely apologized.
The new Decker just sat there staring out the window at the darkness that was not so nearly as opaque as the one currently residing squarely in his head.
CHAPTER
34
BLEARY-EYED, JAMISON got up the next morning, washed her face, and walked down the hall to the kitchen to make coffee.
She stopped dead when she got to the kitchen.
“Have you been sitting there all night?”
Decker looked up from his chair.
She said, “Decker, it’s seven in the morning. Have you even been to bed?”
In answer he held up his phone. “I listened to the messages. All of them.”
She frowned and leaned against the wall, wrapping the folds of her robe around her because the apartment was chilly. “Okay,” she said slowly.
“I screwed up, Alex. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were so worried. And I’m sorry I missed dinner.”
She came and sat down next to him. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him. “Knowing you, I probably shouldn’t have overreacted when you didn’t show up. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve stood me up.” She played with the cord on her robe and added, “But with all that’s taken place recently, with the Amayas and everything, I just thought something terrible had happened to you.”
“If you ever call again I will answer it. And if I don’t then you probably will need to call 911.”
She gave him a grudging smile, squeezed his arm, and rose to go make coffee. “I called Melvin last night and told him you were okay.”
Decker flinched because it had never occurred to him to do this.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Maybe we can grab dinner tonight?” she said cautiously.
“Yes, we can.”
“Don’t be too quick to agree. You might live to regret it.”
She brought two cups of coffee over and set one down in front of him before retaking her seat. “Now, talk to me about this theory you came up with.”
Decker went through it step by step.
Jamison looked impressed. “A whistleblower, huh? That would explain a lot of the questions we’ve got.”
“The problem will be finding out which whistleblowing case. There have been a lot of them over the years.”
“But it shouldn’t be that hard. We can circulate Berkshire’s picture all over. Someone will have to recognize her.”
“The thing is, Alex, her picture has been all over the place. After the murder it was on all the news cycles and still is in some places.”
She took a sip of coffee and looked perplexed. “That’s true. I wonder why no one has come forward, then?”
“She changed her name, obviously. She could have changed her appearance too.”
“You mean plastic surgery?”
“There are lots of ways to change your appearance other than going under the knife. She could have lost weight, changed her hairstyle and color, started wearing glasses, or used tinted contacts to change her eye color. It all adds up.”
“We could ask the ME if Berkshire had had surgery. The autopsy would have shown that.”
“I emailed her last night. She must be an early riser. She emailed me a half hour ago and said there were no signs of plastic surgery.”
“Speaking of early risers, don’t you think you should get some sleep?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Well, at some point you’re going to need to rest or else you’re going to wear out. You want some breakfast?”
“I’ll get it.”
“Okay, I’m going to grab a shower.”
As she walked off, Decker’s thoughts trended back to Berkshire. Specifically, to the old house in the woods. The flash drive, he knew, would have been a treasure trove of information. It might have detailed Berkshire’s past, answering so many questions. But
