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“And your point?”
“Cramer didn’t have all that much time to establish herself as some international spy, like we were speculating before. In fact, she didn’t have much time to do anything so remarkable that the Bureau would be hopping when her prints came through. But that’s exactly what happened. And that’s why I seriously doubt she was the catalyst for whatever had happened in her past. So we need to find out what was the actual catalyst.”
“But if not WITSEC, what then?” asked Jamison, her brow furrowed. “Because I can’t think of anything else.”
“Well, I thought of one thing.”
“What was that?”
He gazed at her with a pensive expression. “The sins of theparentscan carry over to their children, Alex.”
Jamison’s puzzled look turned to one of understanding. “Cramer’s parents? So it might have been somethingtheydid that led Irene to go underground? And maybe change her name?”
“I’m sure she changed her name. We just have to find out who she really was.”
“We don’t have a lot to go on.”
“We usually don’t.”
“And we don’t know that what happened to Cramer is tied to this ‘ticking time bomb’ comment.”
“No, we don’t. But we will figure it out.”
“I wish I were as confident as you.”
“Now, get some sleep.”
“Wait, will you tell Kelly about what happened tonight?”
“For now, let’s keep it between you and me.”
“Are you sure? Heisa local cop.”
“I’m not sure, but I’m trusting my gut.”
He headed to the door.
“Decker, promise me you’re not going back out,” she said imploringly.
“I’m going to slide the bureau up against my door, and sleep with one eye open and my gun in my hand.”
DECKER DIDN’T GO TO SLEEP, at least not right away.
He sat fully dressed in his wet clothes on the floor.
From his wallet he took out two pictures. They were of his wife and daughter. Each had been taken shortly before their deaths.
Tonight, he had come as close to dying as he ever had, he supposed. If this Robie fellow had been a second slower, or not there at all?
I’d be dead. Like Cassie and Molly.
He peered down at their images. He hadn’t looked at these pictures in quite a while. On the day of their funerals, he had been unable to speak, unable to really function. Tearful, devastated people kept coming up to him and saying how sorry they were. And he couldn’t comprehend at the time what they were even trying to communicate. He felt as dead as his wife and daughter were. He had actuallywantedto be dead, because he had no desire to keep on living while they could not.
But then time passed, he grieved, mightily at first, too mightily because he came close to losing everything, including his own life. Then more time passed and his days and nights were taken up with doing his job, interacting with others, even making new friends. The loss was still there, it would always be there, but the phrase “Life goes on” appeared to be an accurate one.
And from time to time Decker would feel guilty that he was becoming so absorbed in his work that the memories of his family were receding into a little box in his head, only to be taken out from time to time and wept over. And for him that equated with forgetting about his wife and daughter, or at least allowing other priorities in life to supersede what they had meant to him while alive. And this after he had promised them faithfully, while standing over their graves, that they would be the center of his life until he joined them. A sense of betrayal steadily crept over him.
A tear from his right eye fell onto Molly’s photo. He very carefully brushed it away from the picture, fearful that it would mar her final captured image.
