Memory Man (32 page)

T
HEY FLEW BACK
to Burlington and Decker was driven to the Residence Inn. Decker looked at Bogart and then flicked his gaze to Jamison.

The FBI agent understood. He said, “Ms. Jamison, we request the pleasure of your company at our safe house.”

She snapped, “What? No, I’ll be—”

“Perfectly happy to accept or else I’ll put you in a jail cell if I have to,” interjected Bogart.

“On what charge?” she retorted.

“Publishing false information in a newspaper and inciting a riot against one Amos Decker.”

Jamison started to say something but then sank back in her seat and said with a scowl, “Fine, have it your way.”

As Decker was climbing out of the SUV Bogart hooked his arm.

“We pop anything on Leopold’s prints and DNA in
noncriminal
databases, I’ll call you right away.”

“I’d also like you to send me whatever you can find on Belinda Wyatt’s past.”

Bogart nodded and then he drove off.

Decker headed up to his room and sat on his bed. He eyed the gun in his waistband and thought back to when Captain Miller had come knocking on his door. If he hadn’t, would he have shot himself?

With the clarity that came after stepping back from a stressful situation, Decker knew that Miller was right. If he eliminated himself this pair would go on killing. If Decker had somehow dissed Belinda Wyatt, others could have too. Or maybe they would start on Leopold’s list of “dissers” next.

He closed his eyes and thought back to two periods of time, one recent, the other much further in the past. He took the latter first, stopping at those frames in his mind.

Belinda Wyatt. Tall, blonde, thin, and androgynous-looking, scared all the time. Her personality had been so invisible as not to exist. Although her mind could do extraordinary things after what had happened to her, Decker recalled her as lacking confidence and even a shred of self-esteem. She barely talked in the group sessions. Decker had felt for her, to the extent he could with the new way his mind worked.

What had happened to him was brutal. But he had stepped out onto that field of his own free will with the knowledge that pro football was insanely violent, far more vicious than even the most die-hard fan could imagine.

Belinda Wyatt had been gang-raped, sodomized, beaten, and left for dead. She had been horribly violated. There was nothing voluntary about that. She had had no say in it. She had been dealing with a difficult enough life situation as it was. With the discovery of her parents’ bodies, it was clear that she was involved in all the other killings. And nothing in her past, no matter how horrific, would justify her doing what she had. But she was not the only one to blame for all this.

Next Decker’s mind moved forward to the recent past.

He was sitting in the jail cell opposite Sebastian Leopold. He recalled down to the last detail the man’s features and manner. The empty eyes, the utter calmness, the disregard for his personal safety since he had confessed to a triple murder. Of course, now Decker knew that Leopold was aware he would never be convicted of those crimes because he had a rock-hard alibi supplied by the
police
, of all people.

That had to mean that Belinda Wyatt had murdered his family. And she had to be the shooter at Mansfield too. Once again, Leopold had an alibi. Provided once more by the police.

Decker’s mind ground to a halt at that point.
By the police?
Was that important? Significant? Imperative to understand? He didn’t know, because he didn’t have enough information.

The frames whirred back and forth in his head, going over every word of the conversation between him and Leopold. Then the frames stopped whirring and Decker’s eyes opened.

Is good.

Even though he had perfect recall, sometimes his mind, just like anyone else’s, turned words into what it thought they should be instead of what they actually had been. He had done that here, mentally correcting Leopold when no correction was necessary. Decker had just assumed it was a contraction.
Is good
to
It’s good
. He had modified the words that way because he thought he had just misheard. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t have. He was sitting right next to the man.

He picked up his phone and called Bogart.

“You need to expand your search to the international databases focusing on Europe. Interpol should be able to help. Germany should be at the top of the list, to start with.”

“Why?” asked Bogart. “Why the international angle?”

“Because I remembered something wrong. And now I just remembered it right.”

Decker put the phone away.
“I don’t really drink. But it’s good.” An American would say that all the time. But no American would say, “I don’t really drink. But is good.” In fact, Leopold might have actually said, “Ist good.”

And the slight guttural undertones of the speech coupled with the sharp, angular bone structure of Leopold’s face made Decker believe he was European, possibly German or Austrian. There was enough homogeneity in those populations that the facial features were far more uniform over the generations than in melting pots like the U.S.

So it might be that Belinda Wyatt, undoubtedly a homegrown American girl perhaps turned boy, joined forces with an older European male. How do two such very different people meet? How do they come together to plan something like this? Decker felt sure if they could track down Leopold’s true identity a lot of questions would start being answered.

As he thought about this another possibility entered his mind.

He said out loud, “7-Eleven.”

That had undoubtedly been a clue. In her interview notes, Lancaster had instinctively interpreted it as a reference to the ubiquitous convenience stores. But was there more to it than that? Leopold had not wanted to come right out and say he was actually referring to 711 Duckton Avenue. But he had to know that Lancaster had misinterpreted his statement. She had actually asked him which 7-Eleven, and when Leopold had been noncommittal she had just assumed it was the one closest to Decker’s home. But Leopold had let that go. He would know that the police, that Decker more importantly, would check that out. That he would go to that store on DeSalle and see what he could see. And that meant—

He might be wrong. But he didn’t think so. In fact, Decker thought he was absolutely right.

He left his room and headed back out into the night.

H
E SPENT TEN
minutes watching the store from across the street. He saw people go in and people go out. Cars came and went. And still he kept watching. He was watching to see if anyone was watching him. When Decker was satisfied that there was no one doing so, he hurried across the street and approached the door. He glanced through the glass and saw the same woman at the counter, once more counting packs of cigarettes and ticking them off on her sheets. He could see no other customers in the store.

He opened the door and the bell tinkled. The woman looked up. It took her a moment but she recognized Decker.

Because of his size and appearance he was hard to forget and harder to miss.

“You’re back?” she said.

“I’m back,” said Decker, his gaze darting around the corners of the store. His hand had slipped to his pocket where his gun sat.

She said, “I owe you change from when you were here last. The coffee, pastry, and paper didn’t add up to five dollars.”

“Keep the change. You work long hours. Morning, night.”

“I do work long hours, but I’m also on different shifts. Today I work the night shift.”

“How’s business?”

“Slow now. We sell a lot in the morning when people are going to work. Coffee, cigarettes, and sausage biscuits. And Red Bull by the gallon.”

“The other person here when I came by the first time. Billy, right? Is he here?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s not here.”

“He doesn’t work here anymore, does he?” Decker said.

She looked startled. “How did you know that?”

“When was he here last?”

“The day you came in the first time. I was pissed when he didn’t show up for work after that. I had to do his job too.”

“Do you have his employment file here?”

“Yes. In the back.”

“Can I see it?”

“No. Company policy.”

“Can you tell me his last name?”

“Why?”

“He might be the one I was looking for.”

“I don’t see how.”

Decker held up his phone. “I can have the FBI here in five minutes. And they’ll take every file in this place.” He eyed the woman steadily. “Are you an American citizen?”

She blanched. “No. But I have papers.”

“I’m sure they’re in perfect order. At least I hope they are. The FBI will check, of course. They check everything. Twice.”

The woman slowly put a pack of cigarettes in the appropriate slot and made a check on her inventory sheet. He could tell she was stalling as she thought about how to respond to this.

“I might…I mean, my work visa might be a little
overdue
.”

“That’s unfortunate. With the government in gridlock over immigration reform, it’s a touchy subject. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“And if I let you see Billy’s file?”

Decker put his phone away. “That might change things.”

The woman went into the back office and came out a minute later with a file. “You can have this. I made a copy.”

Decker went to the door, locked it, and turned the
OPEN
sign to
CLOSED
.

“What are you doing?” the woman cried out.

Decker pulled out his phone again. “The FBI will be here in a few minutes. I’m afraid this store will be closed for quite a while.”

“But I gave you the file.”

“And I thank you for that. But one has nothing to do with the other.”

“But what will the FBI do here?”

“They’ll be looking for any trace of Billy. And don’t worry. They won’t care about your immigration status.”

“But why is Billy so important? He just mops floors.”

“He’s important principally because he’s not Billy. His name is Belinda.”

Hours later Bogart walked out of the 7-Eleven and over to Decker, who was standing in the parking lot sipping 7-Eleven coffee while the snow slowly swirled around him.

Bogart said, “We got one usable print, seven points on a mop bucket in the storage room. We ran it but got no hits back yet. It may be Wyatt’s or whoever else handled that bucket. And she might not be on any database. Or I guess she’s a he now. This Billy guy.”

“But she was gang-raped in Utah, according to Dr. Marshall. They must have a police file on her.”

“You would think. But we checked with the police department where she grew up. They have no record of any rape of Belinda Wyatt.”

Decker looked stunned. “But that can’t be. She was raped and beaten and left for dead. It changed her brain. It’s why she was sent to the institute. You heard Dr. Marshall. And he said he’d talked to the doctor from Utah. She
had
been raped and beaten and left for dead.”

“Well, maybe she was. But maybe she didn’t file a police report, Decker. That’s a possibility.”

“But why wouldn’t she?”

“Consider her personal situation. It being a small town where everybody knows everybody else’s business? She might have made the decision not to report.”

“Or her parents made that decision for her,” retorted Decker.

“That’s actually far more likely,” conceded the FBI agent.

Decker finished his coffee and threw the cup into a trash can. “Belinda was very tall for a woman, about five-eleven, and skinny. Billy was that height and lean too, but he was wiry. Maybe a hundred and fifty pounds.”

“And definitely a guy?”

“I think so, but he looked androgynous too. Belinda looked the same at the institute. I’ve already given your sketch artist a description. They’re working on a finished drawing now.”

“We can get that all over the place once it’s done.”

“I would just get it out to law enforcement for now. Don’t go public. They may go underground if they discover we’ve gotten that far.”

Bogart didn’t look convinced but said, “Okay, we’ll play it that way. For now.” He put his hands in his pockets and studied the pavement. “We heard back from the pool service company the Wyatts used in Colorado. They came and winterized the pool two months ago, but didn’t see anyone. Their fees are on an automatic pay system. In fact, all their bills were on autopay. They didn’t have to interact with anyone. Dead end. No pun intended.”

“And Leopold?”

Bogart let out an extended breath. “Leopold, yes. I was getting to him. We finally got a hit.”

“His real name?”

“Surprisingly enough, Sebastian Leopold. You were right. He’s Austrian.”

“And his story?”

“Still coming in. But the gist is his wife and daughter were murdered and the killer was never brought to justice.”

“When did he come over here?”

“Hard to pin that down. The murder was eight years ago. So anytime after that, I guess. I doubt he’s here legally. But then again, I don’t think we’re as picky with Europeans as we are with other folks.”

“If he’s only been here a few years he’s worn his accent away relatively fast. He only had the one slip when I was talking with him. Can I see anything you have on him?”

“I’ll arrange it. Where will you be?”

“Back at the library at Mansfield.”

“You want a ride over there?”

“I need to make one stop first.”

“Where?”

“To pick up my partner.”

“Your partner? You don’t mean Lancaster? After what almost happened to her family I don’t think she’s up to it.”

“Mary
is
up to it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know Lancaster. She’s tougher than you and me combined.”

L
ANCASTER AND JAMISON
were sitting across from Decker in the school library. They were awaiting Leopold’s files. Decker had filled Lancaster in on everything they had learned.

He said, “Bogart thinks that Belinda might not have filed a police report. He believes her parents might have discouraged her from doing so.”

“Talk about scum,” replied Lancaster fiercely.

“The thing is, her trauma left her with perfect recall. She would have remembered her attackers.”

“If she knew them in the first place,” said Jamison.

Decker replied, “Small-town Utah. Everybody probably knew everybody.”

“At the institute did she ever talk?” asked Lancaster.

“Almost never. In the group sessions she never talked about what had happened to her. I didn’t know until Dr. Marshall told me. And she was probably attacked because her assailants knew of her intersex condition,” added Decker.

Lancaster shook her head. “I never heard the term until you told me. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. You said Marshall told you she had one testis and one ovary?”

“Yes.”

“The absolute shit she must have taken in school. In gym class, one of the other girls spots her private parts? Word spreads. It really must have been horrible.”

Decker was staring down at the document in front of him. He had just seen one fact that did not align with another.

Lancaster was well used to this look. “What?”

He glanced at her. “Dr. Marshall said the address he had in the file for Belinda’s parents was fifteen years old. But she was at the institute
twenty
years ago.”

“Well, maybe they kept in touch for some reason. I doubt Belinda stayed there for five years. It must be a more recent address.”

“But Marshall also said that the Wyatts never visited her at the institute. So why would he have had the later address in the first place? Were they corresponding?”

He pulled out his phone and made a call. Dr. Marshall was in a meeting but called back five minutes later.

“Yes, Amos, you’re correct,” he said. “The Wyatts did move, but we kept in touch, for about seven years after. And they sent me their new address so I could write to them from time to time.”

“You didn’t mention that when we questioned you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I take patient confidentiality very seriously. I tried to be as helpful as I could while still respecting that professional duty.”

“You said they never visited her at the institute. I assumed that meant they weren’t interested in her care. In fact, you said you believed them to be ignorant people in regard to Belinda’s condition.”

“That’s right.”

“How did you come by that opinion? And how did she even come to be at the institute if her parents didn’t care what had happened to her?”

“I don’t think they initiated it.”

“Who did, then?”

“I’m not sure. It might have been one of the doctors there who made the referral after it became clearer that her cognitive condition might be one that we should look into at the institute. Even twenty years ago we had a national reputation,” he added proudly. “And we had enough funding to have paid for all of her expenses.”

“Okay, but if the Wyatts had no involvement in sending her to you, why would they correspond with you?”

Decker thought he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Marshall.

“Well, because they were scared, Amos. They were scared of Belinda. At least that’s what they told me. When she came back home to Utah she was a different person to them. And I don’t mean for the better. Our work with her at the institute apparently did not help her. And she left home soon thereafter. But they would apparently get messages from her. Pretty frightening ones. And so they were scared.”

“That she would, what, hurt them?”

“I don’t like to speculate about that.”

“Just give me your educated guess.”

He could hear Marshall let out a long breath. “All right. I think they were terrified that she was going to murder them.”

Well, they were spot on about that
, thought Decker.

“Can I have their old address? The one in Utah? Do you have it?”

Marshall gave it to him from the file. Decker thanked him and clicked off.

He got on the computer and did a satellite search of the old address.

He spun the laptop around so that Lancaster and Jamison could see.

“Okay, ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood,” Lancaster said. “Looks like mine.”

“And like mine,” said Decker. “But the point is, the Wyatts’ new house was five times the size with a pool and a separate four-car garage filled with luxury vehicles.”

Lancaster’s brows knitted together. “What did the Wyatts do for a living?”

“The info Bogart dug up says he was an assistant manager at the DMV. Mrs. Wyatt worked as a waitress in a diner.”

Jamison said, “They were definitely not pulling down big bucks. So how did they afford a house like that?”

“Well, you follow the money to answer that.” Decker got on his phone again. He asked Bogart this question.

When he clicked off he looked at Lancaster. “He’s going to check and get back to us.”

“What do you think is going on, Amos?” asked Lancaster.

“I think we’re getting close to finding out the motive behind all this, Mary. And once we do, it will all start to make sense.”

“Good. Because up to this point nothing has made sense. Nothing.”

“No, it’s always made sense, to Wyatt and Leopold. It only doesn’t make sense to us because we don’t know enough.”

“How can killing so many people ever make sense?” she said hotly.

“It doesn’t have to make sense to us. Just to the ones who did it.”

“I hate the world,” said Lancaster, looking miserable.

“I don’t hate the world,” said Decker. “I only hate some of the people who unfortunately live in it.”