The Last Mile

by David Baldacci

  He stepped into the room.

  CHAPTER

  8

  DECKER’S GAZE SWEPT the space and took everything in like radar bouncing off hard objects.

  Two people were there.

  Lisa Davenport was to his right. She was in her late thirties, with light blonde hair cut short, a lean, attractive face, full lips, and sparkling blue eyes. Her body was long and athletic, the hips narrow, the shoulders symmetrically broad.

  She smiled at Decker as his gaze passed over her.

  Todd Milligan sat across the table from her. He was about six feet tall and a buck-eighty. Like Bogart he was very fit and looked like he could run forever without getting winded. His dark hair was cut military short, his brow naturally furrowed, his light brown eyes intense, his spine assuredly as straight as his striped tie. There was nothing inviting or welcoming about the man. He just looked permanently serious.

  In front of each was a thick binder. Decker noted the myriad Post-it notes sticking out from the binder’s sides. Both Davenport and Milligan had evidently come prepared.

  Bogart made the introductions and they all sat.

  On the wall was a large-screen TV that neatly filled the space. Bogart fired up a laptop that sat in front of him and manipulated some keys. The TV screen came to life and they all focused on it.

  Bogart said, “We currently have twenty cases lined up to look at. Of those we will be able to, realistically, focus on only one at a time. I’m going for quality, not quantity. The twenty cases you’ve been given have been whittled down from a far larger number using various internal filters.”

  Milligan said in a firm, clear voice, “It seems to me that the Morillo case has a lot of potential. I have some angles for approaching it that I think are rock-solid.”

  “Good to hear,” said Bogart. “But I wanted to go through a brief overview of each of the cases so we’re all starting from the same page.”

  Milligan’s features tightened just a bit. Decker could tell he was not pleased at what he no doubt saw as a rebuke, though Bogart was actually being perfectly reasonable.

  Bogart methodically ran through each case, the highlights of which were shown on the screen.

  Decker noted that each of the others followed along in their binders. He saw Milligan glance over at him in mild surprise because Decker had not even cracked open his book. Perhaps Bogart had not told them about Decker’s hyperthymesia. He was following along in his mind, turning the mental page in his head in synch with what Bogart was doing on the screen.

  When Bogart was done he looked around the room. “Comments?”

  Milligan said, “I still believe the Morillo case is the one to go after, Ross. It offers the best chance of a successful intervention. The case against him isn’t that strong and one critical piece of evidence was for all intents and purposes ignored. It seems to me that there are better suspects out there. And it would be good for your program to get off to a strong start.”

  Bogart looked at the others. “Views on that?”

  Decker said, “I think we should pass on the Morillo case.”

  “Why?” Milligan asked sharply.

  “Because it’s extremely likely that he’s guilty.”

  As Milligan looked at him his thick neck seemed to flare out like a cobra’s. “Based on what?” he asked.

  “Inconsistencies.”

  “Such as?”

  “Morillo was a civilian contractor to the Navy. On page two of the statement he told police that he left for work at Crane Naval Base in Martin County, Indiana, at nine a.m. He said he arrived at the base at eight-fifteen a.m.”

  “That’s because—” Milligan began triumphantly, only Decker ignored him and plowed on.

  “That’s because at that time Martin County and the naval base had been switched to the central time zone from the eastern time zone, effective April 2, 2006. Thus it was nine a.m. eastern standard time when Morillo left his house but eight a.m. central standard time.”

  “Correct,” Milligan admitted grudgingly. “So what’s the inconsistency?”

  “Morillo had a motive for killing the victims. But there was one witness for Morillo, Bahiti Sadat. He said that he saw Morillo on the street across from his shop at six-fifteen p.m. The murders, forensic and other evidence determined, occurred at six-nineteen. Since the murders were committed about ten miles from Sadat’s shop, and Morillo was on foot at the time, it was a solid alibi for Morillo.”

  “But the police mostly discounted that because Sadat was Muslim,” interjected Milligan. “And this was right in the middle of the wars in the Middle East, and there was a lot of prejudice. Sadat’s testimony was rock-solid. It gave Morillo an alibi, but the jury wouldn’t buy it.” He paused, scrutinizing Decker. “I hope you don’t have those sorts of prejudices?”

  Decker ignored this too and continued. “Sadat said he had just finished his evening prayer. That’s when he said he saw Morillo. He remembered it distinctly because he had just looked up from his prayer rug and through the window of his storefront. He made a positive ID.”

  “Exactly,” said an increasingly impatient Milligan. “You’re making my case for me.”

  Decker said, “The prayer Sadat said he had just finished was the Maghrib, the fourth prayer of the day.”

  “Right. Devout Muslims pray five times a day. We all know that,” pointed out Milligan.

  “Well, actually lots of people don’t know that, and back then a lot more folks probably didn’t,” said Decker. “But the point is the Maghrib prayer cannot commence before sunset. The religion is strict on that. And on that day in Indiana sunset was at seven-twelve p.m., nearly an hour later than Sadat testified he saw Morillo pass by the shop as he looked up. Now, Sadat is only human, and if he’d been off by a few minutes I don’t think anyone could blame him. But at that time of day the sun would still clearly be in the sky. No Muslim would have begun their sunset prayer when it was so clearly not sunset. And certainly no Muslim would have finished the sunset prayer nearly an hour before the sun had even gone down.”

  Milligan’s jaw dropped slightly.

  Bogart and Jamison shared a glance.

  Davenport kept her gaze locked on Decker.

  Decker added, “And in addition to that, according to the drawing the police made that was in the file, the front of Sadat’s shop faces west toward the street where Morillo was allegedly walking at the time.”

  Jamison said, “And Muslims face east when praying. Toward Mecca.”

  Bogart added, “Sadat’s back would have been to Morillo. When he looked up from his prayer rug he couldn’t have seen him. I’m surprised no one thought to question that.”

  Decker said, “A lot of Americans don’t know that much about Muslim customs, and they knew even less back then, when most couldn’t tell you the difference between a Sunni and a Shia. I think you might find Morillo and Sadat know each other and that this alibi was prearranged, even though it didn’t work. It might determine conclusively that Morillo was guilty. But since he’s in prison where he belongs, you might not want to waste your time.”

  Milligan sat back looking extremely miffed.

  Decker glanced at Bogart. “Can we talk about the Melvin Mars case now?”

  “Wait a minute,” barked Milligan. “I was told you just got here today. Were you sent the briefing book earlier?”

  Bogart answered. “No, he got it this morning. I delivered the binder myself.”

  Milligan turned back to Decker. “And from all these cases you dug up detailed stuff like that on the Morillo case in, what, a few hours?”

  “I didn’t have to dig anything up. I read the statements and reports. It was all right there.”

  “And knowing the specific Muslim prayers?” said Milligan.

  Decker shrugged. “I read a lot.”

  “And the sunset timing?” persisted Milligan.

  “I’m from that part of the country. I knew that off the top of my head.”

  Milligan said, �
��From a specific day in 2006?”

  “Yes,” said Decker imperturbably.

  Milligan said accusingly, “Did you know beforehand that I was interested in the Morillo case?”

  “Until I walked in this room, I didn’t even know you existed,” replied Decker matter-of-factly. He looked at Bogart again. “Can we discuss the Mars case now? Because I don’t really think any of the others in the binder are nearly as compelling. And since Sadat was lying and Morillo killed those people and we’re not here to free the guilty, I think we need to move on.”

  Davenport had to cover her mouth to hide her smile even as Milligan stared venomously at Decker.

  Before Bogart could speak, Davenport said, “I vote that we take up the Mars case.”

  Decker eyed her curiously. “But I haven’t described it yet.”

  “After what you just did, Mr. Decker, I’ll take it on faith.” She looked at Bogart. “Ross, can we go ahead and vote?”

  Bogart glanced at Jamison and Decker and then said, “Okay. All in favor of taking on the Melvin Mars case raise your hand.”

  Four hands went up. Milligan was the lone dissenter.

  Decker leaned forward. “Good. Now, can we get down to it?”

  CHAPTER

  9

  TWO HOURS LATER the meeting ended and plans were made to reconvene the next day. As they left the building, Davenport caught up to Decker and Jamison. Bogart had stayed behind for a few minutes to talk to Milligan.

  “Do you two have time for a drink?” asked Davenport, her gaze swiveling between the pair. “There’s a place about a five-minute drive from the base.”

  Jamison looked uncertain. “We drove over with Agent Bogart.”

  “He can meet us there. I can text him. I just wanted to talk about the case some more before tomorrow. Then he or I can drive you back. I have a car.”

  Jamison looked at Decker. “You okay with that?”

  Decker said, “Does the bar serve food? I didn’t have any lunch.”

  “Absolutely,” Davenport said, running her gaze over Decker’s large physique.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said.

  * * *

  It was called, aptly, The Dive. A hangout for soldiers and cops and rednecks and the occasional suit.

  Decker’s party took a table in the back, farthest away from the bar, which was already loud and crowded on New Year’s Day. A digital jukebox blasted away.

  Davenport snagged a seat right next to Decker, while Jamison sat across from them. They had a fourth chair for Bogart, whom Davenport had texted. He said he would meet them there in about twenty minutes.

  They ordered beers and some snacks. Decker got a mound of chili, chips, and cheese for himself. Davenport had some flatbread and Jamison French onion soup.

  Davenport said, “I thought the first meeting went well, although Milligan seemed a bit brusque.”

  “Territorial,” noted Jamison. “I’m not sure he’s into us outsiders being involved in FBI investigations.”

  “Well, he’s going to have to get used to it,” replied Davenport. She took a sip of beer and studied Decker, who had already dug into his chip mound.

  “That was quite impressive what you did back there, Amos. Do you mind if I call you Amos?”

  Decker swallowed some of his food. Without looking at her he said, “I didn’t want to waste time on a case of no interest. And you can call me Amos.”

  “But you are interested in the Melvin Mars case, clearly.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you were talking about the case you said you played football against him in college. Is that what piqued your interest? Or was it the fact that his case parallels what happened to you in Burlington? You didn’t mention that in the meeting.”

  Decker slowly lifted his gaze from his food to look at Davenport, as Jamison stared suspiciously at her.

  “I didn’t mention it because it had no real relevance to whether we should take the case or not,” he replied.

  “Come on, Amos,” said Davenport. “A mind like yours. Hyperthymesia coupled with synesthesia due to a traumatic brain injury suffered on the football field? You’re way too smart not to see that connection.”

  “Bogart told you that?” he said.

  She nodded. “I got here a week ago. Gave me time to get acclimated and have some nice discussions with Ross. He had just come off the case with you, and he was generous with details, seeing as how I was joining the team and all.”

  “I’m still not sure he should have told you about it,” said Jamison defensively.

  Davenport held up her hands in mock surrender. “Please don’t get the wrong idea. Ross didn’t tell me everything. But enough so that I know there are parallels between the murders of Amos’s family and Melvin Mars’s parents. I think it could be a fascinating case study.”

  “But he told you about my condition?” said Decker.

  “Well, yes. I’m a clinical psychologist by profession, Amos, with a subspecialty in the arena of cognitive anomalies. And I actually know some of the people at the Cognitive Research Institute outside of Chicago, though this was well after you went through there.”

  Decker wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But the goal would be to determine guilt or innocence in the Mars case. Nothing more. Nothing to do with my cognitive anomalies. Because I have no interest in being a ‘case study.’”

  Davenport fingered her beer. “If that’s what you want. Frankly, I think it would be wasting an opportunity. But if I’ve put my foot in my mouth, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was offend you in any way. It was not my intent.”

  Decker shrugged but said nothing.

  A moment later Bogart walked in and joined them. He sat down and a waitress came and took his order.

  After she left Bogart said, “I want to apologize for the meeting today. Milligan was out of line and I told him so. We’re not in this to fight with each other. We’re a team. And those who want to remain on the team will have to start acting like it.”

  “He had a case and he argued for it,” said Decker. “I took no offense.”

  “Well, he could have made his argument more professionally. The insinuation that you were somehow looking to purposefully torpedo his case was ridiculous.”

  Bogart’s glass of wine arrived and he took a sip. “Lisa may have told you that I briefed her on some of what happened in Burlington.”

  “She did,” said Jamison. “And she knows about Amos’s condition,” she added, a bit crossly.

  If Bogart noticed her resentment, he chose to ignore it.

  “And I was telling Amos that I’ve had dealings with the folks at the Cognitive Institute,” commented Davenport.

  “But Ms. Davenport has assured me that my anomalies will have nothing to do with investigating the Melvin Mars case,” added Decker.

  Davenport raised her beer. “Touché. And please, call me Lisa.”

  Bogart said, “Mars is still in prison in Texas. It seems the first thing to do would be to go there. The place where his parents were killed is hundreds of miles west of the prison.”

  “And then we have Charles Montgomery in Alabama,” said Decker.

  “Exactly.”

  Davenport said, “Can we learn anything about this guy before we