The Last Mile

by David Baldacci

  Decker nodded. “And then what?”

  “They weren’t downstairs. I had seen the lights go out and then the lights go on upstairs. Figured they were going to bed. I snuck up the stairs, but I got messed up on the room they were in. I went into one bedroom but it was empty. Girlie posters on the wall, athletic gear everywhere, so I was guessing it was their kid’s room. I was worried maybe their kid was sleeping in the bed, but it was empty.”

  “And that’s when you saw it?” asked Decker, which drew a sharp glance from Jamison and Davenport.

  Montgomery licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. The shotgun was in a rack on the wall. I thought if I was going to do this, I couldn’t use my service piece. They might be able to trace it to me, you know, through ballistics.”

  “Not if they didn’t have your gun,” pointed out Bogart.

  “Yeah, but they might arrest me and then they’d have my gun,” countered Montgomery.

  “Keep going,” said Decker.

  “I took the shotgun, found the ammo for it in a little drawer attached to the rack, and loaded it. Then I went into their bedroom. They were in bed asleep, but I got ’em up. They were scared shitless. Dude remembered me. I told him I wanted the money from the till back at the pawnshop. If he did that I’d let ’em live. He said that was impossible because the owner took it every night and put it in the bank’s night deposit slot. That really ticked me off. See, I thought he was the owner, but he was just some little prick clerk. But he had talked big like he owned the damn place. I don’t like people lying to me. Don’t sit well. Bet the sonofabitch never wore the uniform. And he’s looking down on me? Telling me he’s not giving me a handout?” Montgomery shook his head with finality. “Who the hell does he think he is? No way I’m letting that pass. So I blew him away. His wife was screaming. I couldn’t let her live, right? So I shot her too.”

  Montgomery stopped abruptly and looked around at Jamison and Davenport.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Decker.

  “I felt bad about popping the woman, but there was nothing else I could do.” He shrugged. “I’ve killed people. On the battlefield and off. But I never killed no woman before. It was his fault, not hers.”

  “And then what did you do?” asked Decker, hiding his disgust at the man’s apportioning of blame for Lucinda Mars’s murder onto her husband.

  Milligan was busy writing all this down in his tablet, but he too looked upset at what he was hearing.

  “I panicked. I mean, you get the adrenaline rush when you’re doing it. But when it’s done it’s like you’re coming off a crack high. You crash. My first thought was just to run for it. But then I looked down at the bodies and thought of something else. When I had been scoping out the place I peeked in the garage. Saw the gas can. I ran down and got it and poured the gas over them and then set them on fire.”

  “But why?” asked Bogart.

  “I thought…” He faltered. “I thought maybe if they and the house burned down they might just think it was a fire that killed ’em. And not that nobody had shot ’em.”

  “What’d you do with the shotgun?” asked Decker.

  “Put it back on the rack.”

  “Then you left?”

  “Yeah. I jumped in my car and hightailed it out of there.”

  “Did you see another vehicle while you were driving away?” asked Decker.

  Montgomery shook his head. “I was so screwed up in the head right then I coulda passed a convoy of Army tanks and never even noticed it.”

  “Were you wearing gloves?” asked Decker.

  “Gloves?”

  “When you picked up the shotgun?”

  “Oh yeah, I had on gloves. Didn’t want to leave no prints behind. I was in the Army, they were on file.” He paused and looked at Decker. “And that’s…it.”

  “Not quite. How’d you find out about Melvin Mars?”

  “Oh, that,” said Montgomery offhandedly. “This was just within the last year. I was here in prison. Dude told me about Mars. He said he heard it from a guy over in Texas.”

  “Dude have a name?” asked Bogart.

  “Donny Crockett,” said Montgomery promptly.

  “And where is he now?”

  “In a coffin. He was on death row too. They executed him four months ago.”

  Bogart and Decker looked at each other while Davenport kept her gaze squarely on Montgomery.

  She said, “Why would he mention Melvin Mars to you?”

  “Didn’t you know?” said Montgomery with a brief grin. “I played some ball at Ole Miss. I was a fullback. That meant I slammed my body against other bodies all game long so the tailback could look good. Now, I never played against Mars, because I was a lot older, but I heard of him later on. Didn’t connect it to what I done in Texas. But then when my buddy told me the details, I had my wife Google it for me. When I saw the pictures of the parents I knew they were the ones I’d killed.”

  “And you decided to come forward why?” asked Decker. “Because God might go easier on you?”

  Montgomery shrugged. “Look, I’m going to die anyway. Screwed up my whole life. This dude Mars lost out on a lot because of me. Guess I’m just trying to make amends. Do one good thing before I kick off.” He stopped and gave Decker a searching look. “They are going to let him go, right? He didn’t kill his parents. I did.”

  “We’ll see,” said Decker. “It’s the reason we’re here.”

  “I told the local cops stuff that I knew about the house and all. Details they didn’t let out to the public. It was me. What else can I say?”

  “I think you’ve said a lot,” answered Decker.

  Bogart said, “And you never met Melvin Mars?”

  Montgomery shook his head. “No sir, I never met the man. If he had been home that night I would’ve killed him too.”

  They all fell silent for a few moments. Decker was studying Montgomery closely while Bogart looked down at some notes. Jamison and Davenport were watching Decker.

  Decker finally said, “So you eventually remarried?”

  Montgomery nodded. “A couple years later. I was already in my fifties, but Regina was twenty years younger. So we had a kid. I tried to settle down and get cleaned up, but it was no good.” He motioned to his head again. “Pains came back. Had ’em all the time at that point. I just went nuts. Did shit. Regina took our son and ran for it. I started robbing banks and selling drugs, murdered a couple dudes I was doing business with. Then I killed a state trooper. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Where does your current wife live?” asked Decker.

  Montgomery’s eyebrows flicked up at this. “Why?”

  “We’ll need to talk to her.”

  “Why?” he asked again.

  “She’s part of this chain. We have to look at every link.”

  Montgomery considered this for a long moment. “She lives about twenty miles from here. Prison has the address. Moved there when I got transferred here.”

  “And you’ve been married how long?”

  “About eighteen years. Though I’ve been in prison the last nine. Like I said, she left me when I went out of control. Hell, Tommy was just a little boy then. But when I got the death sentence she came to the prison to see me. We never officially got divorced. I guess she felt sorry for me.”

  “How many kids do you have?” asked Decker.

  “Just Tommy. He lives with his mom but he never comes here. Don’t blame him. Wasn’t there for him, so why should he be there for me? He’s a really good football player from what she tells me.”

  “Does she visit you often?” asked Davenport.

  Montgomery leveled his gaze on her. “Every week, like clockwork.”

  “That’s nice,” said Davenport, drawing a wary look from Montgomery.

  “Anyone else ever visit you?” asked Decker.

  “I don’t have anybody else.”

  “No lawyers or anything?”

  “They tried. And failed. And left.”

&n
bsp; Decker said, “When is your execution date?”

  “Three weeks from yesterday.”

  Davenport asked, “Why did you choose the electric chair over lethal injection?”

  Everyone looked at her.

  Montgomery grinned. “Figure where I’m going I better get used to being hot. And why not go out with a bang?”

  “What are your wife’s plans after you’re gone?” Decker asked.

  “Start over somewhere else.”

  “Right,” said Decker. “We’ll tell her you said hello when we see her.”

  “I’m doing the right thing, right?” said Montgomery nervously.

  “That’s not for me to answer,” replied Decker. “One more thing. Did you steal any money or property from the Marses?”

  Montgomery stared up at him, a wary expression on his features. “No, did the cops say I did?”

  “Did you commit any other crimes while you were in town?” asked Decker.

  “No. I told you. I killed them and tore outta there.”

  “So you didn’t stay around and do a day’s worth of labor or anything?”

  Montgomery looked at him like Decker had lost his mind.

  “After murdering two people?”

  “So, no?”

  “Hell no.”

  “And how far did you drive after you left town?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You remember a city?”

  Montgomery thought for a moment. “Maybe Abilene. Yeah, that’s right. I jumped on Interstate 20 and just headed east. Ran smack into Abilene.”

  “That was about, what, a hundred and eighty miles? Maybe a three-hour drive?”

  “About that, I guess, yeah.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  As they started to leave Montgomery called after them. “Can you tell Mr. Mars that I’m sorry?”

  Decker looked back at him. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  THEY DROVE DIRECTLY to Regina Montgomery’s house, which, as Montgomery had said, was only about twenty minutes from the prison.

  The skies were threatening rain, and, as the temperature dipped, perhaps even some snow, though it rarely fell in this part of Alabama.

  Bogart drove and Decker rode next to him. Davenport was in the backseat writing up some notes on her electronic tablet. Milligan was next to her doing the same thing on his.

  Jamison was to Milligan’s left. She said, “That was one scary man.”

  “Well, at least the public won’t have to worry about him anymore,” said Bogart.

  “Do you think his head injury made him do all those things?” asked Jamison.

  “I don’t know,” replied Bogart. “In the eyes of the law it apparently didn’t matter if it did or not.”

  “I guess not,” she said doubtfully.

  “Lisa, what was your opinion of him?” asked Bogart as he glanced at her in the car’s rearview.

  She looked up from her tablet. “My down and dirty is the guy is being truthful. He’s obviously cagey as hell, but he also seems genuinely remorseful. And if he is suffering from PTSD and that head wound affected critical areas of his brain, what he later did could make sense.”

  She saw Decker staring out of the side window, obviously not paying attention to what she was saying.

  “What did you think, Amos?” she said.

  When he said nothing she reached forward and touched his shoulder. He jerked and glanced back at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was asking what you thought of Montgomery?”

  “I think it’s more important what we think of Regina Montgomery,” he said.

  “And why is that?” she asked, looking confused. “I remember you saying we needed to find out if Montgomery had family.”

  “And I hope we’re just about to get some answers.”

  Regina Montgomery lived in one of a line of old duplexes that looked about a few rusted nails and a few more termite bites from falling down. They parked out front. There was an old cream-colored Buick with a tattered faux leather top sitting out in a front yard that held not a single blade of grass. The entire area looked blighted. In the distance they could hear a freight train’s whistle.

  A light rain started to fall as they walked up to the front door. It had a pyramid-shaped glass with a crack in it at about eye level.

  Bogart knocked on the door.

  Davenport said, “The place next door looks abandoned.”

  “Half the places here look abandoned,” noted Bogart.

  They heard approaching footsteps and the door was opened.

  Regina Montgomery was of medium height, thin, and her hair was more white than brown. She was dressed in faded jeans, flats, and a sweater with some smears of dirt near the waist.

  They identified themselves and were invited in.

  The front room was small, with a few pieces of cheap and battered furniture. She led them into the kitchen, moved some boxes and stacks of paper off chairs, and motioned for them to sit down around the small table in the middle of the space. There were only four chairs, so Milligan and Davenport stood.

  Regina looked nervously at each of them before settling her gaze on Bogart, who had produced his FBI shield at the front door.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked bluntly.

  “Just to ask some questions. We’ve spoken with your husband.”

  “Just so you know, while it’s true we never got divorced, we haven’t lived together for a long time. He’s been in prison for years.”

  “But legally he’s still your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you learn about his maybe having murdered Roy and Lucinda Mars?”

  She leaned back in the chair and assumed a focused expression. “When I went to the prison to visit Chuck.”

  “Do you remember the date?”

  “No, not exactly. I go every week, though. Lemme think.” She picked up a pack of cigarettes off the table, lit one, blew smoke out her nostrils, and was silent for a few moments, then said, “Maybe a couple months or so. Maybe. I’m not really sure.”

  “Were you surprised?” asked Bogart.

  “What, that he’d killed people? Hell no. I knew he could be violent. He’d murdered other people. It’s why they’re going to execute him. He killed an Alabama state trooper. That’s gonna get you the damn death penalty every time.”

  “He said he had you look up the Marses’ case online to make sure he was right?” prompted Bogart.

  “Yeah, I went over to the library. I don’t have a computer. I printed out their pictures and some other information and brought