The Last Mile

by David Baldacci

  library card back.

  “Thanks.”

  They walked out to the car.

  “What the hell is all this about?” asked Bogart.

  Mars said, “That’s the book my da— I mean Roy, I mean Callahan, would read to me.”

  Decker added, “He really liked the character of the Big Bad Wolf. That’s because I think he saw himself in much the same role.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jamison. “So the three pigs?”

  “The Three Musketeers, of course,” said Decker. “Except Roy saw them as pigs, not heroes. And he was the Big Bad Wolf who wanted to eat them.”

  “But the wolf failed,” said Bogart.

  “In the story he did. Let’s see how it turns out in real life.”

  He sat in the backseat and turned the book over and over in his hands. He flipped through each page but found nothing.

  Jamison said, “Decker, look at the top of the spine. It’s pulled away from the pages some.”

  Decker examined this, and tried to get his finger inside the crevice, but his finger was too big.

  “Anybody got a light?” he asked.

  Bogart handed him a penlight pulled from his jacket.

  Decker shone it down in the crevice. “There’s something in there.”

  “Just tear the spine off,” said Bogart.

  “I don’t like to ruin books,” Decker said.

  “Good God,” said Bogart. “Just wait a minute.” He went to the trunk of the rental and pulled out his suitcase. “I haven’t even checked into the hotel yet,” he explained. He pulled out a garment bag and then took out a wire hanger that a suit was hanging on. He handed it through the rear window to Decker. “Here. Try this.”

  Decker bent the hanger’s hook a bit to fit it inside the crevice and then worked it down into the slot. “It’s definitely hitting something.” He worked away for several minutes until he said, “Okay, it’s coming up.” He slowly pulled the hanger up until they could see the top of a key.

  Jamison had the smallest fingers among them, and she gently reached inside the crevice and eased the key out. It had a chunk of something sticky attached to it.

  Decker said, “Roy probably put that glue stuff on the key and slid it down into the spine. That way it wouldn’t easily come out.”

  “What’s it a key to?” asked Bogart.

  Jamison held it up.

  Decker said, “If I had to guess, I’d say it was a safe deposit key.”

  “Okay, what bank? Tuscaloosa has more than one. If it’s even in Tuscaloosa.”

  Jamison looked out the window. “Well, other things being equal, why don’t we try the one right next to the library?”

  Bogart gaped and then said, “Sounds like a plan.”

  They marched into the bank and Bogart’s FBI badge and ID got things hopping. The key had indeed been issued by the bank.

  When the necessity of a warrant was mentioned by the bank manager, Bogart said, “I can get one, but it’ll mean that some murderers might get away with their crimes.”

  “But the box holder does have rights,” said the bank manager.

  Decker held up the grainy picture of Roy Mars. “Is this the guy?”

  The manager studied the photo. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well, he won’t mind. He’s dead.”

  The bank manager led them into the safe. He inserted the key they had brought and the duplicate one the bank kept. The box was pulled out and the manager left them there to go through the contents.

  Decker looked at Mars. “You ready for this?”

  “I been ready for this for a long time, Decker.”

  He opened the box and they stared down at the contents.

  Decker slowly pulled one item out. It was a photograph.

  Bogart plucked out a letter and started to read it.

  Mars took out a map and some pieces of paper with writing on them.

  Jamison picked up a DVD. “They didn’t have these back in the sixties. Roy—I mean Callahan—must have burned something to it.”

  It took about an hour to go through all that was in there, including watching the DVD on a laptop. The content looked to have originally been shot on film and then transferred to the DVD.

  When they were finished Decker looked up at the others.

  They were all staring back at him, stunned.

  The Big Bad Wolf had finally gotten to the pigs.

  Decker glanced up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Aaron Callahan, wherever you are.”

  CHAPTER

  76

  WHAT CALLAHAN HAD in the way of evidence was so overwhelming that both Eastland and Huey are doing plea deals to avoid the death penalty,” said Bogart.

  They were in the same conference room at Quantico where they had first taken a look at Melvin Mars’s case. They were all present, including Davenport and Milligan. Mars was there too.

  “The Three Musketeers apparently wanted to document thoroughly what they were going to do,” said Milligan. “Photos of themselves with the bombs. Handwritten letters to each other about what they were planning and more letters after the fact detailing how they did it. Even a film where they bragged about what they had done. They were really proud of it. Maps of the NAACP office and the church. A list of the victims with check marks against their names. And on and on. Unbelievable.”

  Bogart added, “And all of them in KKK outfits. Even photos of them and Huey Sr. holding nooses and signs with racial slurs on it. How stupid can you get?”

  Decker said, “They thought they were untouchable. Huey’s father was the man in Mississippi. Eastland’s parents were rich. McClellan was the attack dog everybody was scared to death of. And they believed they were doing God’s work.”

  “More like the devil’s work,” interjected Jamison.

  “But he’s dead and the other two are heading to prison. Some untouchables,” said Bogart.

  Mars smiled.

  Decker glanced at him. “What?”

  “Just thinking of those two pricks in orange jumpsuits mopping floors and living the rest of their lives in an eight-by-ten. Pretty sweet.”

  Jamison said, “Speaking of, what about Mary Oliver?”

  Bogart said, “She cut a deal. But she’s still doing considerable jail time.”

  “Good,” said Davenport. “When she knocked on my door I thought nothing of letting her in. Next thing I know some guy grabbed me and held something to my nose. And everything went black. I thought I was dead for sure.”

  “You would have been,” said Bogart. “If we hadn’t found you. And you can thank Decker for that.”

  Davenport smiled warmly at him, but Decker didn’t seem to notice.

  “What about Melvin?” asked Jamison.

  Bogart straightened in his chair. “Melvin, you will not be going back to prison. After this all came out in the news and your role in finding the truth was prominently mentioned, Texas has no interest in trying to send you back to jail.”

  “But what about his lawsuit for damages?” asked Decker.

  “Glad you brought that up,” said Bogart. “We had DOJ lawyers get involved. It appears that because you are now quite the hero, Melvin, Texas does not want to be seen as denying you just compensation for what happened to you. Meaning your wrongful incarceration, and then your almost being killed at the prison due to a conspiracy involving some of the guards. Thus they have made an offer that I said I would share with you. Keep in mind that DOJ lawyers told the state to err on the side of extreme generosity, considering how much you could have made playing in the NFL.”

  Bogart withdrew a slip of folded paper from his pocket and slid it across to Mars. Mars looked down at it for a few long seconds.

  “You might as well open it, Melvin,” said Decker.

  “The suspense is killing me,” added Jamison.

  Mars slowly unfolded the paper and stared down at the number written there. Under his breath he counted the zeros.

  “Holy shit,” said Decke
r, who was looking over his shoulder.

  Jamison jumped up to look and nearly collapsed to the floor. “Mother of God.”

  Mars looked up at Bogart. “I never would have made this much playing in the NFL for twenty years.”

  “I have to say that the federal government chipped in quite a bit too. And it’s all tax-free. A good faith gesture from Uncle Sam. So you get to keep it all.”

  Decker slapped him on the back. “How does it feel to be stinking rich, Mellow?”

  Mars grinned and then started laughing. And he couldn’t stop. They all joined in, and people walking up and down the halls on serious business stopped and stared at the room, wondering what could be so damn funny.

  * * *

  A week later Decker drove Mars to the airport in Washington. He was wearing new clothes and had two suitcases full of additional outfits, all brand-new and tailored to his imposing physique.

  “I really can’t believe this is happening to me, Decker.”

  “Believe it, because when you open your eyes tomorrow it’ll all still be there.”

  “I wish you’d take some of the money. Hell, you earned it. I’d still be in prison but for you.”

  “Melvin, I suck at money management. I’d probably lose it in a few days.”

  “Then I’ll set aside a chunk in an account for you. I’ll invest it. When I was in prison I followed the markets. My degree was in business. I’ll do right by you.”

  “Whatever you want to do, you do. And I appreciate it.”

  They drove for some minutes in silence as Decker navigated rush-hour traffic.

  “So you’re heading back to Texas for a bit, and then what?”

  “I know the old house is pretty much burned down, but I wanted to see it one more time.” He paused. “After that I thought I might head to Alabama.”

  “Alabama? You mean Tuscaloosa?”

  “No. I mean to where the Montgomerys lived.”

  Decker looked at him curiously. “Okay. And for what reason?”

  “I made some calls. Turns out the Howling Cougars need a running backs coach.”

  “Tommy Montgomery’s team?”

  Mars nodded. “He lost both his parents. Callahan killed his mother. I sort of feel responsible.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “But I still want to do it. And I’ve got the money to help Tommy. I’ll set up a trust for him. No reason he should suffer.”

  “No reason at all. That’s very nice of you, Melvin.”

  “You think I might make a good coach?”

  Decker stared at him for a few moments before looking away. He knew Mars simply wanted a little encouragement, that was all. The “old” Decker could have given it with no trouble at all. The words would have just come to him easily. The “new” Decker had to work a lot harder to get there. While his memory had become perfect, much of the rest of his brain, the parts that picked up social cues and emotions and all the little messages that most folks took for granted in understanding, were far from perfect. But when he looked back at Mars a powerful memory took hold of him. It was Melvin Mars, the Longhorns’ star running back, trampling over the Buckeyes’ Decker on his way to yet another glorious touchdown. That gridiron connection made the jumbled words in his head straighten out into a clear line of thought.

  He said, “Let me see. One of the greatest college running backs of all time. Heisman finalist. And a guy who would’ve made the NFL Hall of Fame first ballot. I wonder what the hell a high school football team sees in you.”

  Mars chuckled embarrassedly. “I knew how to run the ball, Decker. I just don’t know if I can teach other people how to do it.”

  “I think Tommy will be in good hands.”

  They reached the airport and Decker helped Mars with his bags. The two men faced each other in front of the terminal.

  “I guess this is goodbye. At least for now.”

  Decker said, “For now. But don’t disappear on me.”

  “Come on down to ’Bama and watch the Howling Cougars play. Bring Jamison and Bogart.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment until Mars gave a bear hug to Decker, which he tentatively returned.

  Mars said, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you, man. I’ve never had a better friend, not in my whole life.”

  “Quite an admission for a Longhorn to make to a Buckeye.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Decker didn’t have to hesitate this time. Keeping in his head that memory of their playing against each other he said, “I know what you mean, Melvin. And I feel the same way.”

  “You never know, we might hook up sometime. I’m starting to like this investigation stuff.”

  “You’re actually good at it.”

  “You take care of yourself.” Mars cracked a smile. “And don’t get too skinny.”

  “Don’t lose any sleep over that possibility.”

  They hugged once more, and then Mars picked up his bags and walked into the airport terminal.

  Decker watched him go until the big man disappeared from view.

  Then he climbed back into his car but didn’t drive off right away.

  He turned on the radio. The station was turned to NPR.

  He thought back to last New Year’s Eve when he had done this same thing. When he had heard a story that had changed his life and so many others’. But most importantly, the life of Melvin Mars.

  He glanced once more in the direction of the terminal and dialed up the image of Melvin Mars telling him that he was the best friend he’d ever had.

  He suddenly felt like he had when he’d walked onto that gridiron on opening day. When eighty thousand people were cheering him, Amos Decker, or so it had seemed.

  Except for the day he’d married his wife and the day his daughter was born, that experience had been the best he had ever felt in his whole life.

  Now that amazing NFL moment had been pushed back to a distant fourth place.

  After Melvin Mars being his new best friend.

  Acknowledgments

  To Michelle, for doing everything else while I do this!

  To Mitch Hoffman, for being a crackerjack editor and now an agent.

  To Michael Pietsch, for leading the way so ably.

  To Jamie Raab, for being a wonderful advocate.