The Fix

by David Baldacci

  “Actually, it was two new guys, but we think it’s all connected.”

  “Did you catch them?” he asked.

  “They won’t be bothering your dad anymore, that I can guarantee,” said Decker. “But they might send some other guys.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Danny helplessly.

  Jamison said, “We need your dad to talk to the police. Without that, there’s not much that can be done.”

  “I’ve tried to get him to do that. But he won’t. He just keeps telling me not to worry. But that’s all I do, worry.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to be more convincing,” said Decker.

  * * *

  When they reached the apartment building, the crime scene was still being processed but the bodies had been taken away. They escorted Danny up to his apartment. His father was sitting on the couch holding an ice pack against one side of his face and a beer in his other hand.

  Danny ran to him and hugged his father. They spoke in low voices. All the while Tomas kept a wary eye on Decker and Jamison.

  “Mr. Amaya, it won’t stop here,” said Jamison. “They’ll just send other people.”

  Amaya looked away even as his son clutched at him more tightly.

  Decker added, “And next time it won’t be just you. It’ll be your son.”

  A trembling Danny looked back at Decker. Amaya turned his head to stare at Decker.

  Decker approached Amaya and sat on the couch next to him. The furniture groaned under his bulk.

  “You know that’s the way it’s going to play out, right? That’s your Achilles’ heel. Whatever you’re involved in, that’s where they’ll come at you next. And we can’t be here all the time to protect Danny. So what are you going to do? Wait until they come and take him?”

  Amaya abruptly rose and threw the beer and the ice pack across the room. Danny sprang back and Decker gazed steadily up at the man.

  Amaya shouted, “Get out of mi casa. Ahora!”

  Decker held his gaze for a few more moments and then rose. He glanced at Danny. “You see anyone suspicious around here, call us.” He handed Danny a card with his cell phone number on it. “But call 911 first.” Then he looked back at Amaya, who stood there, his hands balled into fists and his chest heaving.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Amaya. Because you only have one hijo.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  THE NEXT MORNING, Decker, gun in holster, watched Danny and his father drive off. Then Decker went back to his apartment, changed into his workout gear, tramped back downstairs, and started to jog.

  His run took him along the waterfront where seagulls swooped and soared and the stiff surface current collected trash along the riverbanks. The sweat pouring, his breaths coming faster, Decker kept going until he could go no farther. He felt onion rings and French fries marching up his throat.

  He stopped and took a couple minutes to cool down, letting his blood pressure and breathing settle slowly, and stretching out tired muscles. And then he started to walk. The sun had risen and he could see people emerging from their homes and climbing into their cars or walking down the streets.

  He had put aside the issue of the Amayas and come back to the Dabney/Berkshire investigation. He sat down on a bench, looked out over the river, and closed his eyes.

  There were far too many questions, and, as of now, basically no answers.

  Harper Brown had told them that Dabney was selling secrets to cover gambling debts. That may or may not have been true.

  But what DIA couldn’t tell them was why he had targeted and killed Berkshire.

  Berkshire’s history was full of holes and shadows and contradictions. A murder victim with that sort of past? They had to be connected. Whatever had led Dabney to kill her had to have something to do with the woman’s past. And if that was the case, then Dabney had to have some connection to that past. Now they just had to find out what Berkshire’s past really was.

  Decker stood, his tired legs quivering a bit. He fast-walked back to the apartment and found Jamison sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and peering out the window. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down across from her.

  “Good workout?” she asked, without looking at him.

  “Any workout I have that doesn’t involve a coronary is a good workout for me.”

  She smiled weakly and then looked down at her cup.

  “Something on your mind?” asked Decker.

  “I don’t think you’d understand.”

  “Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

  She gazed up at him. “I’m always giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

  He studied her. “And coming away disappointed with the results, you mean?”

  She shrugged. “I know it’s the way you’re wired. You can’t help…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I can’t help being oblivious to most things?”

  “If that’s how you want to describe it.”

  He sat back and fingered his bottle. “Last night I remembered something I had forgotten.”

  “I thought you never forgot anything.”

  “I’m not a computer, Alex!”

  A long moment of silence passed before she said, “I know you’re not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Decker rubbed his head and didn’t respond.

  “What did you remember?” she prompted.

  “That my daughter loved orange popsicles.”

  Jamison looked taken aback. “I thought you were referring to something about the case.”

  He eyed her steadily. “I’m not a computer and I don’t only think about cases, Alex.”

  She looked stricken by his comment and then sighed. “I just keep putting my foot in it, don’t I?” She paused. “I’m sorry, Amos,” she added earnestly. “I loved popsicles when I was a kid too. Tell me more about Molly?”

  He looked away. “When I came home from work she’d be out on the front steps with one. And then she’d take one from behind her back and hand it to me. She had obviously been waiting for me to come home.”

  “Why do you think you forgot that?” asked Jamison, looking quite interested in his story.

  He took a sip of water before answering. “Maybe because I’m so focused on figuring out why people want to kill each other. My brain doesn’t have the bandwidth for personal stuff.”

  Jamison reached out and gripped his hand. “It also might mean that a little bit of who you were is coming back.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “But you don’t know that it’s impossible.” She paused. “Todd told me about the hospice.”

  “You mean how I made a mess of things?”

  “No, how you went back to Dorothy Vitters and adjusted her pillow. And told her you were sorry.”

  “I didn’t know he saw or heard that.”

  “Well, he did.”

  “It didn’t matter to her. She was asleep.”

  “It does matter, Decker. It should matter to you.”

  “I checked back with the hospice yesterday. Dorothy Vitters died an hour after we left her.”

  Jamison withdrew her hand. “I guess it was only a matter of time.”

  “The thing is, I saw her as navy blue when I first went in. But when I was leaving…” He stopped.

  “What?” asked Jamison.

  “When I was leaving I saw her changing to electric blue, which I associate with death. And an hour later she was dead.”

  “She was dying, Decker. Your mind knew that and responded accordingly. It’s not like you can predict death.”

  “I know. But it was still…weird.”

  “I can understand that,” she said sympathetically.

  He glanced at her. “I know I’m not…normal, Alex.”

  “Not that any of us are,” she said.

  “Right, but I’m more not normal than most.”

  “But because of that you�
��re great at what you do.”

  “Yeah, but is that a fair trade-off?”

  “Some would think it is.”

  They sat there in silence for a few moments. Finally, he said, “I sometimes remember who I used to be, Alex. Only I can’t be that person again. I know that.” Before she could reply, he rose. “I’m going to shower and change.”

  She looked up at him. “Okay. I’ll do the same.”

  “Did Virginia Cole contact you yet about the teacher who was friends with Berkshire?”

  “Not yet. I can ping her today about it.”

  “We’ve been trying the Berkshire angle for a while and we’ve come up empty. So let’s go back to Walter Dabney. We need to find out where he went on that trip.”

  “You think it’s important?”

  “He went somewhere and came back changed. I’d like to know why.”

  * * *

  Ellie Dabney was sitting in her kitchen staring out the window when Decker and Jamison were shown in by the housekeeper.

  “Are your kids still here?” asked Decker.

  “Yes, but they’re out finalizing the funeral arrangements. I just can’t seem to…”

  “Did your daughter from France get in?” asked Jamison.

  “Natalie arrived yesterday. She didn’t go with the others. She’s upstairs asleep. Jet lag. And…” Her voice trailed off once more.

  “Right,” said Decker, sitting down across from her.

  Ellie Dabney looked like she had aged twenty years. Her face sagged, her hair was unkempt, and her tall, athletic body had collapsed in on itself. Decker wondered if she’d been taking her depression meds.

  Jamison sat down next to her. “I know how incredibly hard this has been on you.”

  “Do you?” demanded Ellie. “Do you have a husband who murdered someone and then shot himself?”

  “No, I don’t. I was just—”

  “I understand what you were trying to do. I’m sorry. I just can’t…” She simply shook her head.

  “Has anyone else been by to see you?” asked Decker.

  “Like who?”

  “Other federal agents?”

  Ellie shook her head. “No, do you expect them to?”

  “It’s possible.” Decker leaned toward her across the table. “Were you aware that your husband might have had a gambling problem?”

  “Gambling problem?” scoffed Ellie. “Walt wouldn’t have known a craps table from a roulette wheel.”

  “And you base this on what?”

  “Did someone say he had a gambling problem? Someone at work?”

  “Not at work, no.”

  “Who then?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that. But you don’t think that’s possible, I take it?”

  “I never knew Walt to even buy a lottery ticket. He thought it was stupid. Like flushing your money down the toilet.”

  “Have you checked with your bank recently? To see if there might be any funds missing? Or maybe you have a financial manager?”

  “We do. And he actually called yesterday to check in and see if I needed anything. And though we didn’t talk business, I’ve known him a long time, and if there were any issues with our money, I’m sure he would have told me.”

  Decker glanced at Jamison. “Okay, that’s good to know.”

  “Why would someone think Walt was a gambler?”

  “They thought he might need the money.”

  “Why? Look around. It’s not like we’re destitute.” As soon as she finished speaking, Ellie’s face flushed and she looked ready to burst into fresh tears.

  Decker was about to say something else, but Jamison snagged his arm and said, “You’re absolutely right. Thank you. We’ll be leaving now.”

  As they walked to the front door, Decker glanced up the stairs to see a young woman standing at the top in a long T-shirt. Her face was red, presumably from crying. She was tottering on her bare feet and staring down at Decker with a hopeless look.

  Decker raced up the stairs with Jamison right behind. He caught the woman before she fell. He lifted her up in his arms.

  Jamison said, “This must be Natalie. That door is open. Maybe it’s her bedroom. Is she okay?”

  “She’s drunk,” said Decker, sniffing her breath.

  Jamison held open the door and Decker passed through and laid Natalie on the unmade bed. He looked around and saw the suitcase by the wall. He fingered the airline tag still on it.

  “Charles de Gaulle Airport. Okay, that confirms this is Natalie, the one who lives in France.”

  He glanced over at Natalie. It was then he noticed that she had two toes missing on her right foot.

  “Are you sure she’s okay?” asked Jamison.

  “Until the hangover kicks in.”

  They turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway. “I’ll take it from here.” She ushered them out and closed the bedroom door after them. “This really has destroyed our family,” she said.

  “I guess so,” said Decker.

  As they walked outside, Jamison said, “So maybe Miss high-and-mighty Harper Brown lied to us. Maybe Walter Dabney didn’t have a gambling problem.”

  Decker went over to Jamison’s car and stood next to it, surveying the property but not really seeing it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Decker didn’t answer, because the frames were whizzing by in his head. He went from first to last and last to first. Then he turned to Jamison.

  He said, “Brown told us that Dabney was selling secrets.”

  “Right. To pay for his gambling debts.”

  “She never said they were his gambling debts.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  HARPER BROWN HAD just sat down across from Decker at the café where Walter Dabney had gone right before killing Berkshire. She was dressed in a black two-piece suit with a seafoam-green blouse.