A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

  “So is that what you think? He was intoxicated and did what he did because of that?”

  “I did. At first. But then what did he do with the body? They only had the one old clunker car, and no one saw him driving it that night. We looked all over the property and the woods around. No freshly dug graves. No body turned up in the water. No body turned up anywhere. It’s hard to hide a corpse sober. Much less drunk.”

  “Daniel James Tor was operating in the area right around that time.”

  Bartles looked at her thoughtfully. “He killed a little girl from Macon, about an hour from here. The FBI finally got the bastard. You think he took your sister?”

  “They did investigate his presence in the area, but my sister’s abduction did not fit his geometric pattern of activity.”

  Bartles frowned. “Geometric? What does that mean?”

  “Tor was a math prodigy. And he selected his victims based on their locations adhering to mathematical shapes. That’s how he was eventually caught. They predicted his next area of activity and had assets there that deployed swiftly.”

  “So your home’s location didn’t fit this ‘math’ pattern?” He looked skeptical.

  “No. Over the course of eighteen months in 1988 and 1989, Tor was suspected of abducting and killing four people in the state of Georgia, one each from Albany, Columbus, Atlanta, and the little girl you mentioned from the city of Macon. That formed a rough geometric shape. I called it a diamond. He corrected me and called it a rhombus.”

  “He corrected you?” Bartles said sharply.

  “I’ve been to see Tor three times now at ADX Florence.”

  “I didn’t even know that monster was still alive. They should have executed his ass.”

  “He’s serving enough life sentences that he’ll never see the light of day.”

  “Hang on, if you went to see him you must’ve thought he did it, even though it didn’t fit his pattern.”

  “I suspected he might have been involved because he was in the area at the time.”

  “I remember after you got out of the hospital, you told us you saw a man come through your bedroom window. You think it was Tor?”

  Blum was watching Pine closely.

  “I had some hypnotherapy done recently, to bring out repressed memories.”

  “Did it work?”

  “I don’t know. The man I saw could have been Tor. But since I knew all about Tor before, and also knew he was in the area at the time…”

  “You mean that could have influenced your memory, maybe erroneously,” said Bartles.

  “Right.”

  “Well, what did Tor say?”

  “He’s never going to admit to it. And even if he does, he’ll never provide corroborating evidence. He has no incentive to. So that’s a dead end.”

  Bartles spread his hands. “Which explains why you’re here.”

  “Can I look at the file?”

  “You can. I just don’t know what you expect to find three decades later.”

  “Neither do I. But I can only give it my best shot.”

  Bartles slowly nodded. “I’ll have the file brought up and copied. Just to warn you, there’s not much there. It’s not that anything is missing. There just wasn’t a lot there to begin with.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t purged the files after all this time.”

  “Normally we would have. But the case was never solved, Agent Pine. So we held on to it. You just never know, right?”

  “Right.”

  As he was escorting them from his office, Bartles said, “I never imagined you growing up to be an FBI agent.”

  “Life can be unpredictable.”

  “I hear you work out in Arizona.”

  “Did you hear that from the Lauren Graham information network?”

  Bartles chuckled. “We are friends. Nice gal. You like it out there?”

  “Yes, it’s very different from here in some ways. In other ways, it’s a lot alike.”

  “People are people,” said Blum. “No matter where they are.”

  “If you find something out, let me know,” said Bartles. “We don’t have many unsolved cases around here. And I’d like to close that one, if I could.”

  “Okay.”

  Pine and Blum started to head to the lobby.

  “What was that Tor fellow like?” he asked abruptly.

  Pine turned back around. “Take your worst nightmare and multiply it by a hundred.”

  “So it’s that obvious? You can just tell that by being around him?”

  “No, you can’t. That’s what makes it a nightmare. You won’t realize he’s a monster until it’s too late.”

  Chapter 9

  BARTLES WASN’T KIDDING when he said there wasn’t much here,” said Blum.

  They had spread out copies of the documents, notes, reports, and evidentiary photos on Pine’s bed in her room at the Cottage. It was, under any measure, a sorry collection.

  She picked up a photo and held it out to Pine. “You and your sister?”

  Pine took the photo and nodded. “Our fifth birthday. I have the same one in my wallet. It’s the only picture I have of us. My parents didn’t have a camera. My mom borrowed a friend’s Polaroid and took three pictures. One for each of us and one for herself. She must’ve given this one to the police so they could search for Mercy.”

  “You and your sister really were mirror images of each other.”

  Pine stared at two little girls from what seemed a thousand years ago. All bright eyes and smiles. “We were inseparable. Mercy and Lee Pine. Two people but really one. Only that was a long time ago,” she added wistfully. “I think every day about what it would have been like to have my sister around all this time. We were always each other’s best friend. I…I would like to believe that we would have always been best friends.”

  Pine thought about what Mercy would be like now. Would they still be identical in appearance, or would the years have carved differences into them? She just hoped that Mercy wasn’t dead. But how realistic was that?

  “If none of this had happened, you might not be with the FBI,” Blum pointed out.

  “I’d take that trade-off in a heartbeat.”

  “I would, too, if I were you,” said Blum. She picked up a hospital record with X-rays attached. “Your injuries really were very serious, Agent Pine. You nearly died.”

  Pine nodded absently. “I remember opening my eyes in the hospital and seeing my mother hovering over me. At first, I thought I was dead, and she was an angel.” She glanced at Blum in embarrassment. “Silly thoughts of a little girl.”

  “I’m sure seeing your mother was very comforting to you,” said Blum firmly.

  Pine looked over the items on the bed. “Not even the FBI could really find much. No trace. No leads. No motives. No nothing. A complete dead end.”

  “No one heard or saw anything?”

  “You observed how remote it was. It was the same back then, if not more so.”

  “What did the police do?”

  “Other than thinking my father had done it? Not much.”

  Blum looked at her watch. “It’s dinnertime.”

  “Okay.”

  “Same place?” asked Blum.

  “I suppose. Why, are you hoping to see Cy Tanner again?”

  “Don’t make me blush, Agent Pine.”

  “You know, I’m really not hungry. Why don’t you go without me.”

  “Are you sure? I can wait.”

  “No, I think it’ll be better if I’m by myself for a bit.”

  “I know this is a lot to deal with.”

  “I’ve been dealing with it for a long time now. But if you do the same thing over and over again, how can you expect a different result? Which is why I’m here.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  After Blum left, Pine slowly gathered up the pieces of the file and put them back into the box the sheriff’s office had provided.

&nbs
p; She left her room and headed out onto the main street of Andersonville.

  The night air again held an autumnal chill and she was glad of her jacket as she walked along the quiet streets. She had few memories of the place. She had been so young when she had left. And that time in her life had been dominated by the abduction of Mercy.

  The town’s buildings, though old and not in the best shape, seemed not to have changed much. The water tower on metal stilts emblazoned with the name of the town was still there. She passed rustic shops, all with old A-frame roofs and deep front overhangs, and consignment shops with their wares; she glimpsed through a dimly lit window stacked cases of old empty pop bottles in a place selling “antiques.” The town reminded her a little of the movie To Kill A Mockingbird. A quaint Southern hamlet on the rocks, unsure of its future but still plugging along somehow, trusting that better times were just around the corner.

  Then there were the ubiquitous railroad tracks running through the area, which was really the only reason there was a town. The National Prisoner of War Museum and the prison site and the vast, adjacent cemetery dominated the area, and there were numerous signs proclaiming this as an enticement for visitors to take it all in and spend their tourist dollars. She supposed the town had to make the best of the hand it had been dealt. A notorious prison in its midst was ripe for exploitation to bring in needed revenue. At least it could be an important history lesson in the cruelty that human beings could show other human beings.

  She stepped over puddles of a recent rain that had laid bare the hard, nonporous red Georgia clay. Tall, thin scrub pines with their shallow roots thrived here, though storms and accompanying high winds would easily shear them off or even pull them from the earth itself.

  She sat on a damp bench and stared out into the darkness.

  Her mother had confided in Pine years later that she had been in so much pain during the delivery that when it was over, she had named the first daughter to come out Mercy, since it had been a “mercy” of sorts for her that the ordeal was halfway over.

  When her oldest daughter had vanished that night, Julia Pine had not said her name out loud for the longest time. In fact, she had only told Pine the origins of her sister’s name when Pine had gone off to college.

  And then Pine had come home from college one summer to find her mother gone, with only a brief note left behind that really explained nothing. She thought of the moment she had walked into the apartment she shared with her mother and found only a single piece of paper, leaving her to somehow make sense of another grievous loss. Pine smacked her fist against the arm of the bench and had to fight back the compulsion to scream.

  Why did you just leave me like that, Mom? Leave me with nothing? First Mercy, then Dad, then you.

  Tor had told her on the first visit to the prison that losing Mercy had meant that Pine had a hole in herself that could not be filled. That she would never be able to trust anyone again. That she could never be close to anyone again. That she would die alone feeling the loss of her twin just as strongly as the day it happened.

  And maybe he’s right about that. But I can still find out what happened to her. Maybe that will close the hole. If only a little.

  But what about the disappearance of her mother? How could she fill that void? Unlike Mercy, Pine’s mother had left of her own free will. Pine remembered just sitting on the floor stunned, as she held the paper in her hand. And then going around in a fog for days afterward, before collecting herself and doing her best to get on with her life.

  She had called the police but Pine was no longer a child, so there had been no question of abandonment. Over the years, she had searched for her mother. When she had joined the FBI she had continued that search, but there had been no trace of the woman. She had vanished so completely, it was like she had never existed at all.

  And if I can’t figure out this part of my life, I can’t do my job as an agent. And Dobbs will be as good as his word. Another incident like with that creep Cliff Rogers and I’m gone from the Bureau. And then what do I do?

  In her anxiety, Pine rose and started walking again, until she heard the screams.

  Then she automatically started sprinting toward the sound, her gun drawn.

  Her long legs carried her quickly to an ill-lighted and empty part of the main street. Pine saw the old woman first. She had dropped her bag, the contents strewn across the darkened street.

  “What is it?” cried out Pine, taking her by the arm.

  The old lady pointed with a shaky hand at a space in between two darkened buildings.

  Pine could just make out what was lying there.

  It can’t be, she thought. Please, it can’t be.

  Chapter 10

  A WOMAN IN HER LATE TWENTIES, pale skin, slender but shapely, with long, light brown hair and unusually sharp facial features.

  Unfortunately, each of these details was rendered in death.

  Two deputies from Sumter County were next to Pine staring down at the body. They were standing behind a screen that the men had erected to shield the body. One deputy was tall, thin, and in his twenties. By the sickened look on his face, this was his first homicide. His partner was fortyish and hefty, and he didn’t look much better.

  “Are you two investigating as well?” Pine asked.

  The older man shook his head. “Just securing the scene. The Investigative Division does the processing and the rest. GBI will probably be called in, too,” he added, referring to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

  She had already showed them her shield and credentials. The old woman who had been the first to find the body was sitting on a bench, still showing the effects of the discovery in her sobs and shivers. Pine had tried to comfort her, to little avail.

  Some onlookers had gathered, but the two deputies had quickly taped off the area and then erected the screen.

  “What’s the get-up she’s in?” said the younger deputy.

  Pine had noticed this the moment she had seen the body. “It’s a veil. Looks to be a wedding veil.”

  “Wedding veil? So what the hell does that mean?” asked the older deputy.

  It doesn’t mean anything good, thought Pine.

  As they stepped from behind the screen, a rattling ancient Crown Vic sedan pulled up and a man in his late fifties climbed out. He was around six feet tall, with a portly frame, thinning gray hair, and weighty jowls. His suit was baggy, his shirt wrinkled and his tie askew, but his gaze was firm and active, and he carried himself with a quiet confidence. He walked over and identified himself as Max Wallis, with the GBI. He nodded at the deputies. “I’ll be over to see the body in a minute.” He looked at Pine. “Did you find the victim?” he asked.

  She pointed at the old woman on the bench. “I was second on the scene.”

  “I’ll still want to talk to you,” said Wallis.

  “She’s FBI, sir,” said the older deputy.

  Wallis looked like someone had slapped him. “Come again?”

  Pine held out her shield and official credentials. “I was in town visiting. I used to live here. I heard screams and came running.”

  Wallis studied the information on her credential card for a few moments, his eyebrows hiking at certain intervals. “Okay, just don’t go anywhere.”

  He walked over to the old woman and sat down next to her. Pine watched as he conversed with her, giving her some Kleenex when she started to sniffle and holding her hand and patting her shoulder supportively at other times.

  That was a good technique, thought Pine. It was reassuring and designed to set the person at ease, with, Pine hoped, a clearer account from the woman about what had happened.

  Wallis finally rose, walked back over to the deputies, and ordered one of them to drive the woman home. They had already collected the dropped items from her bag.

  The younger deputy departed with her while the other stood guard at the scene.

  “Was she any help?” asked Pine.

  Wallis flipped through h
is notebook. “Not really. She saw the body and panicked, dropped her bag. But she didn’t see or hear anything. She doesn’t know the victim, either.”

  “A town this small people pretty much know everybody. So she might not be from here.”

  “The crime scene techs will be here any minute. She may have ID on her.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “No bag or purse. She’s been laid out in a posed position. Thought went into this. I don’t think the killer would have left ID behind. But if he or she did, it was because they wanted us to know the vic’s identity.” She looked at her watch. “It’s been forty minutes since I arrived at the scene, the old woman was here maybe a couple minutes before that.”

  “So whoever put her there is long gone.”

  “It was dark when I arrived here. And this is the far end of the main street. You have some trees just behind.”

  “You don’t think he carried her here in his arms?”

  “Transport in a car is much more likely. The shops here are all closed. That’s not the case on the other end of the street. And there’s better illumination that way too.”

  “Which shows familiarity with the area,” said Wallis.

  “It’ll be interesting to see the time of death.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think she was killed here. When I arrived, I looked around the whole area, listened for sounds, the works. Nothing. I think she was killed off-site and then the murderer placed the body here for someone to find.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  “I have.”

  “And you’re here just visiting?”

  “More or less.”

  He thought for a moment. “Look, you want to work with me on this?”

  “Can I?”

  “GBI has a lot of good people and expertise, but this is rural Georgia and assets are stretched. I’m not too proud to ask for expert help when it so conveniently presents itself.”

  Pine looked at the screen. “All right. But there’s one thing you need to know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see it for yourself, but the killer put a wedding veil on the woman.”