A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

  “But there’s one problem with that. We already talked to her. You’d think the person would have struck before we did that.”

  Blum shook her head. “But now that Layne Gillespie has been murdered? Maybe that made a difference.”

  “Meaning she could have had some info about him and his connection to Hanna Rebane?”

  “Yes. The killer knew we would come back and talk to her about this second murder.”

  “It’s certainly possible. But then again, anything seems to be possible with this case.”

  “Do you think this makes it more likely that there was a connection between Gillespie and Rebane?”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t make it less likely,” replied Pine.

  “With her gone, how will we find that out?”

  “She wasn’t the only one to work in porn films. There’s always someone else to ask.”

  “Well, let’s hope we get to them before this guy does.”

  Chapter 40

  MY WHOLE PAST is a lie. Well, that’s a lie. Most of my past is a lie.

  It wasn’t much consolation.

  It was the next day and Pine was sitting on her bed at the Cottage.

  She took out the magazine that Myron had given her. She opened it to the page where her mother appeared. Pine sat there and stared at the image for a long time. She ran her finger along the piles of hair on the head of the woman who had brought Pine into the world. She eyed the writing below. London. Karl Lagerfeld. The runway. Amanda something. She looked beautiful, but maybe too made up with makeup and wearing something too revealing, as models on fashion show runways often did.

  From London to Andersonville. What a strange journey. She could make neither heads nor tails of it.

  Pine laid the magazine aside, opened her spare suitcase, and picked up her old doll, fingering its hair as the rain started up again outside. They had driven back to Columbus in the rain, which had stopped when they got back to Andersonville. However, the clouds were now increasing and the winds were picking up. More inclemency was just about to hit.

  On the drive back she had phoned Wallis and told him what had happened to Beth Clemmons. He, in turn, had filled her in on the developments with Layne Gillespie’s autopsy. There had been no surprises there. Death by gunshot. No trace. No defensive wounds. The tux, hat, and corsage had led nowhere. The corpse had given no answers; his killer was no closer to being caught.

  She had informed the local police in Columbus about Gene Martin’s recollection of the workman heading to the freight elevator. They were following that up, but so far there had been nothing to come from it. There had been a camera outside the parking lot entrance, but it had been out of order. They had determined that it was Hanna Rebane’s key card that had been used to access the building from the garage. The killer undoubtedly had come and gone that way. And Pine was certain that in addition to the key card, he’d had a key to the apartment, and had used that to access the place and lie in wait for Beth Clemmons.

  Three people were dead, all of them connected. Rebane to Clemmons, as roommates and friends, and the two women and Layne Gillespie to the adult film world.

  She looked down at the other items on her bed as she set the doll aside.

  Barry Vincent. Why had this guy gotten into an argument with her father about what had happened? She couldn’t even remember a Barry Vincent. But Myron Pringle did. He’d broken up the fight. Pine wondered what had happened to Vincent. No one had mentioned him. There had been nothing on him in the police investigative file.

  Well, maybe she could do something about that.

  She walked downstairs and knocked on a door near the front hall that was marked OFFICE.

  “Yes?”

  Pine opened the door and saw Lauren Graham sitting at her desk in front of a laptop.

  “If I’m interrupting something I can come back,” said Pine.

  “No, I’m right in the middle of writer’s block anyway.”

  Pine closed the door behind her. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  Graham took off her reading glasses and set them down in front of her. “All right, but have you given my request any thought?” Then she noted the bruise on Pine’s forehead. “What happened to you?”

  “Ran into a wall. Look, I can talk to you generally about some of my cases, yes.”

  “Excellent. Maybe this evening over dinner?”

  “At the Clink?”

  “No. In Americus. There’s an Italian bistro there I’ve been dying to try.”

  Pine hesitated, but only for a second. “Sure.”

  “Terrific, what’s your question?”

  Pine sat down across from Graham. “Barry Vincent. Do you remember him?”

  “Barry Vincent?”

  “He was the man who accused my father of being involved in my sister’s disappearance,” prompted Pine. “Myron Pringle told me. He broke up a fight between my father and him outside our old house.”

  Graham thought for a few moments, pursing her lips. “For the life of me I don’t remember that name. Are you sure he was from Andersonville?”

  “I assumed he was if Pringle said he was outside my house arguing with my dad.”

  “Agnes Ridley might know.”

  “Okay, I’ll check with her.”

  “It sounds like you’re making some progress,” said Graham, giving Pine, at least to her mind, a strange look.

  “Some. You know, you don’t have to go to dinner with me. I can just talk to you here about some of my cases.”

  “No, I think it would be a lot more pleasant over some good food and drink.” She looked at her watch. “We should leave by six.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you back here at six.”

  Graham looked at Pine’s clothing: jeans, sweater, boots, and her FBI windbreaker. “Um, do you have a…dress and…heels? It’s sort of business or cocktail attire at this place for dinner.”

  “I think I can scrounge up something appropriate.”

  “I don’t mean to sound snooty or anything.”

  Pine made no reply.

  Graham gazed at her keenly. “You’re quite attractive, Atlee. You take after your mother. Tall, long torso and legs. Pretty much anything would look great on you. If you took the time…perhaps?”

  “I have other things to do with my time,” said Pine bluntly. “When I need to clean up, I usually manage it.”

  “I’m sure. I meant no offense. Are you going to talk to Agnes now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think this Barry Vincent person is important?”

  “He is until he isn’t. But that’s the way investigations work, at least mine do. It might seem kind of boring for a novel,” added Pine, glancing at the laptop on the woman’s desk.

  “My job is to make it not boring.”

  “I guess that’s where imagination comes in.”

  “I hope I have enough of it,” Graham said, a tad doubtfully.

  Pine left and walked down the street to her truck and climbed in. She had gotten Agnes Ridley’s address during her first conversation with the woman. It was a few miles outside of town and on the way to Pine’s old home.

  There was an old Buick in the gravel drive of the woman’s house. It had more rust than anything else, and its Georgia plates had expired three years ago. The house looked a bit familiar to Pine, though she couldn’t recall ever coming here. Ridley was home and answered Pine’s knock after a few moments. She, too, asked about Pine’s bruises, and Pine said once more that a wall and her own clumsiness had been the culprit.

  She followed Ridley into the front room that was stuffed with pieces of bulky old furniture, and a great many fragile knickknacks perched precariously on every flat surface. A fat tabby reclined on an arm of the tattered sofa. The feline looked up at Pine with disinterest in her wide, luminous eyes.

  “That’s Boo,” said Ridley, pointing to the cat.

  “Looks friendly.”

  Ridley laughed a
s she sat down. “Only on his terms. Oh, would you like something to drink?”

  Pine shook her head and plunged right in. “Do you remember a man named Barry Vincent?”

  Ridley sat back and put a finger to her chin. “Barry Vincent?”

  “Myron Pringle said that Vincent and my dad got into a fight the day after Mercy disappeared. Vincent apparently claimed that my dad had something to do with it.”

  “Oh, I did hear about that, yes. Barry Vincent—my goodness, I haven’t heard that name in ages. He did live here at one time. Maybe in town. I’m just not sure.”

  “Did he work at the mine?”

  “Not that I ever knew.”

  “Any idea where he is now?”

  “No. Now, don’t hold me to this, but I believe he left the area shortly before you and your parents did.”

  “What was he like? How long did he live here? Where was he from?”

  Ridley seemed overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. “I…I don’t really remember that much about him, Lee. He wasn’t here really all that long.”

  “No wife or kids?”

  “Not that I remember. Why all the interest in the man?”

  “I’m just trying to run down leads. I was curious as to why he believed so strongly that my dad was involved in my sister’s disappearance that he would have fought my father over it.”

  “Well, other people had their suspicions about that, too.”

  “But Vincent was apparently the only one who came to blows over it.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. You may want to ask Myron. If he remembers the fight, he may recall more about Vincent than I have.”

  “He’s next on my list. I thought I’d try you first. It was Lauren Graham’s suggestion.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. How is the case coming along?”

  “Very slowly.”

  Chapter 41

  PINE MADE THE DRIVE out to the Pringles’. It was Myron who answered the door. Britta was out, he told her. He was dressed in khaki pants and a bright orange polo shirt with canvas boat shoes. He didn’t appear inclined to let her in when she told him she had some questions.

  “I’m busy,” he said.

  “It won’t take long.”

  “Why do I think you always say that?”

  “It’s really important,” she said in a pleading tone that made her stomach tighten uncomfortably. As an FBI agent she was used to asking whatever questions she wanted whenever she wanted and getting answers. But this was not that sort of case. Delicacy was required. And she could manage that, with an effort.

  Myron backed away and motioned her in. He glanced at her bruise but said nothing.

  He closed the door behind him and just stood there looking down at her.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Barry Vincent?”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “Vincent? What about him?”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Why?”

  “Because he fought my dad. I’d like to understand the context of that.”

  “I’m not sure there is any, other than what I already told you. He thought your father guilty of a terrible thing. He made his thoughts known and then he punched your dad.”

  “So who was he?”

  “A neighbor, I guess.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  Myron sighed, folded his gangly arms over his thin chest, and leaned back against the wall. “He wasn’t really all that memorable.”

  “Wife? Kids?”

  Myron shook his head. “Not that I knew of. If he did, they didn’t come here with him.”

  “Where did he work?”

  Now he looked a bit interested. “I’m not sure. Not at the mine. He might have done some odd jobs here and there. A lot of people did back then. And still do today.”

  “You said he was a neighbor. Where did he live?”

  “If I recall correctly, at first he lived in town, in a boardinghouse. After that, I don’t know. I wasn’t an intimate of his. I would just see him around from time to time.”

  “What was he like? Describe him.”

  Myron looked at the ceiling, obviously casting his mind back. “In his late thirties. Not too tall, but burly. Tough. He knew how to fight. Your father was younger and taller, but if I hadn’t intervened I don’t think it would have ended well for Tim.”

  “When did he come to town?”

  Myron thought about this. “Don’t hold me to this, but not that long before your sister disappeared. A few months or so. Right around that time anyway.”

  “And I understand he left shortly before we did?”

  “That might be,” he said cautiously.

  “What exactly did he say to my father that day?”

  “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “I have to, Mr. Pringle. It’s why I’m here.”

  Myron let out a short breath that was more like a grunt. “This is not verbatim, but he said something along the lines of Tim’s having killed one daughter and nearly killed the other.”

  “And how did he come to make that allegation?”

  “I don’t know. He just did. I mean, everyone in town knew what had happened. They knew Mercy was gone and you were in the hospital severely injured.”

  “But he said my father had killed one daughter.”

  “I guess he just assumed that Mercy was dead. He wasn’t alone in that. When a kid goes missing in the middle of the night and the other twin is nearly dead? It doesn’t take a genius to make that leap of logic.”

  “Were other people making these kinds of allegations against my father?”

  “Not that I heard.”

  “So what was Vincent’s beef with my dad?”

  “I don’t know. As I already said, I didn’t know the man very well.”

  “And you broke up the fight?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t going to let this guy kick your dad’s ass, especially on a terrible day like that. He had enough to deal with without that jerk Vincent doing what he did.”

  “So you believed my dad had nothing to do with it?”

  Myron said curtly, “I told you that before and I haven’t changed my opinion.”

  “So did you remember the names of the friends you had over to your house that night?”

  “No. It must’ve been nothing special or else I would remember. Do you recall who you were with on a certain night thirty years ago?”

  “Yeah. I was in bed with my twin sister getting my skull crushed.”

  Myron looked away.

  “Look, if you were doing something, I don’t know, illegal, smoking joints or something, it doesn’t matter to me. My parents were smoking joints. And the statute of limitations will have long since passed.”

  Myron shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t recall who it was. Now the next day, yes, I do remember that one.”

  “Did you ever ask Vincent why he went off on my dad?”

  “No, I broke up the fight. I didn’t consider it my job to ask him what his motivation was.”

  “Did my dad have any other interaction with the guy?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Small town. You’d think they would have run into one another.”

  “If they did, I never heard about it. After Mercy vanished, your mom and dad had little to do with anyone here. They circled the wagons. Barely left the house. Tim would come to work at the mine, but everyone knew his heart wasn’t in it. And then one day you all just vanished.”

  “So you and Britta didn’t see much of them after Mercy was taken?”

  “No. But we were supportive. Britta would make meals and bring them over. She even brought our kids over a few times so you’d have someone your own age around. But I don’t think you were interested in playing anymore. Or being a kid anymore.”

  “That’s pretty insightful of you.”

  “I lost both my children years later. It does make you think.”
<
br />   “Anything else you can remember?”

  “I’d give Tim a lift to work, bring him home, that sort of thing. We socialized a little, but your parents had no interest in partying anymore. It was like the light had gone out for them.”

  Pine nodded and looked down at her boots. “I guess I could see that.”

  “What do you remember from that time?”

  “Hospitals, tests, doctors poking at me.”

  “And your mom and dad?”

  “I think when they ‘circled the wagons,’ they left me on the outside.”

  “No, I distinctly remember that your mother barely left your side. She would have sat in the classroom at school with you if she could have.”

  “I’m not talking physically. Physically, she smothered me. Emotionally, there was a wall that would never come down.”

  “She was terrified of losing you.”

  Pine looked up at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before saying, “Well, we ended up losing one another anyway, didn’t we?”

  Chapter 42

  PINE WAS GOING THROUGH her little inventory of childhood mementos once more.

  Carol Blum sat in a chair and watched her examining them on her bed.

  She had filled Blum in on her meetings with Agnes Ridley and Myron Pringle.

  “Do you think this Barry Vincent is significant in some way?” asked Blum.

  Pine stopped fiddling with the mementos and said, “I don’t know. It’s just weird that no one can tell me much about him. He came here after my parents did and left town before they did. He was the only one to get into a fight with my father over it. Myron didn’t think that my dad even knew the guy that well. So why would he start throwing out all these allegations?”

  “Maybe they had a private beef that only they knew about,” conjectured Blum.

  “But if it was just between them it’s going to be really hard to find out what it was.”

  “Did your mother or father ever mention him afterward?”

  “Not that I remember. I didn’t even know he existed until I got here, and Myron mentioned his name.” She looked down at the items. “There’s so much I don’t know about my own family, Carol. My dad didn’t die where my mom said he did. Jack Lineberry found his body. I have no idea if my mother even went down there to take care of arrangements and scatter his ashes. She just left and then came back and told me basically nothing about it.”