task force, Your Honor. He has authorized me to have the court contact him directly, and he will provide full particulars.”
Jamison and Davenport shared a surprised glance.
“The court, but not the prosecutors for the state of Texas?” barked Jenkins.
“Is there a valid reason why the information cannot be conveyed in open court?” asked Judge Matthews.
“Agent Bogart will explain everything, Your Honor. It is truly a sensitive matter, and we believe public disclosure at this time may have an adverse impact on our investigation and allow the guilty parties to escape arrest and prosecution for their crimes.”
“Nothing you’ve said explains why Mr. Mars cannot remain in custody until the issue is resolved,” pointed out Jenkins.
Before the judge could speak, Decker said, “I’m sorry, I would have thought that the fact that Mr. Mars was nearly beaten to death by prison guards after two prisoners, paid off by another guard, tried to kill Mr. Mars, would have made that point rather obvious. Along with the fact that Mr. Mars has filed a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against the Texas correctional system for this heinous and illegal act. I would imagine that Mr. Mars is very much persona non grata for those folks, including any friends or coconspirators of the guard in question, who remain unknown and still on duty. Thus, returning him to prison here should in no way be considered to be a safe haven for Mr. Mars. On the contrary, it would be most likely signing his death warrant.”
Judge Matthews shot a glare at Jenkins. “Is this true?”
Jenkins turned a bit paler under the judge’s wrathful look. “Your Honor, while that unfortunate act did occur, we believe that Mr. Mars is in no further danger while in the state’s custody.”
“To err on the side of caution,” said Decker, “we should avoid any possibility that Mr. Jenkins is incorrect. If Mr. Mars is found to be innocent, but ends up dead in his prison cell, I fail to see how that benefits him. Perhaps the state of Texas has a different opinion?”
The judge snorted at that comment.
Jenkins simply glared at Decker, who continued. “The FBI, with the state’s approval, took custody of Mr. Mars after he was beaten, and we stand ready to do so again.”
Judge Matthews refocused on Decker. “And this has been approved by the FBI?”
“Again, Agent Bogart will provide all necessary assurances and details.”
The judge turned back to Jenkins. “I am hereby ordering that the defendant be released into the custody of Agent Decker and the FBI until such time as future facts dictate another course of action.”
“But, Your Honor,” began Jenkins in a reproachful tone.
“That’s my ruling, so don’t go there, Frank! I can’t say I like the way y’all have handled this, so be happy I didn’t order the defendant released on his own recognizance. This court is adjourned.” Judge Matthews smacked his gavel, rose, and disappeared into his chambers.
Jenkins looked over at Decker as the court officers unshackled Mars. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” he said.
So do I, thought Decker. So do I.
CHAPTER
39
MARS SAT IN the passenger seat and rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had cut into his skin.
“Thanks,” he said to Decker, who was driving.
Oliver, Davenport, and Jamison were in the backseat.
Decker had said nothing as they had left the courtroom, shoving past the journalists who were sticking mikes and notepads in their faces.
Jamison and Davenport had peppered him with questions as they walked across the parking lot to their car, but he had remained silent. Now Jamison reached over the front seat and tapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Are you going to explain what just happened or am I going to have to get physical with you?”
Decker shot her a glance in the rearview and noted her irresolute demeanor. “I asked Agent Bogart for a favor and he provided it.”
“So this is all on the up-and-up?” asked Jamison, drawing a startled look from Oliver.
She said, “Decker, please don’t tell me I was an unwitting participant in perpetrating a fraud on the court?”
“There was no fraud. Melvin is in our custody. And everything I said to the judge was true.”
“He thought you were an agent,” pointed out Davenport.
“He said that. I never did,” countered Decker.
“But you didn’t correct him either,” she retorted.
“That wasn’t my job, but it doesn’t matter either. Bogart is an agent and he will back me up on this.” He eyed Oliver. “And you did file the lawsuit?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
Mars said, “Well, I’m not good if they come and arrest my ass again. You heard what the judge said. If future facts come out then he could let them do that. Another course of action, he called it. And that Jenkins dude was pissed. I bet he’s right now working on something to get my butt back in a Texas prison.”
“I’d be stunned if he wasn’t,” conceded Decker. “We just have to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”
“How?” asked Davenport.
Jamison answered. “By solving the case.”
Decker’s phone buzzed and he answered it, cupping the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he drove toward a sky that was growing dark and promised still more rain. The inclemency of the weather didn’t faze Decker. He had other things on his mind as he listened to the other person on the call. He thanked the person and put his phone away.
“That was the Alabama police. They ran down the rental car, the beige Toyota Avalon with the Georgia plate with the partial number Patricia Bray gave us. It was leased by a man named Arthur Crandall.” He looked at Mars. “Ring any bells?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so, since it was a false name. The credit card he used was a forgery. The license was probably a phony too.”
“Are we sure it’s the same guy?” asked Jamison.
“They’re trying to verify that right now.”
“What the hell is going on?” wondered Mars.
“Loose ends,” said Decker. “Just loose ends.”
“So the guy we think killed Regina Montgomery after paying them off to have her husband confess is this Arthur Crandall?” said Mars.
“That’s not his real name.”
“Yeah, that I get. But by doing what he’s doing he helped me get out of prison.”
“And as we discussed, that could be because he thinks you have something that can hurt him or whoever he’s working for.”
“But that makes no sense, Decker. Even if I knew something, which I don’t, why not just let them execute me and I take it to my grave?”
Davenport said, “Maybe they need to really get whatever it is they think you have. So they spring you from prison hoping you’ll go and get it.”
“But then why frame me for murder in the first place?” asked Mars.
“Maybe back then they thought that was the best course,” suggested Jamison. “Kill your parents, frame you, and you get sent away for life. That’s really the only explanation that works.”
“No it’s not,” disagreed Decker.
“What, then?” asked Jamison curiously.
“We’re assuming that whoever framed Melvin and murdered his parents is also the one looking now for what was in the safe deposit box. The fact is, we could be dealing with two different sets of people, with dissimilar goals.”
“Jesus,” said Davenport. “Wasn’t it complicated enough?”
“Apparently not,” acknowledged Decker.
He glanced at Mars. “Who was your mother’s doctor?”
“Her doctor? Why?”
“Well, someone had to diagnose her with terminal brain cancer.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Give it some thought.”
“Do you think the identity of her doctor is really important?” asked Davenport.
r /> “Right now, in this case, there is nothing that isn’t important.”
CHAPTER
40
DECKER SLEPT SOUNDLY until five in the morning. The rain was beating down outside and he rose and stumbled over to the window to look out. Rain, wind, the occasional flare of lightning, and the tagalong boom of thunder. The weather was as miserable as this case, he thought.
He looked down at his feet, surprised for a moment that he could see them. His belly had shrunk sufficiently for that to be the case. It had been a long time…
He sat on the edge of his bed and stretched out his legs. His hamstrings were tight, his lower back tighter still.
Physically, he was what he was.
But mentally?
He closed his eyes and let his perfect memory wander back to the point nearly twenty months ago when he had lost everything he had.
He knew the color would come, piggybacking on this memory like a parasite attached to a big fish.
Blue.
The color blue poured across the memory of finding his family slaughtered. It was like someone had callously thrown a bucket of paint on top of the most treasured possession he had. Or a giant pen had gone wacky and was releasing its ink everywhere.
Had being the operative word.
Molly and Cassie were gone. Nothing he could do to bring them back. He would remember them in perfect detail until he took his last breath. But that was both a blessing and a curse.
He showered, changed into clean clothes, and opened the door to his motel room, which led directly to the outside. He was on the first floor, which had a covered porch running the length of the building. They were all on the first floor, with him at one end, Mars and Jamison in the middle, and Davenport at the far end.
The rain continued to bucket down as Decker leaned against a support post and gazed out into the darkness.
Decker didn’t like deceit. He didn’t like lies. He didn’t like bad acts with no consequences. People did wrong, that was a given. And that was their choice. And they needed to suffer the repercussions of those bad choices.
He checked his watch. It was a little after six. The sun was still making its way from the other side of the world. And even when it did rise it would be hidden behind the thick curtain of storm clouds. There was a coffee shop attached to the motel. He could reach it under cover of the roof overhang.
It took him two minutes. Three people were already there having breakfast. A tired-looking waitress was pouring out coffee. She swept her arm around the small dining room when she saw Decker come in.
He apparently had his pick of unoccupied tables. He chose one as far away from the other people as possible. He sat, picked up a menu, and ran his gaze down it. Heart attack city, all of it. Cholesterol mania with every bite.
When she came around he ordered coffee, a glass of orange juice, and toast.
“Do you have egg whites?” he asked.
When she stared back at him blankly he said, “Maybe a fruit cup?”
She eyed his ample form and a sympathetic smile appeared on her face. “Sure, hon, coming up. All healthy stuff, I’ll see to it.”
She walked off.
A minute later she brought the coffee. He took a sip. Nice and hot, and it warmed his bones as the rain lashed the windows outside.
He settled back in his chair, half closed his eyes, and focused.
Point One: Roy and Lucinda Mars had a secret life dating from before their son was born. They had changed their names and moved here to get away from whatever that life had been. The scar on Roy Mars’s face might be from plastic surgery.
Point Two: They were seen on a national sports program some time before they were killed.
Point Three: Roy Mars had emptied a safe deposit box right before his death. The contents of that box and its current whereabouts were unknown.
Point Four: Lucinda Mars had terminal cancer.
Point Five: They were murdered and their son framed for the crimes.
Point Six: Mars had been scheduled to be executed but was saved by the confession of Charles Montgomery.
Point Seven: Mars was released from prison.
Point Eight: Charles Montgomery was executed.
Point Nine: Charles Montgomery had almost certainly lied.
Point Ten: Regina Montgomery had received the monetary fruits of her husband’s confession.
Point Eleven: Regina Montgomery had been murdered, possibly by the man in the Toyota Avalon.
Point Twelve: Someone wanted what was in that safe deposit box.
Point Thirteen: And that someone might be different from whoever had framed Mars.
Now the questions poured forth, principally among them: Who had paid off Montgomery? If Avalon man, why? To set Mars free so he could be followed and they could use him to locate the safe deposit box contents? If so, it was a very clumsy way of doing it. How could they know that Mars even knew about the contents, much less its whereabouts, now? And why now, twenty years later? Why not back then? For that matter, why not torture the Marses before you killed them and make them tell you where the contents were?
Maybe they were tortured. But took the secret to their graves.
Decker could think of no plausible theory that would reconcile all of those questions.
And this was clearly frustrating the hell out of him.
His memory was perfect, but that did not mean that the answers were always there. If someone told him a lie, he would remember it clearly, not knowing that it was false until he could compare it with other facts that would, hopefully, demonstrate the inconsistency of the statement.
But it wasn’t inconsistency that was his chief enemy here. It was simply not knowing enough.
“You look like your brain is gonna catch fire.”
He looked up to see Mars standing there.
Decker motioned for him to sit. Mars did.
“Did you give the things I asked about some thought?” Decker asked.
Mars nodded. “Thought about ’em all night. And I got nothing to give you, Decker. I feel…I feel like an idiot. I didn’t even know my own parents. My whole life was wrapped around playing football.” He clearly wanted to say something else, but apparently couldn’t find the words with which to do so. He ended up by just shaking his head.
“Don’t give up on yourself,” advised Decker. “Something still might occur to you.” He glanced at the waitress, who was heading their way with his food.
“You want some coffee or food?” she asked Mars.
“Just coffee.”
The waitress put the toast and a bowl of fruit down in front of Decker. “There you go, hon. Bet you’ll be wearing skinny jeans in no time.”
Mars gave Decker a curious look but made no comment. He ordered