Memory Man (Amos Decker 1)

down your name for me?”

“Why?”

“It’s just for my records.”

Leopold took the pen and slowly wrote out his name.

Decker took back the paper and the pen, stood, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

He went to the door and called for the jailer. When the man came and unlocked the door Decker said, “Memory serves, there’s a bathroom right down there, right?” He pointed the opposite way he had come in.

The jailer nodded. “Yep, men’s room is the first door.”

Decker stuffed his pad and pen back into the briefcase and moved swiftly down the hall toward the john. His change in plan had been prompted by the footsteps he’d heard clattering down the steps. More than one pair, which meant that Brimmer had reinforcements. Which meant they knew something was up.

Decker walked past the door to the toilet and hung a left and then a right and hit another corridor. He was as familiar with the layout here as anyone.

The hall ended in a door. He opened it and stepped out onto the loading dock. There was no one there. And only one truck backed up to the dock, its overhead door open, revealing the trailer to be empty.

Decker skittered down a short stack of steps and his new, tight shoes hit asphalt. He turned left down an alley and emerged on the main street ten seconds later. He hung another right and then a left at the next intersection. There was a hotel there and a cabstand.

He told the lead cabbie, “Head north as far as five bucks will take me.”

The cab dropped him off a while later. He hoofed it to a bus stop, and two rides later he was back at the Residence Inn. As he stepped off the bus he noted there were two police cars parked out front and an official departmental car he knew had to belong to someone other than a street cop.

Well, shit.

Chapter

10

THE ONLY GOOD thing, figured Decker, was that he hadn’t gotten the chance to retrieve his gun from the trash can along with his other clothes. Walking in armed to the situation that was probably awaiting him would not be smart. He could run for it, he supposed, but that was probably what they were expecting. And he didn’t like running. He just wasn’t built for it anymore.

So he loosened his tie, undid his top shirt button, let out a sigh of relief as his thick neck was freed from this glorified noose, and walked into the lobby of the Residence Inn. There he was immediately surrounded by four police officers.

Decker studied them calmly. “With what’s going down at Mansfield I didn’t think you’d be able to spare the manpower.”

“Cut the shit, Decker,” said a familiar voice.

Decker slid his gaze to the side. “Hello, Mac.”

“That’s Captain Miller to you.”

“I’m no longer on the force.”

“Show some respect or you might be in a jail cell before I’m done with you.”

MacKenzie Miller was in his late fifties, puffy as a bullfrog and with similar coloring. He was as wide as he was tall, Decker in miniature. He was dressed in a suit, and when his coat moved open as Miller strode across the lobby, Decker could see the ubiquitous braces that held up the man’s pants, though his substantial waistline, like Decker’s, did that job fine all by itself.

“And why would that be?”

Miller gave him a patronizing look and then snapped, “Brimmer!”

An embarrassed-looking Sally Brimmer hurried over from where she had been standing next to a fake ficus plant with a thick coating of dust on the leaves.

“Is this the man, Ms. Brimmer?”

“That is undoubtedly him, sir,” she said quickly, narrowing her eyes and giving Decker a venomous look.

“Thank you,” said Miller with an undertone of triumph. He turned back to Decker. “You came into the precinct today while we were undermanned because of the horrific situation at Mansfield, and using this situation to your advantage you misrepresented yourself as a lawyer and gained admittance to Sebastian Leopold’s jail cell.”

“Well, that’s one version,” said Decker.

Brimmer exclaimed, “That is the only version.”

“No, it’s actually not,” said Decker calmly.

Miller spread his pudgy hands wide. “Then lay another on me, Decker. This has to be good.”

“I came into the precinct and asked to see Sebastian Leopold. I said he needed a lawyer. I never said I was a lawyer.”

“You gave me your card,” pointed out Brimmer.

Decker’s mind had already flown forward six moves. It was like he was playing chess and they were playing checkers. “I gave you a card. It was Harvey Watkins’s. He’s a member of the bar. I’ve done PI work for him. He handles criminal cases. And he’s good. I’ve sniffed out work for him before. No law against it.”

“But you represented yourself as this Watkins person,” exclaimed Brimmer.

“Maybe you took it that way. But I never provided ID that said I was Harvey. And you never asked for my ID. I just gave you his card when you asked if I was an attorney.”

“But you said you knew Pete Rourke,” said Brimmer in an exasperated tone.

“I do know Pete. Worked with him for years. Again, no crime against telling the truth.”

“But you…you…” Brimmer faltered and looked at Miller for help. But the captain kept his gaze on Decker. He obviously wanted to see this play out.

Decker continued, “I guess since I had on a suit and tie and carried a briefcase you just assumed I was a lawyer. I asked you for an interview with Leopold. You said I had fifteen minutes. I took my allotted fifteen minutes, and then I left Leopold sitting in his cell.” He looked around at the cops. “So I’m not sure why the cavalry is here.”

Brimmer looked stunned. The cops looked unsure. Miller clapped his hands in appreciation and then pointed at the uniforms. “You boys can head on.” He hooked a thumb at Brimmer. “And give the lady a ride back, will ya?”

“Captain Miller,” Brimmer began, but he waved her off.

“Later, Brimmer. Just go with the fellas.”

They trooped out, leaving Miller and Decker staring at each other.

Miller said, “Can we talk about this?”

“You need to focus on Mansfield, Mac. You want to come back and arrest me, I’ll be right here.”

Miller nodded and an appreciative smile broke over his features before disappearing. “Let’s sit for a few. Can I get a decent cup of coffee in this place?”

Decker led him over to his table in the restaurant off the lobby. Then he poured out two cups of coffee from a beverage stand set up against one wall and brought them back over, sitting down across from his former boss.

“How’s Mansfield?” asked Decker.

“Catastrophic. We’re still finding…stuff. Bodies. The death count will go higher, no question.”

“What about Pete’s grandson?”

Miller shook his head. “I don’t know, Amos. I don’t have names yet. A bunch of cops’ kids go there. It’s the biggest high school we have.”

“And the shooter?”

Miller ground his teeth. “He got away.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet. Everything is still…developing.”

“Usually they eat their own bullet on site.”

“But not this time. It’s like a school shooting a week now across the country. When’s it going to end, Amos? You’re a smart guy. When?”