The Fix (Amos Decker 3)

Milligan and Bogart exchanged a glance.

“Damn,” said Milligan. “I never thought about it that way.”

Decker gazed at Jamison. “That was a good insight, Alex.”

She smiled and said modestly, “I have one occasionally.”

“The devil is in the details, the small details,” added Bogart. “So do we go back to his days at the NSA and see what we can find out? And then move forward up until the present?”

“I’m not sure I see another path,” said Decker.

“We’ll need to get some more agents on this,” said Milligan. “Because that’s a lot of legwork and document review. A

nd the NSA is not known for their cooperation. And on top of that they’re definitely not going to be pleased that we’re alleging they might have had a spy in their ranks thirty-some years ago.”

Jamison said, “How does this reconcile with what Agent Brown told us? She said Walter Dabney stole secrets from DIA and sold them to an enemy of this country. If he were spying all this time, from NSA up until today, are you saying that he was working with Anne Berkshire the whole time? And that the gambling debt spying was just a one-off? They paid him money to save his kid, as a favor for years of service? And if they did so, why kill Berkshire?”

“Like we said before, to silence her if she was indeed his handler,” said Milligan. “He was trying to tie up loose ends before he killed himself. Berkshire may not have known that he was terminal with cancer.”

Decker stirred. “But if they were working together, why pick a rendezvous spot on a public street next to the Hoover Building? Why make the murder public? He could have killed Berkshire in private. They could have met at some place like her farm cottage. If they were spy and handler, they probably met there regularly anyway. But by murdering her in public he ruined his reputation and brought horrendous attention to his family, who he seemed to genuinely care for. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“None of it makes sense,” added Milligan wearily.

“No, it makes perfect sense to someone,” said Decker. “We just have to reach that same level of awareness.”

“Well, whatever we do, this is not going to be a quick fix,” said Bogart. “It might take years to unravel.”

“It might,” said Decker. “Or it might not.”

Bogart said, “I can get the ball rolling on the NSA piece. What are you going to do, Amos?”

“We have yet to figure out Walter Dabney. I’m going to revisit that.”

“How?” asked Bogart.

“There’s only one way to do it. Talk to his family again.”

“But we’ve already done that,” protested Milligan.

“Not with the mind-set that he was a long-term spy.”

“You’re not going to come out and accuse the man of being a spy to his family, are you?” said Bogart, looking alarmed. “That’s not a great recipe to get them to cooperate.”

Decker rose. “I think I know how to phrase it.”

CHAPTER

42

THE HOUSEKEEPER THEY had seen on a previous visit answered the door. She was in her sixties, with gray hair pulled back in a bun. She had on the same garb that Decker had seen her in before. Black slacks, a white smock, and black rubber-soled shoes. Whether she was required to wear this or not he wasn’t sure.

“They’re not here,” she said in reply to Jamison’s query about the Dabneys.

“Do you know when they’ll be back?” asked Jamison.

“Oh, in about a half hour. They’re at the viewing service for Mr. Dabney. The funeral is tomorrow.” She shook her head sadly. “My God, what a damn shame. He was such a good man. Can’t believe what happened.”

“And your name is?” asked Decker.

“Cecilia. Cecilia Randall. But folks just call me Cissy.”

“Cissy, do you think we could wait for them?” asked Decker. “It’s sort of important.”

She looked hesitant but then opened the door farther, allowing them to pass. “I know you’re with the FBI, so I guess it’s okay. Can I get you a drink or anything?”

Jamison began, “No, we—”

Decker said, “I’d like a cup of coffee if that’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble a’tall. They have a Keurig. Just pop in a pod and there you go.”

They followed her to the kitchen, where she pulled out a box of pods. “Full strength or decaf?” she said.

“Real coffee, just black.”

She busied herself with making the coffee while Decker watched her.

“This is a beautiful kitchen,” said Jamison.

“Yes, it is,” Cissy said proudly. “Mrs. Dabney’s renovated it twice since they’ve lived here. She’s got the eye for stuff like that.”

“So you’ve worked for them a long time?” said Jamison, glancing at Decker.

“Over thirty-five years. I diapered all four of them girls, I can tell you that. All right here in this house.”

“Wow,” said Jamison. “That’s a long time.”

“They’re a wonderful family.”

Decker said, “So Mr. Dabney bought this place while he was still working at the NSA?”

Cissy took a cup out of a cabinet and put it under the Keurig’s spout. “Don’t know about that. He never talked about work, least with me.”

“It’s just that I know this area is expensive. I just assumed he bought this place after he started his own company and started making the big bucks.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing about that. But I do know Mrs. Dabney had some money.”

“Oh, she told you that?”

“Not in so many words. But you could tell she came from money. The way she dressed and walked and talked. Mr. Dabney wasn’t always such a sharp dresser, and I remember he used to drive a really old car when they first got this place, but then he bought himself this yellow Porsche. Now that was a beautiful car.”

“Porsche, nice,” said Jamison, throwing a glance at Decker. “So the Dabneys have had a nice life. Up until now,” she quickly added.

The coffee cup filled, Cissy handed it to Decker before throwing the used pod away in a slide-out trash can. “Well, everybody’s got problems, and Mrs. Dabney’s no exception.”

“So you mean before now?” asked Decker.

“I mean way back.” She hesitated and then, in a lower voice, though no one was around, said, “She had two miscarriages and a stillborn baby. Little girl. It was awful.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Jamison. “Was that before she had her four daughters?”

“Stillborn was. That was before my time, but Mrs. Dabney talked to me about it once. The two miscarriages were in between Ms. Amanda and Ms. Natalie.” Cissy wiped up around the Keurig machine with a cloth. “But they have problems too.”

“I noted Amanda’s arm, and Natalie’s toes,” said Decker.

“Right, had those since birth. Plus they all got the asthma pretty bad. But they’re all smart, and Ms. Amanda and Ms. Natalie have kids.”

“And the other girls?”

Her voice dropped lower. “To tell the truth, I’ve heard Ms. Jules and Ms. Samantha got problems in that department. I mean having babies. Might be why they’re not married yet.”

Jamison looked around. “Do you think Mrs. Dabney will stay here?”

“Don’t know. Have to tell you I’m worried ’bout that. I’ve