MILLIGAN PUT DOWN his cup of coffee and stared across the table at Decker.
The team was having dinner at an Applebee’s in Austin, where they had moved Mars after his release from the rehab facility. The rain was pouring down outside and they had spent a long day going over the details of everything they could find about Charles Montgomery.
Milligan said, “There is a life insurance policy that does pay off when Montgomery dies.”
“But it’s only for thirty thousand dollars,” said Jamison, who was sitting next to Decker.
“But it’s big money to her, I bet,” replied Milligan.
“Not enough to buy a house and not have to work,” pointed out Davenport.
“So maybe Tommy Montgomery was exaggerating,” countered Milligan.
“I don’t think so.”
Milligan said, “Why don’t you just tell us why you really think Montgomery is lying? Come on, Decker, we’re a team, right? We need to share information.”
Decker put down his fork and wiped his mouth using his napkin.
“It’s a question of cash flow.”
“Excuse me?” said Milligan in an aggressive tone. “With the wife?”
“No, the husband.” Decker had selected a salad, though he really wanted the ribs. When he’d made noises about ordering the rack of ribs Jamison had given him a look that had made him feel guilty enough to go with the leafy vegetables. He had dropped fifteen more pounds and his knees didn’t ache all the time anymore. But in an act of defiance, he had ordered an Amstel Light.
He finished off his beer and looked over at the man with the expression of someone having to do something he really didn’t want to be bothered doing.
“Montgomery told us he had no money when he got to town. That’s why he went to the pawnshop. He rode into town on an empty gas tank and an empty stomach. He told us after he killed the Marses he tore out of town. He didn’t steal anything from them, or anyone else. He didn’t work a job before he left. He said he drove all the way to Abilene, which is about a three-hour trip, without stopping.”
“Okay, so?”
“He was driving a ’77 Impala with a V-eight. I looked it up. Brand-new that car got about eighteen miles to the gallon highway. After nearly twenty years I doubt it would get much more than twelve at best. He’d need about fifteen gallons at minimum to make the trip. And back then gas was a little over a buck a gallon. So if he came into town on an empty tank and wallet and left with an empty tank and wallet, how’d he get all the way to Abilene without running out of gas? And on top of that he had to drive all the way out to the Marses’ house to kill them. That’s nearly two gallons right there. So tell me, how is that all possible?”
Davenport and Jamison exchanged a quick glance.
Bogart cleared his throat and said, “It’s not. Which means he was either lying or mistaken.”
Decker said, “I don’t buy it that he was mistaken. He was too specific on the details. It was just a small point that was overlooked when the cover story was put together.”
“Whoa,” said Milligan. “Where do you get a cover story?”
“Someone had to put it together.”
“That is a huge and, in my mind, unjustified leap of logic.”
“Well, I guess that’s just the difference between my mind and yours.”
Milligan screwed up his face at this comment and picked up his coffee. “And remember Lucinda’s blood in Melvin’s car? She never used that car,” he said. “So how’d the blood get there? Montgomery sure as hell couldn’t have put it there.”
Bogart’s phone rang. He answered the call, listened for a few moments, and then clicked off.
He looked around the table. “The Texas court has just decided to give Mars a full pardon. He’s being released from prison.”
“That’s great news,” said Jamison.
“If he’s innocent,” said Milligan sullenly. “Not so great if he’s not.”
“I wonder if he wants to go to Alabama,” said Bogart.
“Alabama?” asked Davenport. “Why?”
“Family members of the victims are entitled to witness the execution. And although technically Montgomery wasn’t convicted of the murders, he did confess to them, and it’s not like Mars will get a second chance to see him put to death.”
“Well, let’s go ask him,” said Decker.
* * *
Mars was sitting in a room in a rental house guarded by three FBI agents out of Austin. His lawyer, Mary Oliver, had obviously just arrived, because she was hugging Mars as Decker, Bogart, and the rest of the team showed up.
“I knew it might be coming,” said Mars. “But it’s still hard to believe.”
Oliver said, “There will be a formal court proceeding where your record will be expunged, and I’ve already filed for compensation from the state. I don’t think you’ll have any problem getting the max payout.”
After they all had finished congratulating him, Bogart told him about Montgomery’s execution coming up. “I’ve made calls. They’ll let you attend if you want to.”
Mars looked over at Decker. “What do you think? Should I go?”
Decker thought about this for a few moments. “If you think it might give you some closure, yes.”
“But you don’t think he really did it.”
“And I could be wrong.” Decker paused. “Besides, there’s another reason for us to go to Alabama.”
“What’s that?”
“Mrs. Montgomery.”
* * *
The court proceeding was held the next day. Mars, dressed in a cheap suit, stood next to Mary Oliver as the judge apologized for what had happened and formally cleared him of all charges.
“I can only hope, Mr. Mars, that the rest of your life will be full of nothing but positive events,” said the judge. He smacked his gavel and the proceedings were over.
There were quite a few newspeople gathered outside the courtroom, all wanting a piece of Mars and his story. But by now Bogart, Decker, and Milligan had joined the fray, and Decker used his bulk like a bowling ball to move Mars through the throngs of waving microphones to a waiting SUV.
As they sped off Decker said, “You’re going to be the national news story du jour.”
“I’m surprised anybody still cares about it,” said Mars.
“They will, but only for one twenty-four-hour news cycle.”
Bogart handed him something. Mars looked down at it.
“A cell phone?”
Jamison answered. “It’s actually a smartphone. You can get the Internet on it. Do emails, texting, tweeting, Instagram, Snapchat, take pictures and watch TV and movies. Oh, and you can also make calls with it.” She added with a grin, “But sexting will just get you in trouble. So skip that one.”
Mars rubbed a finger over the phone’s screen. “Guess I got a lot of catching up to do.”
“Well, it’s better than the alternative,” noted Decker.
* * *
Since Mars was no longer a prisoner, he could travel without a guard, and without being shackled. He sat on the United Airlines flight next to Decker. Bogart was across the aisle. Jamison and Davenport were in the seats behind Bogart. Milligan had volunteered to remain in Texas to keep working on the case locally.
Mars looked out the window. “Haven’t been on a plane in a long time. They look pretty much the same.”
Decker adjusted his sitting position, reclining his chair the maximum one-eighteenth of an inch allowed. “There’s one difference. The seats have gotten smaller. Or maybe I’ve just gotten a lot bigger.”
Mars continued to stare out the window. “Never thought I’d be leaving Texas.”
“I’m sure you thought you’d never be doing a lot of things.”
“I’ve never witnessed an execution.”
“Just so you know, Montgomery picked the electric chair over lethal injection.”
Mars glanced sharply at him. “What the hell is that about?”
“Couldn’t tell you. Alabama gives you a choice and that was his.”
“Will his wife be there?”
“She’s entitled to be. Whether she’s coming or not I don’t know. I doubt she’ll bring her son if she does.”
“And if he didn’t kill my parents?”
“He clearly murdered several others. His capital sentence was justified under the law.”
Mars nodded. “How many innocent folks you figure were executed?”
“One is too many. And I’m pretty sure it’s more than one.”
“I came within a few minutes of being part of that group.”
“Like I said when I met you, you’re one lucky guy, after being one really unlucky guy.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope my luck holds.”
Mars looked to the front of the plane and watched as the flight attendant positioned the beverage cart as a roadblock in front of the cockpit as one of the pilots came out to use the restroom.
“When did they start doing that?” he asked.
“After 9/11,” replied Decker.
“Oh, right.”
Mars pulled his gaze away from the front of the plane and said to Decker, “You said we were coming here for Mrs. Montgomery too.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“She was the only one to visit her husband the last few years.”
“Okay, why does that matter?” asked Mars.
“If this was all set up, you’re not going to do it over the phone. It’s going to be face-to-face. She was the only face. She went to the prison and told her husband what he had to do. Including all the details, so he could get his story straight. She probably did this over and over to make sure it all sunk in.”
“So she had to have contact with whoever really killed my parents? She initiated this, not her husband.”
“That’s the way I see it, yes.”
“But she’s not just going to tell us who contacted her.”
“No, I don’t think she will,” replied Decker.
“So what do we do, then?”
“We find out as much as we can on our own and then we confront her with it.”
“And hope she rolls over?”
“Yes. You ever remember anything about the stuff I asked you about?”
Mars looked back out the window as the plane descended into Alabama. “I gave it a lot of thought. Only thing I really thought about, to tell the truth.”
“And?”
Mars pointed to the back of his right ear. “My dad had a scar right here. I saw it when I was a kid and we were horsing around on the floor, just roughhousing, you know. I touched it and asked him about it. He flew into a rage. I mean, I thought he was going to beat the shit out of me. Then my mom came in the room, saw what was happening, and calmed him down. After that, he was never really the same around me. And he started wearing his hair a lot longer.”
“To cover the scar?”
“That’s right. At least I think so.”
“Did you ever ask your mother about it?”
“No. I was too scared. I’d never seen my dad like that. I mean, he was scary.”
Decker stared at the seat back in front of him. “Did it look like a wound? Like from a gun or knife?”
“Not a gun. It was more like a long cut.”
“So a knife?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think. Look, I know it’s not much.”
“Well, it’s more than we had, Melvin. We just have to figure out what it means.”