JOEY SCOTT WAS an even sadder case than Dorothy Vitters.
Decker and Milligan stood in the doorway with Palmer. Scott was only ten years old, but his short life was nearing its end. Eschewing patient privacy law, Palmer, who had escorted them here, had said in response to their blank looks, “Leukemia. The untreatable kind.”
Milligan said, “But why would Berkshire have to visit him? Don’t his parents come?”
Palmer bristled. “He was in the process of being adopted out of foster care. When he got sick his ‘adoptive’ parents pulled out. I guess they wanted a healthy model,” she added in disgust. “And it’s not like they couldn’t afford it. Anne visited him at least twice a week. She was really all Joey had.”
Then she turned and left, her face full of despair.
Decker looked down at the little body in the bed and his thoughts wandered back to the daughter he’d once had. Molly had been murdered before her tenth birthday. Decker had found her and his wife’s bodies at their old home. And because of his hyperthymesia, he would always remember every detail of this tragedy like it had just occurred that second.
There could be nothing that ever happened to Decker that could be more horrible and depressing than finding his family murdered. But seeing this came close.
He sat down next to the boy, who slowly opened his eyes. IV and monitoring lines ran all over his withered frame.
With a quick glance at Milligan, Decker said, “Hello, Joey, I’m Amos. This is my friend Todd.”
Joey raised a hand and made a little wave.
“I understand your friend, Anne, was in today?”
Joey nodded.
“Did you have a good talk?”
“She read to me,” Joey said in a small voice.
“A book?”
He nodded. “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It’s on the shelf over there. She said she’d be back tomorrow to finish it.”
Decker reached over and snagged the book, flipping through some pages until he came to the bookmark about ten pages from the end. He glanced at Milligan before looking back at Joey. “That’s great. Is that all she did? Read?”
Joey shook his head. “We talked some.”
“What about?”
“Are you friends with Anne?”
Decker said, “I just saw her this morning. She’s the reason we came to see you. She wanted us to meet her friends here.”
“Oh, okay.”
Milligan said, “How long have you been here, Joey?”
Joey blinked up at him. “I don’t know.”
Milligan took a step back and put a hand against the wall. He looked hopelessly at Decker.
Decker said, “Do you remember what you talked about with Anne? Maybe things about the book?”
“She asked me if I saw the sun come up.”
Decker looked to the large window, which faced east. He slowly looked back at Joey. “Did you?”
Joey nodded. “It was nice.”
“I used to get up early and watch the sun rise when I was a kid,” said Decker, drawing a surprised look from Milligan. “I grew up in Ohio so the sun got to us later than it does here.”
On the nightstand next to the bed was a framed photo. Decker picked it up. It was a picture of Peyton Manning.
“You like Manning?”
Joey nodded. “I used to watch football a lot. And I played before I got sick.”
“I played too.”
Joey ran his gaze over Decker’s huge physique. “You look like a football player. I might have grown up to be big like you.”
Milligan rubbed at his eyes. Regaining his composure, he said, “Joey, Decker here played in the NFL. For the Cleveland Browns.”
The little boy’s eyes grew wide and a tiny smile crept across his features. “You did?”
Decker nodded. “My career was short and not necessarily sweet.” He put the photo back. “Before that I was an Ohio State Buckeye. Some of the best years of my life.”
“Wow,” said Joey. “Do you know Peyton Manning?”
“No, but he was one of the greatest. First-ballot Hall of Famer.” He sat back. “Did you talk with Anne about anything else?”
The smile faded. “Not really.”
“Did she tell you where she was going after she left here?”
Joey shook his head.
Decker rose, glanced at Milligan, and said, “Thanks, Joey, you’ve been a big help.”
“You’re welcome.”
Milligan looked down at him and said, “Hey, would it be okay if I came back and saw you again?”
“Sure. Maybe you can come with Anne.”
Milligan said, “Well, we’ll see.” He took a card from his pocket and put it on the nightstand next to the Peyton Manning photo. “You need anything, have them give me a call on that number, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks again.”
“Can I shake your hand?” asked Joey, eyeing Decker. “I never met an NFL player before.”
Decker put out his hand and slowly gripped the little boy’s. It was like a whale swallowing a minnow.
“It was an honor meeting you, Joey.” Decker put the book back on the shelf and walked out, followed by Milligan.
“Damn,” said Milligan. “I’m not sure I’ll ever smile again.”
“You will,” said Decker. “But whenever you feel things are bad, you’ll think of Joey and then things will look a lot better for you.”
* * *
Albert Drews was in his forties and volunteered that he had final-stage pancreatic cancer. He was pale and thin and his skin looked brittle and jaundiced.
“By the time I had any symptoms it was too damn late,” he said after they’d introduced themselves and shown him their IDs. “Chemo, radiation, kicked the shit out of me. Then I go into remission, for about two months. Then it comes back like a hurricane, and now this is it.”
He stopped talking and started breathing heavily, as though this bit of speaking had exhausted him.
When his lungs settled down he said, “You’re lucky you caught me now. When my pain meds kick in, I’m out for the count. Morphine. Don’t know what I’d do without it. The pain…well, it’s not nice,” he added resignedly.
“I’m sorry to be bothering you, Mr. Drews,” said Decker.
Drews waved this off. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do except lie here and wait to die.”
“We understand that Anne Berkshire came to talk to you today?”
“This morning. Why?”
Decker decided to just tell the truth. “She was shot and killed this morning in D.C. Shortly after she left here.”
“What?” gasped Drews, rising up on his elbows. He started to cough. Milligan poured out a glass of water from a carafe on the nightstand and helped Drews drink it. He shot Decker a stern look and then stepped back with the empty glass.
Drews finally settled down and stared helplessly up at them. He gasped, “Anne, shot? How? Why?”
“We don’t know why. That’s why we’re here.”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“You may know more than you think,” said Decker. “What did you two talk about today?”
His brows knitted, Drews said, “She was a nice lady. Started visiting me about four weeks ago. We just talked about…things. Nothing in particular. Nothing of importance. Just things to pass the time, take my mind off…my situation.”
“Did she talk about herself?”
“Sometimes. She said she was a schoolteacher. She wasn’t married. No children.”
“What did you do before you became sick?” asked Milligan.
“I was a software engineer with a local tech company.” His eyes closed and he started breathing deeply.
“Are you okay?” asked Milligan.
Drews opened his eyes and snapped, “No, I’m not okay! I’m terminal, all right! I’m dying!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drews, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry,” Milligan added in a contrite voice.
Decker studied Drews. “Did you ever talk with Mrs. Berkshire about the work you did?”
“No. What would have been the point?”
“Just chitchat?”
“No. And that seems like a lifetime ago. I barely remember it.”
“You’re not married.”
“How do you know that?”
“No ring on your finger. And no mark that showed a ring used to be there.”
After a moment he said resignedly, “I never met the right woman, I guess.”
“Parents still alive?”
Drews shook his head. “I’ve got a brother, but he lives in Australia. He came up when I got sick and stayed a while. But he had to get back. He has five kids.” Drews paused. “He’ll come back for the funeral. He’s my executor. I’m being cremated. Makes it easier all around.”
Drews closed his eyes and his lips trembled. But then he reopened them and sighed. “You never think you can talk so candidly about your coming death. But when you don’t have a choice, you just…do.”
“What do the doctors say?” asked Decker.
Drews shrugged. “Some days, it feels like tomorrow will be it. Some days I hope tomorrow will be it.”
“We’re sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Drews. We appreciate your help.”
As Decker rose, Drews put out a hand and lightly gripped Decker’s fingers. The man’s skin felt like ice.
“Anne was really nice. She didn’t have to come here and do what she did, but she wanted to. I…I hope you find whoever did this.”
“We already found him, Mr. Drews,” said Decker. “Now we just have to find out why he did it.”