Memory Man (11 page)

H
IS CONFIDENCE IN
his ability to perform as a detective growing, Decker spent another hour going over and over the preliminary shot registry. It was based on witness accounts, which Decker knew were unreliable; forensic evidence, which he knew was not nearly as flawless as TV made it seem; hunches, which were just that and nothing more; and, lastly, common sense, which might just be the most accurate and helpful of the bunch.

Lancaster looked away from her laptop screen and studied him.

“So what do you think?”

Decker absently stroked his shortened beard, his belly rumbling. It was now light outside. And it had been a long time in between meals for him. But he could stand to miss a few meals. A few hundred of them, in fact. He was like a polar bear. He could live off his accumulated fat all winter.

“Point one. I think he originated from the cafeteria.”

“Okay.”

“Point two. I think Debbie Watson
was
the first vic.”

“So we’re back to your dilemma. One plus one equals three. How did a big guy in cammies, hood, and face shield walk the length of the school with weapons totally unseen? And then where did he go? He can’t just vanish.”

“There’s no way there could be two shooters?” he said. “One coming out of the freezer and one coming in the rear?”

She shook her head. “Impossible. There was only one shooter. Same description. Unless you think identically shaped men did this together.”

“Okay, one shooter. The pistol is easily hidden. The shotgun could be stowed down a pants leg.”

“But the clothing. The shield?”

Decker thought some more about this. “Who’s to say he put that on in the cafeteria?”

“We found a fiber in the ceiling.”

“Still doesn’t mean he had all the stuff on in there.”

“So he carries it down the hall with him? In what? And the guns? The guy must have been so bulky that someone would have noticed. Especially if he was a stranger. And then where does he change?”

“You’re sure no one was seen walking the halls at that time?”

“Yes.”

“No one? Really? In a busy school?”

“Everyone was in class, both students and teachers. The folks in the office were working. Most had not been at their desks long. The gym teacher was in his office where he was shot. There was a half-eaten Egg McMuffin on his desk and a nearly full cup of coffee. Custodians were in their part of the school going over the schedule for the day.”

“But if no one was in the halls, there was no one to see a stranger roaming.” But then Decker immediately corrected himself. “Only all the doors have windows. He would have had to pass by numerous ones.”

“Exactly,” agreed Lancaster.

“No visitors?”

“None logged in and no one remembered any. That’s not to say someone didn’t slip in. That’s always possible. And like you said, he could have come in the night before during the play. The school was wide open then.”

“But why would the guy hide in the freezer?” said Decker. “Is there security here at night?”

Lancaster shook her head. “No, but if he came in during the school play, he would want to be out of sight. He couldn’t know someone wouldn’t come into the cafeteria that night for some reason.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Let’s move to Debbie Watson. She was heading to the nurse’s station?”

Lancaster nodded. “Yes. She had stopped, apparently, to get something from her locker. It was right near where she was found. The locker door was still open.”

“And the nurse’s room is in the office section?”

Lancaster nodded again. “She would have had to walk along the main corridor from the rear to the front.”

“What class was she coming out of to go to the nurse?”

“Math. Classroom 144.”

“Same hall as custodial?”

“That’s right,” said Lancaster. “Which has a loading dock. And thus an exit.”

“So if we’re right and the guy came through the cafeteria, here’s what his route looks like. He went from the front to the back of the school on the first floor. I’m assuming the second and third floors were clear?”

“We’re searching them, of course. But the enrollment at Mansfield has steadily gone down over the years. There are enough kids to fill out the first floor and that’s it. They have a hard enough time finding bodies to fill out the football team. The upper floors are used for storage and such. And they’re locked and barred off. And they were still secure when we checked them, with no sign of tampering.”

“Then for some reason he waited to start shooting until he got to the rear of the school. Then he starts popping people, going down halls, entering classrooms, shooting as he goes. He reaches the office at the front, kills the assistant principal. And then he escapes through the cafeteria’s loading dock and takes the footpath to the woods. How likely is that?”

“You mean why didn’t he just start shooting in the front, work his way to the back, and then escape out the rear?”

Decker was studying the ceiling. “Let’s put means aside and look at motive. Mansfield has its share of violence. Gangs, drugs, assaults. Kids mature a lot faster.”

“No argument there.”

“So is this a Columbine? A kid with a grudge? Maybe not even a student. Either from another school or he graduated, or he dropped out.”

Lancaster said, “We’re compiling a database with all that info. The FBI is helping.”

“When will they have an answer?”

Lancaster rubbed her eyes and checked her watch. “I’m not sure. Look, I’ve got to get home, grab an hour’s sleep, and change my clothes. And I need to give Earl a little break. Sandy hasn‘t been sleeping very well lately.”

Decker knew Sandy Lancaster as gentle, funny, bubbly, and wildly enthusiastic about everything and everyone. But he knew she could also become depressed and anxious over something relatively trivial. And then she wouldn’t sleep. Which meant no one else in the Lancaster household did either.

“You need any help with that?” asked Decker.

She looked surprised. “Are you offering to babysit?”

“I don’t know. I’m just…asking,” he finished awkwardly. He had never done much with Molly when she had been really little. He was so big and she was so tiny he’d been terrified he’d break her.

She smiled. “I’m good, Amos. But thanks. I’ll be back at the station later this morning. We can grab a cup of coffee and go over things. You need a ride back to your place?”

“No, I’ll hang out here for a while.”

“Suit yourself. You want to talk, about anything, give me a ring.”

She gathered up her things and started to leave. But she stopped and looked at him. “It really feels like old times.”

Decker said nothing, but he gave her a slight nod, which made her smile. She turned and walked out.

He sat in the chair in the library. He’d spent more time in here now than he probably had in his four years as a student. It wasn’t that the schoolwork had come easily to him; it hadn’t. But he was not the type to sit and read. That had changed. Now he devoured prodigious amounts of information. Now that he could remember it all, it was like he couldn’t get enough of it. He wondered if his brain had a capacity limit. If so, he hoped it was as big as he was.

He watched the FBI suits doing their thing at a table across the library’s main area. They all looked clean-cut, on the younger side, inexhaustibly professional, starched shirts, ties no doubt as straight as their spines. A few of them looked up occasionally at him, no doubt wondering what a fat weirdo dressed like a homeless person was doing in the middle of
their
investigation.

Well, at least I trimmed my beard and cut my hair. Or else they’d probably arrest me for looking like a big-ass version of Charlie Manson.

And then the next moment he forgot all about the FBI. He was really no longer in the library at Mansfield. He was no longer looking into the mass shooting here. It was something Lancaster had said.

I’ll be back at the station later this morning. We can grab a cup of coffee and go over things.

Decker would not be at the station later this morning. He had somewhere else to be.

I’ll be at an arraignment.

Sebastian Leopold took solid form in Decker’s thoughts. He went back over every second of their conversation. Every word, every look, every mannerism. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what, when he almost always could. Orphan facts, he liked to call them. There was no one to claim ownership because they were lies.

Yet not with Leopold for some reason. And that was cause for concern but also hope. The reason for hope? Simply Leopold’s existence. Before, Decker had nothing to go on. Now, in the form of the prisoner, he had a layer that had been partially peeled back. And when that happened it couldn’t help but reveal what was underneath.

He left the library and made his way outside.

It was still raining. If anything it was raining harder. The body bag wagons had all gone, and with them the crowd had drained away. No more cell phone candles. But in front of the school was a mountain of flowers, hand-painted signs, Teddy bears.

All drenched and soggy. But the intent was still clear. Still powerful.

He read some of the signs.

RIP Mr. Kramer.

Miss you, Debbie.

Never going to forget you, Eddie.

The town knew who the dead were for a very simple reason, though no names had been officially released. Those people hadn’t come home.

Cammie man had seen to that. Cammie man with no face and the ability to leap long school halls effortlessly. Because that’s what he must have done, to get from point A to the kill zone with “Miss you, Debbie.”

Decker went back to the bleachers and sat there under an overhang to keep dry, though he was pretty much already soaked.

Sebastian Leopold was going to be arraigned in a few hours. Decker planned to be there when he was. Arraignments were typically boring, mechanical stages of the law. Yet there was one important bit of information Decker wanted to see in person.

He sat there for a few minutes more, then, when the rain slowed, he rose and walked back to the Residence Inn. It took him a while because he didn’t move as swiftly as he used to. But it gave him time to think. And he arrived in time for breakfast. He absorbed half the buffet, catnapped for exactly one hour, showered, combed his hair, put his “lawyer” clothes back on, and headed to the courthouse to see exactly what Sebastian Leopold was going to say to the most critical question the judge would ask him today.

N
ORMALLY, THE COURTHOUSE
would be packed for something like this. A triple homicide and a guy saying he was good for it. Two days ago, it would have been the biggest story in Burlington, maybe the whole state.

But after the slaughter at Mansfield, nobody gave a damn.

Well, one person did.

Decker knew the drill, having testified in the court building countless times during the course of prosecuting folks he’d helped apprehend. He passed through security, nodded to a couple of county sheriffs he knew, and checked the court docket posted on a board near the information desk. Then he headed to the courtroom, where in about twenty minutes Sebastian Leopold would make his first court appearance after walking into the police station and giving himself up.

Decker swung open the heavy oak door and took a seat in the middle of the large room. He was the only one there. No bailiff. No court reporter. No lawyers. The press was covering Mansfield, he reckoned. Part of him would have preferred to be at Mansfield too. But the most important part of him wanted to be right where he was.

A minute later the prosecuting attorney, a woman in her forties, came into the courtroom, passed by Decker, and took her seat at the counsel table. Decker knew Sheila Lynch, but she had not made eye contact. She opened her briefcase, took out a file, and read through it. Decker stared at the back of her neck, which was exposed because her hair was up in a tight, professional bun. Lynch’s skirt and jacket were black and already showing traces of grime. The back of her right shoe had a gouge out of it and her nylons were a bit ragged where the shoe met the stocking.

At five minutes to ten the same door Decker had passed through opened again. He glanced back. Lancaster gave him a tiny wave. Behind her was Captain Miller. He was in uniform today.

They took seats on either side of him.

Lancaster said, “Don’t know what I was thinking about when I said I’d meet you at the station. Of course you’d be here.”

“Why aren’t you at Mansfield?” Decker asked.

Miller answered, “I have been. Since six-thirty this morning. Now we’re here. After this, Lancaster is heading there while I go sit my fat ass behind my desk and deal with crap I don’t want to deal with.”

“Doesn’t answer why you’re here,” said Decker.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Decker continued to eyeball Miller. “I don’t have a gun. I passed through the magnos at the entrance. I can’t shoot the guy.”

“Never doubted that for an instant,” said Miller, smoothing out a wrinkle on his dark blue jacket. “But this is an important case, and so here we are.”

“Were you able to trace Leopold’s real identity? Was he in the Navy?”

“We sent his prints through the FBI’s IAFIS database. No hits.”

Decker said, “He told me he was in the Navy. He had the tat. But maybe he wasn’t in
our
Navy.”

“Foreigner?” said Miller in a thoughtful tone. “That might explain it.”

“Do you think Sebastian Leopold is his real name?” asked Lancaster.

“I didn’t,” answered Decker. “But I’m not sure now.”

“Well, we can have the Bureau make international inquiries for us,” said Miller. “They can go through overseas databases a lot easier than we can.”

At the stroke of ten the rear door leading into the judge’s chambers opened and the bailiff, a portly man with a handlebar mustache, stepped through. He told them to rise and all four of them did. Decker heard the door creak open and turned to see a young woman dash in and take a seat at the rear. She held a notepad in one hand and a tiny digital recorder in the other.

The press. All
one
of them. She must be very junior, thought Decker. Or else she would be over covering Mansfield. His brain dug into the big pile of stuff inside his head and pulled out the name.

Alex Jamison
.

The woman who’d called him about Leopold. She worked for the
News Leader
. He’d hung up on her. He turned back around before she could focus on him.

It was at this moment that the black-robed Judge Christian Abernathy stepped into the courtroom. He was old, bespectacled, and frail, and his white hair, what was left of it, sprouted all over his head like bits of fading cotton taped to pink wax paper masquerading as skin. The running bet among the police was how long it would be before Abernathy croaked on the bench, toppling over onto the marble floor. Decker remembered that the man never made it easy for the police to convict anyone, but maybe that was as it should be, he thought.

Abernathy sat and so did they.

The door to the right opened. The holding cell was kept there, Decker knew.

Out stepped Sebastian Leopold in his bright orange jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained, with two burly uniforms on either side of him. He performed the shackle shuffle as he walked. He looked around the large high-ceilinged courtroom as though he was not fully cognizant of where he was or what he was doing here.

He was escorted to the counsel table, although there was no counsel there.

Decker leaned in to Miller. “PD?”

Miller shook his head and mouthed, “Apparently not.” He did not look happy about this. Not happy at all.

The uniforms removed the shackles and stepped back.

The bailiff rose, picked up a docket sheet, and called the case and read out the charges that Leopold was facing. Then, his duty completed, he stepped back with the mechanical movement of a cuckoo clock figure returning to its hiding place.

Abernathy adjusted his glasses and peered down at the prosecuting attorney.

“Ms. Lynch?”

Lynch rose, adjusted her shirt cuffs, and said, “Mr. Leopold has been charged with three counts of murder in the first, Your Honor. He has no known address and his ties to the community are apparently nonexistent. In light of the serious charges, we request no bail be set and that he be remanded to the county jail until trial.”

Well, thought Decker, that was all to be expected. They weren’t about to cut the man loose.

Abernathy turned to Leopold and peered down at him from his high perch. Then he shot a glance back at Lynch.

“Where is Mr. Leopold’s counsel, Ms. Lynch?”

Lynch cleared her throat and said, “He was not able to afford counsel and a public defender was appointed to represent him. However, Mr. Leopold refused those services. Numerous times, I might add.”

Abernathy’s gaze swiveled back to the accused. “Mr. Leopold, do you understand the charges that have been read to you?”

Leopold looked around as though he was wondering to whom Abernathy was speaking.

“Mr. Leopold, do you not want counsel?” asked Abernathy sharply.

Leopold turned to face him, shook his head, and said, “I got no money.”

“That’s why we have
public
defenders, Mr. Leopold,” Abernathy said testily. “They’re
free
. You can thank the Supreme Court’s interpretation of our Constitution for that. I will set this arraignment aside for now until one is provided for—”

“I did it, sir,” said Leopold, interrupting.

Abernathy gazed down at him as though the defendant were a mildly interesting bug lying on the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”

“I done it, so I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Are you telling me that you’re pleading guilty to three homicides in the first degree?”

“I killed them, so yes sir, I guess I am.”

Abernathy took a moment to clean his glasses, as though that would make what was happening a bit clearer. After settling them on his long, crooked nose, he said, “This is hardly the time for
guessing
, Mr. Leopold. These are serious charges, indeed the most serious of all. Are you aware that not only your freedom is at risk here, but also your life? This is a capital case.”

“You mean the death penalty?”

Abernathy looked like he might stroke. “Yes. Of
course
that’s what I mean, Mr. Leopold!”

“Well, I’m pleading guilty ’cause I done it. So I guess we don’t need no trial.”

Abernathy looked back at Lynch and said in an admonishing tone, “Ms. Lynch, I find this reprehensible.”

“Judge Abernathy, we tried our best. Mr. Leopold refused all entreaties to—”

Abernathy looked over Lynch’s shoulder and spotted Miller. With a slow wave of his hand he beckoned the police chief forward.

“Shit,” muttered Miller.

He stood, passed in front of Decker and Lancaster, and hurried up to the bench along with Lynch.

Decker watched as the police captain, prosecutor, and judge engaged in a heated discussion. Well, actually Abernathy was doing most of the talking. It seemed the judge was quite animated, and gesticulated twice at Leopold.

Miller nodded and said something. Lynch did the same and they hastily returned to their seats, each looking upset.

When Decker looked at him questioningly, Miller shook his head and said, “Later.”

Abernathy said to Leopold, “I’m ordering you to be returned to your cell for now. A public defender will be appointed to represent you. You will then be returned to this court for your arraignment tomorrow morning.” He glanced at Lynch. “And get the psych eval done promptly, Ms. Lynch. Understood?” She nodded, her gaze refusing to meet his. Abernathy said, “Officers, please remove the defendant.”

He rapped his gavel down. The two uniforms immediately came forward, shackled a confused looking Leopold, and led him back out.

Abernathy said to the bailiff, “Call the next case, please. And I trust
he
will have counsel.” As he said this he shot first Lynch and then Miller a withering look.

Decker, Lancaster, and Miller rose and headed out as the second prisoner was led in for his hearing.

The reporter had already left.

Out in the hall a scowling Lynch came over to Miller.

She said, “I don’t like getting my ass handed to me in court, Mac.”

“We couldn’t force him to accept a lawyer, Sheila. You were in the middle of it. You know.”

“Well, he’s getting one whether he likes it or not, if only to enter a guilty plea.” She shot Lancaster and then Decker a glance. “Hello, Amos, I guess I’m not surprised to see you here.”

“I guess not,” replied Decker.

Lynch turned back to Miller. “Since Abernathy’s ordered a psych eval, I’m not sure he’ll be able to plead to anything if the eval comes back like I think it might.”

“You mean mentally unfit,” said Lancaster.

“You’ve seen the guy. You think he’s all there?”

“Maybe he was sixteen months ago,” said Decker.

“Doesn’t matter if he’s not legally competent to stand trial now.”

She turned and hurried off, her briefcase banging against her thigh.

Decker turned to Miller. “So?”

“So we got read the riot act by Abernathy. He was pissed that Leopold had no PD, and he’s right. Death penalty case with no lawyer? Whatever happened at this level would get overturned on appeal automatically. And Abernathy does not like to get overturned by the appellate court. That’s why he was ticked off. I think he thought we were setting him up. As if.”

“So why wasn’t a PD appointed?” asked Decker.

“Like Lynch said, Leopold didn’t want one. He was totally uncooperative. Kept saying he did it so why did he need a lawyer. We had our hands full with Mansfield or else we would have handled it differently. We basically dropped the ball there.”

Decker stuffed his hands into his pockets and let his chin fall to his chest. “So you lawyer him up, he comes back in, pleads guilty, and then what?”

“Well, hopefully his lawyer will convince him to plead
not
guilty just so it looks better. We can talk about a deal and see what comes of it. But we also have to see what the psych eval says. If he’s unfit it throws a monkey wrench into things.”

“And if he isn’t guilty?” asked Decker.

“Do you think he
is
?” asked Miller.

“I met with the guy once. I can’t say definitely what I think.”

“Well, none of this is going to happen today. So we’ve got time.” Miller glanced at Lancaster. “You better get back to Mansfield. I hear the FBI is working hard to take over the case.”

“And if they want to can we really stop them?” asked Lancaster.

“We’re not going to roll over and play dead for the Feds, Mary,” said Miller sternly. He looked at Decker. “You going to be able to continue helping us on it? Leopold will keep. This prick at Mansfield, the longer it goes, the harder it’ll be for us to find him.”

Decker looked off. The answer should have been easy. Only it wasn’t.

Miller studied him for a few moments. “Well, let me know.”

He turned and walked off, leaving Lancaster and Decker standing in the hall. Activity in the courthouse had started to heat up and the corridors were growing full. Moms crying about sons in trouble. Lawyers clustered like chickens in a pen. Cops were coming and going, and folks were wandering around who were already in trouble or about to be.

Lancaster said sharply, “Why the wavering? Last night you said the shooter wasn’t going to get away with it.”

Decker didn’t answer right away. He was watching the reporter standing next to the entrance to the courthouse. She was obviously waiting for him.

“Amos?” said Lancaster.

He glanced back at his former partner. “I’ll be at the high school later today.”

“Does that mean you’re still engaged on it?”

“Later today,” said Decker. He headed for the rear exit.

The reporter caught up to him halfway down the hall.

“Mr. Decker? Mr. Decker?”

Decker’s first plan was to just keep walking, but the woman gave every indication that she would simply follow him out of the building, down the street, and into his next life if need be. So he stopped at the exit, turned, and looked down at her. His mind automatically collected observations and distilled them into an assortment of deductions.

She was in her late twenties, pretty, tall, slim, and brunette, with her hair cut short around her ears. Ears that weren’t pierced even for earrings. He saw tat letters on her left wrist where her cuff rode up.

Iron Butterfly. Well, they did make a comeback after she was born.