“Would it matter if I did mind?”
“We all have the same goal. I know you were a cop and then a detective. You know the drill, nothing too small. Nothing too obscure to follow up. Shall we?” He pointed to a door at the back of the library that Decker had previously discovered was used as a reading classroom for ESL students.
He rose and followed the man back. Another agent joined them, a woman Decker had seen before. She was blonde, in her thirties, with muscled calves and a jaw that jutted out like a slab of stone. She had a recorder in one hand and a notebook and pen in the other. A federal shield rode on her hip.
“Special Agent Lafferty will be joining us,” said Bogart.
“How about Detective Lancaster joining us, then?” suggested Decker. “She’s been right in the middle of this too.”
“Maybe later,” Bogart said with a smile, as he held open the door and flicked on the light.
They all sat around a small table, Decker on one side, the two special agents on the other. Lafferty turned on her recorder and held her notebook open, looking ready to write down everything that was said in the room.
“Do they still teach shorthand with all the digital stuff they have these days?” asked Decker, looking at her. “It seems that a recording would be one hundred percent accurate, whereas your shorthand might contain interpretations and selective nuances, of which you might not be even consciously aware, instead of what was actually said. Just a thought.”
She did not seem to know how to respond to this, so she glanced at her boss.
Bogart said, “Let’s start at the beginning, if you will, to help me come up to speed.”
“Why don’t you just let me summarize so we don’t waste time?” said Decker. He didn’t wait for an assent from Bogart but plunged ahead. “My family was killed sixteen months ago. The case is unsolved.” He then told the FBI agents about Sebastian Leopold’s confessing to the crime, being jailed, recanting, and then being released because there was no evidence to hold him. “As you know, ballistics has tied that case and this one together.”
“And you’re sure he couldn’t have been the school shooter?” asked Bogart.
“Impossible. He was in jail at the time. Hours before the guy started his rampage.”
“You figured out where he might have been hiding,” said Bogart. “In the cafeteria. The food locker.”
“I tied some witness statements together and made an educated guess.”
“Then you found the notebook in Debbie Watson’s locker with the picture of the shooter.”
“Another educated guess.”
Bogart went on, seeming not to have heard him. “Then you went to Watson’s house and made the discovery of the coded message held in the musical score. And then there was the earlier message, or taunt really, that someone left on the wall of your old house, where your family was murdered. You spotted that too.” Bogart paused for a moment and then said, “Aren’t you going to say, ‘Another educated guess’?”
“I guess I don’t have to now, seeing as you said it for me.”
“You seem to be taking this all rather lightly. Can I ask why?”
“I’m not taking any of this lightly. That’s why I’m working the case even though I’m not on the police force.”
Bogart glanced at a file in front of him. “Cases, really, isn’t it? Separated by sixteen months.”
“Actually sixteen months, two days, twelve hours, and six minutes.”
“And how do you know that so precisely? You didn’t even look at your watch.”
“There’s a clock on the wall behind you.”
Bogart didn’t turn and look but Lafferty did and she wrote something down.
Decker hadn’t needed to look at the wall clock. He had his internal timer that kept that count faithfully. Better than a Rolex and a lot cheaper.
“Still,” said Bogart. “To the minute?”
“To the second in case you’re interested,” replied Decker evenly. “And if you’re wondering where I was when the school shooting was happening, I was at the Second Precinct.”
Bogart’s brow furrowed and he looked bemusedly at Decker. “Why would you offer up an alibi in the first place? Do you think you’re under suspicion somehow?”
“If you really think about it, everybody’s under suspicion somehow.”
Decker watched as Lafferty wrote this down word for word.
“Are you being deliberately antagonistic, Mr. Decker?” asked Bogart politely.
“No, this is just my personality. Ask anyone who knows me. I have no filters. I lost them years ago and never found them again.”
“You had an outstanding record in the police force. You and your partner.”
“Former partner,” Decker corrected, for he had a need for things to be precise, especially right now.
“Former partner,” conceded Bogart. “But in talks with people it seems that you were the clear leader of the pair. I won’t say you were the brains, because I have no desire to minimize Detective Lancaster’s contributions to your casework.”
“That’s very nice to hear,” said Decker. “Because Mary is a good detective and works her ass off.” He looked at Lafferty. “And if you work hard too, you might become more than a note taker for your boss. I’m sure you have the ability if you’re ever given the chance to use it.”
Lafferty flushed and set her pen down.
Bogart leaned forward. “This person seems to have a vendetta against you. Any idea who that could be?”
“If I did I would have already provided the information to the Burlington Police Department.”
“We’re all in this together,” said Bogart, who was no longer smiling politely.
“I’m glad that you think so.”
“So no one comes to mind?”
“When I talked with Leopold he said I had dissed him at the 7-Eleven. This was about a month before my family was killed. Only I never dissed anyone there. And if someone had a problem with me I would’ve remembered.”
“Are you saying your memory is infallible?”
“I’m saying I would have remembered if someone had a problem with me.”
“But all that time ago, you could have forgotten. And it might have been something slight, or seemingly innocuous. It might not have even registered with you. We all miss things. And memories are inherently fallible.”
“When were you born?”
“What?” asked Bogart sharply.
“Tell me when you were born, month, day, year.”
Bogart glanced at Lafferty and then said, “June 2, 1968.”
Decker blinked five times and said, “Then you were born on a Sunday.”
Bogart sat back. “That’s right. I of course didn’t know it at the time. How did you know? Did you look up my personnel file?”
“I wouldn’t have had access. And until five minutes ago I didn’t even know you existed. If you want more proof I can do the same thing for your colleague.”
“And your point?”
“I would’ve remembered dissing someone at the 7-Eleven whether it was seventeen months or seventeen years ago.”
“You think Leopold was lying, then?”
“I think Sebastian Leopold is not what he wants us to think he is.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“Homeless and more than slightly out of his mind.”
“So you’re saying he’s neither homeless nor out of his mind?”
“I’m saying that I think he’s dangerous.”
“But you said he couldn’t have been the school shooter. Do you think he killed your family?”
“He couldn’t personally have done it. He has an alibi for that too. But I’m rethinking whether he was still involved somehow.”