Judge Matthews shot a glare at Jenkins. “Is this true?”
Jenkins turned a bit paler under the judge’s wrathful look. “Your Honor, while that unfortunate act did occur, we believe that Mr. Mars is in no further danger while in the state’s custody.”
“To err on the side of caution,” said Decker, “we should avoid any possibility that Mr. Jenkins is incorrect. If Mr. Mars is found to be innocent, but ends up dead in his prison cell, I fail to see how that benefits him. Perhaps the state of Texas has a different opinion?”
The judge snorted at that comment.
Jenkins simply glared at Decker, who continued. “The FBI, with the state’s approval, took custody of Mr. Mars after he was beaten, and we stand ready to do so again.”
Judge Matthews refocused on Decker. “And this has been approved by the FBI?”
“Again, Agent Bogart will provide all necessary assurances and details.”
The judge turned back to Jenkins. “I am hereby ordering that the defendant be released into the custody of Agent Decker and the FBI until such time as future facts dictate another course of action.”
“But, Your Honor,” began Jenkins in a reproachful tone.
“That’s my ruling, so don’t go there, Frank! I can’t say I like the way y’all have handled this, so be happy I didn’t order the defendant released on his own recognizance. This court is adjourned.” Judge Matthews smacked his gavel, rose, and disappeared into his chambers.
Jenkins looked over at Decker as the court officers unshackled Mars. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” he said.
So do I, thought Decker. So do I.
Chapter 39
Mars sat in the passenger seat and rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had cut into his skin.
“Thanks,” he said to Decker, who was driving.
Oliver, Davenport, and Jamison were in the backseat.
Decker had said nothing as they had left the courtroom, shoving past the journalists who were sticking mikes and notepads in their faces.
Jamison and Davenport had peppered him with questions as they walked across the parking lot to their car, but he had remained silent. Now Jamison reached over the front seat and tapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Are you going to explain what just happened or am I going to have to get physical with you?”
Decker shot her a glance in the rearview and noted her irresolute demeanor. “I asked Agent Bogart for a favor and he provided it.”
“So this is all on the up-and-up?” asked Jamison, drawing a startled look from Oliver.
She said, “Decker, please don’t tell me I was an unwitting participant in perpetrating a fraud on the court?”
“There was no fraud. Melvin is in our custody. And everything I said to the judge was true.”
“He thought you were an agent,” pointed out Davenport.
“He said that. I never did,” countered Decker.
“But you didn’t correct him either,” she retorted.
“That wasn’t my job, but it doesn’t matter either. Bogart is an agent and he will back me up on this.” He eyed Oliver. “And you did file the lawsuit?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
Mars said, “Well, I’m not good if they come and arrest my ass again. You heard what the judge said. If future facts come out then he could let them do that. Another course of action, he called it. And that Jenkins dude was pissed. I bet he’s right now working on something to get my butt back in a Texas prison.”
“I’d be stunned if he wasn’t,” conceded Decker. “We just have to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”
“How?” asked Davenport.
Jamison answered. “By solving the case.”
Decker’s phone buzzed and he answered it, cupping the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he drove toward a sky that was growing dark and promised still more rain. The inclemency of the weather didn’t faze Decker. He had other things on his mind as he listened to the other person on the call. He thanked the person and put his phone away.
“That was the Alabama police. They ran down the rental car, the beige Toyota Avalon with the Georgia plate with the partial number Patricia Bray gave us. It was leased by a man named Arthur Crandall.” He looked at Mars. “Ring any bells?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so, since it was a false name. The credit card he used was a forgery. The license was probably a phony too.”
“Are we sure it’s the same guy?” asked Jamison.
“They’re trying to verify that right now.”
“What the hell is going on?” wondered Mars.
“Loose ends,” said Decker. “Just loose ends.”
“So the guy we think killed Regina Montgomery after paying them off to have her husband confess is this Arthur Crandall?” said Mars.
“That’s not his real name.”
“Yeah, that I get. But by doing what he’s doing he helped me get out of prison.”
“And as we discussed, that could be because he thinks you have something that can hurt him or whoever he’s working for.”
“But that makes no sense, Decker. Even if I knew something, which I don’t, why not just let them execute me and I take it to my grave?”
Davenport said, “Maybe they need to really get whatever it is they think you have. So they spring you from prison hoping you’ll go and get it.”
“But then why frame me for murder in the first place?” asked Mars.
“Maybe back then they thought that was the best course,” suggested Jamison. “Kill your parents, frame you, and you get sent away for life. That’s really the only explanation that works.”
“No it’s not,” disagreed Decker.
“What, then?” asked Jamison curiously.
“We’re assuming that whoever framed Melvin and murdered his parents is also the one looking now for what was in the safe deposit box. The fact is, we could be dealing with two different sets of people, with dissimilar goals.”
“Jesus,” said Davenport. “Wasn’t it complicated enough?”
“Apparently not,” acknowledged Decker.
He glanced at Mars. “Who was your mother’s doctor?”
“Her doctor? Why?”
“Well, someone had to diagnose her with terminal brain cancer.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Give it some thought.”
“Do you think the identity of her doctor is really important?” asked Davenport.
“Right now, in this case, there is nothing that isn’t important.”
Chapter 40
Decker slept soundly until five in the morning. The rain was beating down outside and he rose and stumbled over to the window to look out. Rain, wind, the occasional flare of lightning, and the tagalong boom of thunder. The weather was as miserable as this case, he thought.
He looked down at his feet, surprised for a moment that he could see them. His belly had shrunk sufficiently for that to be the case. It had been a long time...
He sat on the edge of his bed and stretched out his legs. His hamstrings were tight, his lower back tighter still.
Physically, he was what he was.
But mentally?
He closed his eyes and let his perfect memory wander back to the point nearly twenty months ago when he had lost everything he had.
He knew the color would come, piggybacking on this memory like a parasite attached to a big fish.
Blue.
The color blue poured across the memory of finding his family slaughtered. It was like someone had callously thrown a bucket of paint on top of the most treasured possession he had. Or a giant pen had gone wacky and was releasing its ink everywhere.