Memory Man

She was staring out the window of the library, where, under the lights, the snow was falling rapidly.

“Okay. I guess I’m done here for now.”

They walked to the exit.

She said encouragingly, “We have quite a few leads, Amos, we just have to run them down.”

“They aren’t leads, Mary. They’re mostly fluff that will go nowhere. They’ve planned well.”

“Well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans.”

“I know the saying. Unfortunately, it’s often wrong.”

They climbed into her car and set off.

She glanced at him. “You seemed like you saw something on the security video.”

“I did. I just don’t know what.”

“How did it feel to go back to that place? The institute?”

“I didn’t. It had moved. I just spoke with one of the people who used to work there.”

“Still a trip down memory lane.”

“My whole life is one long memory lane.”

“Is it that bad?”

“You ever want to get up from a movie?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“And if you couldn’t turn it off? If you couldn’t get up and leave it because it happens to be running inside your head?”

She gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead. “I guess I can see that.”

The police radio mounted on the dash crackled. The address of a criminal incident was read out by the dispatcher.

Lancaster nearly ran the car off the road before righting it.

She stared horror-struck at Decker.

“That’s my house,” she screamed.

Chapter 48

Mary Lancaster’s house was a modest split-level rancher about thirty years old. Even though Earl Lancaster was in the construction business, the house needed painting and the roof required repairs, and there was rot in some of the wood. The asphalt driveway was cracked in numerous spots. The inside was in a bit better shape, but the rooms were small and dark and the air was musty.

The dark sky around the home was lit by the rack lights of the police vehicles.

Lancaster screeched her car to the curb, leapt out, flashed her badge at the two officers coming out the front door, and would have bolted past them if they hadn’t stopped her.

One of them knew her.

“Detective Lancaster—”

She tried to push past him. He grabbed her.

“Wait!” he called out. “I’m trying to tell you—”

The cop struggled with her mightily, because though she was not big, the woman was completely out of control, enraged, screaming, spitting, and clawing. She was going in there.

Then she was snatched from them and held completely off the ground.

The cops looked up at Decker, who had her in a bear hug, her arms pinned to her sides.

She shrieked, “Let me go, Amos! I will kill you! I swear to God I will kill you, you son of a bitch. I…will…kill…”

She kept ranting and struggling, but he held her tight until she finally fell limp in his arms, her head down, her legs dangling. Exhausted. Her breaths came in ragged gasps.

The cop looked up at her. “I was trying to tell you that your family is okay.”

“What!” she screamed. “Then why the hell are all these people here?”

Decker slowly set her on the ground.

The cop said, “Because there was an incident.”

“I tried calling in to dispatch, but I couldn’t get through,” said Lancaster. “Where the hell is my family?”

“They’ve been taken into protective custody.”

“What? Why?”

“Captain Miller’s orders.”

At that moment Miller walked out of the house.

“Captain, what the hell is going on?” asked Lancaster.

“Earl and Sandy are fine.”

“What’s the incident?” asked Decker.

“Some things left in the house.”

“What things?” asked Decker, his gaze dead on Miller.

“Amos, you might want to sit this one out.”

“That won’t be happening unless you have some more officers on the scene.” Decker glanced menacingly at the pair of uniforms who had tried to stop Lancaster.

“All right, then,” said Miller, and he led the way inside.

They entered the kitchen. Decker eyed the beer bottles on the table and the overturned chair.

“I thought you said nothing happened!” cried out Lancaster.

“It’s not what it seems to be,” said Miller. “It’s…it’s all….” He couldn’t finish.

Decker’s gut took a jolt as the man struggled to find the words.

Miller led them into the adjoining room.

On the floor was a body. Well, it wasn’t an actual body. It was a life-size inflatable male mannequin. Someone had colored its head brownish gray. But Decker’s attention was riveted on the streak of red drawn across its neck.

“Was…was that supposed to be Earl?” said Lancaster.

“I think so,” said Miller hesitantly, with a quick glance at Decker. “Sick bastard.”

Decker also noted that an X had been drawn over each of the mannequin’s eyes.

Everyone had seen mannequins before. They were ubiquitous and thus innocuous. But this mannequin — it was the most sinister thing Decker had ever seen. It was like the threes marching in the dark at him. Pale, bloody, staring, silent, lifeless; the symbolism reeked of depravity.

Decker looked toward the stairs. And then he looked all around. He had been here several times in the past. But his mind, while obviously registering this fact, had now connected it to another fact.