Memory Man

“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.

Her eyes were a dull blue that clashed with her complexion. One of her incisors was chipped, her nails were bitten down to the rims, her right index finger had once been broken and healed badly with a little bend to it in the middle, and her lips were overly thin and chapped. She didn’t smell of smoke, drink, or perfume.

Her clothes were not new, nor overly clean, but they rode well on her tall, slender figure. She had a dark blotch on the inside of her right middle finger where the pen was held. Not just a keyboard clicker, then. She used ink.

Her face held the wonderful enthusiasm of youth as yet unblemished by life. That age was a nice time in anyone’s life. And it was necessary. To get through what was coming in later years.

If we all started out cynical, what a shitty world that would be.

“Mr. Decker? I’m Alex Jamison with the News Leader.”