Memory Man

“I’m sure I would have.”

“And that person was with you at the institute?”

“It would be the only reason for the Mallard2000 reference. I don’t believe in coincidences, especially ones that large.”

“Okay. So our shooter was a male. Well, at least the probabilities lie there. Although the barman very crudely called the person an ‘it.’ He seemed to think she was a man dressed up as a woman. Or maybe a transsexual. Given that sort of radical change, you might not recognize the person.”

“Maybe not.”

“And she might have been a man at the institute and is a woman now. Or vice versa.”

“Could be.”

“So you dissed that person while you were at the institute?”

Decker’s phone buzzed. It was Lancaster.

She said, “We found a lot of usable prints and DNA in the restroom at the bar. We did basic eliminations and then ran them through the perp databases. FBI did the same.”

“And nothing?”

“Couple of druggies and a convicted rapist. They’re all doing time now, but at some point they used that restroom.”

“So not our waitress?”

“No. How goes it on your end?”

“I’ll let you know in a couple hours. Following a lead.”

He clicked off and settled back in the rear of the Suzuki.

Jamison gave him a searching glance. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. Let’s hope Rabinowitz proves more helpful.”

* * *

Dr. Harold Rabinowitz lived in an apartment in an old building on the other side of town. When Decker knocked on the door he heard footfalls heading his way.

A voice said, “Who is it?”

“Amos Decker.”

The door opened and Decker was looking down at a small, balding man with a gray beard and wearing dark glasses. He was well into his seventies. He had on a worn cardigan, dress slacks, and a collared white shirt.

“Hello, Amos.” The man gazed at Decker’s belly.

It took Decker a moment to process it.

“When did you lose your eyesight, Dr. Rabinowitz?”

“Fully? Seven years ago. Macular degeneration. A very nasty disease. You’re not alone. I can hear someone else.”

“My friend, Alex Jamison.”

“Hello, Dr. Rabinowitz. Please call me Alex.”

“I like your perfume. Vanilla and coconut, very nice. Am I right?”

“You are. Very good.”

He smiled, satisfied. “Other senses are heightened to compensate, you know. Please come in.”

They settled down in chairs in the small living room. Decker looked around and took in the neat surroundings, the carefully constructed walking paths. He also saw the guide stick for the visually impaired hanging from a peg next to the door.

“I was surprised to hear that you wanted to see me,” began Rabinowitz.

“I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“I’ve gotten to the point in my life, Amos, where all I have is time. My professional work is done. My wife is deceased. My health is declining. My old friends are dead. My children have their own health problems. My grandchildren are graduating from college and starting their own careers. So your visit is very welcome to me.”

Decker settled back and kept his gaze on the man while Jamison shot glances between them.

Decker said, “How long have you been gone from the Cognitive Institute?”

“They put me out to pasture ten years ago. I would have stayed longer, but my eyes were starting to go even then.”

“They’ve moved.”

“I know. I keep in touch. The institute has grown, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Hence the move. They needed more space. We’ve come light-years since you were with us. We know so much more.”

“And you obviously remember me.”

“You would be hard to forget. Our only professional football player. It was quite unusual.”

“I went into law enforcement when I left here. First as a cop. Then a detective.”

“You mentioned that was your ambition when you were here.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good for you. And have you had a productive career?”

“It’s had its ups and downs, like most careers.”

“Hopefully more ups than downs.”

“You may be able to help with that.”

Rabinowitz frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Decker mentioned the Mansfield case.

Rabinowitz said, “I heard about that, along with the rest of the country. So tragic. So awful. So many lives just…ended. For no reason.”

“I’m working that case. And there is a reason. In fact, it might have a personal connection to me.”

“How so?” Rabinowitz said sharply.

“I think someone at the institute while I was there is involved with the massacre at the high school.”

Rabinowitz gripped the edge of his armchair. “What!?”

“I can’t give you specifics, but the killer communicated the old address of the institute to me. He said that I had dissed him. He indicated that was why he killed all those people.”

“Oh my God!” Rabinowitz nearly toppled from his chair, but, moving fast for a big man, Decker managed to snag his arm and hold him in his seat.

Decker looked at Jamison. “Water?”

She jumped up and hurried into the next room. She was back in less than a minute with a glass of water. Decker gave it to Rabinowitz, and he drank down a bit before carefully placing it on the table next to him.

“I’m sorry,” said Decker. “I shouldn’t have just dropped that on you. Sometimes…sometimes I just don’t realize…”