He walked near the water and then plopped down on his butt, pulled his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them.
He and Cassie had taken Molly to Disney World once when she was six. It was the only time he’d been to Florida on something non-football related. The only time other than now.
They’d had fun and emptied their bank account. But it had been worth it. He remembered the character breakfast when Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck and Goofy and their pals had come by. Molly had been terrified at first, hiding behind her father and only peeking out at the costumed characters as they walked past.
But little by little, she had gained confidence, and come out of hiding. She’d held hands with Donald and had her picture taken with Mickey. Cassie had tears in her eyes, and even Decker, who didn’t get any of this at all, picked his daughter up so she could kiss the tall Goofy.
It was a wonderful, if overpriced, trip, and it also felt like a million years ago. And in most respects, it was.
He snagged a shell and looked at it. It was white and gray and cracked and felt fragile in his huge hand.
So, what are you going to do, Decker? You got some dead bodies and a load of stuff to look at, most of which is total bullshit. There will be junk popping up that doesn’t make any sense but I will have to make sense out of it. If I can. And I don’t know if I can. Or if I even want to. And those are two big ifs.
He rose and kept walking.
Out over the waves he conjured images of people who had been important in his life. Unlike his wife and daughter, they were all alive.
There was Melvin Mars, once on death row and now leading a wonderful life with a woman he loved. There was Ross Bogart, now retired, but with whom Decker had solved dozens of cases. And out beyond them both was a young woman who was once a journalist back in Burlington, Ohio, and now was a full-fledged FBI agent, kicking ass and doing good.
He took out his phone and hit speed dial, hoping she would answer.
Alex Jamison did, on the very first ring.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to call me,” she said.
“I’m sorry for calling in the middle of the night.”
“I’m in a car pulling graveyard-shift surveillance, and I can think of no one else I’d rather talk to than you. So, how is it going with your new partner?”
“It’s going, but not well.”
“Did you expect otherwise? YouareAmos Decker, after all.”
He found himself smiling at this remark. “I keep being reminded of that every day. Pretty sure it’s not a good thing.”
“She’s a fine agent, Decker. Really sharp. She’s got more experience than me. And she’s been through a lot worse than I have.”
“I know. She told me.”
“She might have told you some things, not all.”
“You sound like you’re closer than ‘Freddie’ let on.”
“Many female FBI agents are close, if not for real, at least in spirit. There aren’t that many of us, at least in proportion to the guys.”
“Is this where you tell me I have to give her a chance?” he said dully.
“No. This is where I tell you that you have to giveyourselfa chance. Freddie will be good, Decker, with or without you. I’m not worried about her. But I am worried aboutyou.”
“Because of Mary?”
“Because of lots of things.”
“I…I got a letter from the Cognitive Institute. After my annual checkup there.”
“And what did it say?”
“It said a lot of things.”