A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

  “No, I knew firsthand what it did to their marriage. You feel it was because they both felt guilt over what happened?”

  Lineberry appeared uncomfortable with the question. “Yes.”

  “We moved away from here before my parents split up, so how did you know that happened?”

  Lineberry took a sip of his coffee and then cradled the cup in his hands. “I kept in touch with your father.”

  “I was recently told that my parents moved out of Andersonville in the middle of the night. That no one knew where we had gone.”

  “Yes, well, that was true. We all wondered what had happened. But your father got in touch with me some years later.”

  “Why?”

  “I think he knew I had been looking for him, wondering what had happened.”

  “I lived with my mother after they split up.”

  “Tim told me he thought it would be best that way, and, quite frankly, you wanted to live with your mother, Lee.”

  “So you know what happened to him then?”

  “He shot himself on your birthday. You had just turned nineteen.”

  “How did you know those details?” she said suspiciously.

  Lineberry hesitated and then said quietly, “I was the one who discovered his body.”

  Pine just sat there stunned for a long moment, while Lineberry watched her closely.

  “I thought your mother might have told you.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Your father was my friend. I’d always thought he’d gotten a raw deal. It wasn’t enough that he lost one daughter, but he was also suspected in her disappearance. He blamed himself for being…drunk that night.”

  “My mother was drunk, too.”

  “But your dad was old-school. It was the man’s job to protect his family.”

  “So you found his body why?”

  “After he contacted me, I decided to offer him a job. Your dad was a smart guy. I knew he could do a lot more than drive a bulldozer around. So I offered him a job, and we had arranged to meet to finalize details. He didn’t show up for the meeting. I called and got no answer. This was before smart phones and everybody in the world having email. So I went to where he was staying.” Lineberry paused and looked down. “And I found him…dead.”

  “In a crummy motel in Louisiana.”

  Surprisingly, Lineberry shook his head. “No, it was at his apartment in Virginia. He’d moved there to work. Some sales job, he told me.”

  Pine was so rocked by this that she stood and paced the room while Blum and Lineberry nervously watched. “That’s not what my mother told me.” She made her hands into fists and looked like she wanted to punch the wall. “She wouldn’t let me go with her to see my dad. She went there and then had him cremated.”

  “You didn’t want to see your father like that, Lee. Trust me. I had to preliminarily identify the body and it was…difficult. The shotgun had—”

  “I don’t like being lied to.”

  “I’m sure your mother thought it was the right thing to do,” said Lineberry.

  Pine sat down and said brusquely, “Did you see my mother when she came down?”

  “No. I must have left town by then.” He shook his head sadly. “She had lost so much, and even though they were no longer together, I know that they still cared for each other. And, of course, that would mean that you had lost your father, too.”

  She said slowly, “He would come to visit from time to time. Nothing regular and he never stayed long…but I always wanted to see him. To see him more.”

  “Of course, Lee. Of course you wanted to see him. Families are special.”

  “Do you have a family?” asked Blum.

  “No, I never took the plunge. And before I knew it, I was in my sixties.”

  “Never too late to say, ‘I do,’” said Blum.

  “I think it is for me.”

  “I came back home to find out what happened to my sister,” said Pine, drawing both of their attention back to her.

  Lineberry nodded slowly and put his cup aside. “I thought it must be something like that.” He looked at the shield on her hip. “FBI agent? I guess if I were a psychologist, I could make something out of your decision to go into law enforcement.”

  “It wouldn’t take much expertise to figure that one out,” noted Pine.

  “How can I help you in your task?”

  “You knew my parents. Can you tell me the names of some of their other friends in Andersonville?”

  Lineberry sat back. “Can I ask why you want to know?”

  “You believed my father had nothing to do with what happened to my sister.”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, somebody took her. I want to find out who that was.”

  Lineberry’s jaw slackened. “You…you think it might have been someone who knew the family? I always assumed it was some stranger.”

  “Stranger snatches do happen, but it’s far more likely to be someone familiar with the family.”

  “I can’t believe that. I mean, it was such a small community.”

  Blum said, “The thing is, sometimes you think you know someone, but you really don’t.”

  “Meaning we all have our dark sides?”

  “And some people’s ‘sides’ are darker than others.”

  Lineberry looked at them a bit warily now. “Well, I was a friend, so I guess that makes me a suspect.”

  Pine shook her head. “I’m not saying anyone’s a target; this is just one line of inquiry. Even if it was a stranger, someone who was around my parents and the house might remember someone watching the place or some other information that might be helpful.”

  “Well, have you talked to your mother? She would certainly know those sorts of things.”

  “I haven’t talked to her, nor is it likely that I will.”

  “Can you tell me why that is?”

  “Let’s just say that it was because of her choice, not mine.”

  Lineberry took this in and said, “Okay, that’s your business. I won’t pry any further.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “So, friends. I can’t imagine there are many left in the area.”

  “Just any you can recall. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Leave me your contact information and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As they were leaving, Lineberry said, “What if the truth turns out to be worse than not knowing?”

  “I’m not sure that can ever be the case. But if it is, I’ll just have to deal with it.”

  “I don’t envy your position.”

  “Frankly, neither do I.”

  Chapter 16

  PINE GOT OUT of the shower the next morning and stood in front of the bathroom mirror while she dried her hair. On her sculpted delts were tats of Gemini and Mercury. And tatted down both her forearms were the words, “No Mercy.”

  The forearm tats had double meanings to her, neither so esoteric. She had no Mercy in her life because Mercy had been taken from her. And compared to what had happened to her sister, Pine’s life was a breeze. So she couldn’t grant herself a break for anything. It was always pedal to the metal, take no prisoners, and don’t complain when someone kicked your ass.

  No mercy for me.

  The delt tats were similarly obvious: Gemini, the god of twins. And the planet Mercury, ascendant for twins.

  She put her hands on the sink and stared at her reflection.

  I guess I do wear it on my sleeve. And my shoulders. And I guess I am that obvious. And I guess I don’t care what people think at this point.

  She fingered the St. Christopher’s medal that she wore around her neck. It had been a present from her mother. Her last present from the woman, as it turned out. More than once she had attempted to chuck it into the trash. But something always stayed her hand.

  Maybe one day it will bring me good luck. Maybe one day it will lead me to her.

  Pine slowly dress
ed and thought about what she had learned since she’d been here.

  It wasn’t much. The intruder perhaps coming through the house was by the far the biggest breakthrough, but only if it turned out to be true. And all these years later would she ever be able to really conclusively prove that one way or another?

  She looked out her front window onto the street. She vaguely recalled her parents taking her and her sister to the cemetery here, where white grave markers seemed to go on and on without end. For her they just meant there were dead people everywhere, and that had scared her and Mercy.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She well knew how nearly impossible it would be that Mercy was still alive. The best, the absolute best, she could reasonably hope for was a lead that would take her to her twin’s grave. There would only be bones there now, like there were at the prison cemetery. Her twin would just be a skeleton now.

  I would take bones. I would take finding her remains. I just want to know…what happened.

  The small, familiar hand in hers, the face, like a reflection in a mirror, looking back at her. There was comfort, reassurance there. She thought she would have it forever. She had had Mercy in her life for only six years. In a real sense, Pine had been alone ever since. She had never felt that comfort or reassurance again. That sort of connection perhaps came only once in a lifetime.

  And maybe that’s why I find it so hard to connect with anyone else.

  As she was finishing dressing, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Jackson Lineberry. He knew of only two other family friends in the area.

  Myron and Britta Pringle. They were in their fifties, around the same age as Pine’s parents. She didn’t really remember the names, but she hoped visiting them would provide her some lead to go on.

  She met Blum for breakfast downstairs in the screened-in porch. Over coffee and croissants, Pine told her about the message from Lineberry.

  “And you don’t remember these Pringle people?” asked Blum.

  Pine shook her head. “Not at the moment.” She paused and added a little bitterly, “I don’t seem to remember much, do I? It’s ridiculous, actually.”

  Blum put down her cup and placed her hand over Pine’s. “Do you realize the trauma that you suffered in this town at the age of six? My God, it’s a wonder you can function at all, Agent Pine. You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

  Pine would not look at her. Something had gripped her gut and wouldn’t let go. “I can’t do that, Carol. I don’t deserve for things to be easy.”

  “When have things ever been easy for you? You obviously didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth. You were nearly murdered as a child. Your dad killed himself on your birthday. You’re estranged from your mother. And you lost your twin. And fewer than one in four special agents at the Bureau are women. So you sure as hell bucked those odds. And you didn’t do it by luck. You worked your butt off.”

  “Any luck with Jack?” asked Graham as she walked in with plates of eggs, grits, biscuits, and bacon and put them down in front of the women. She had on dark slacks, a white blouse, and a colorful bandanna in her hair. Her makeup was immaculate and her eyes alert. Maybe too alert, thought Pine.

  “Good first meeting,” said Pine as Blum looked curiously at the grits.

  Pine noted this and said, “They’re grits, Carol. Sort of like gritty porridge but with lots of salt and butter.”

  “If you say so,” replied Blum, focusing her attention on the eggs and bacon.

  Graham hovered next to the table. “Jack has done really well for himself.”

  “For certain,” said Pine, who was only poking at her meal.

  “Not hungry?” observed Graham.

  “Hungry for answers more than food. Lineberry did contact me with the names of two other people who lived here back then.”

  “Who?”

  “Myron and Britta Pringle.”

  Graham’s face fell. “The Pringles, of course. I hadn’t thought of them.”

  “Did you not know them well when they lived here?”

  “Not well, no. I had pretty much forgotten about them.”

  “Not so memorable?” asked Blum.

  “No, it’s not that. In some ways they were very memorable. Especially the husband, Myron. But a lot of years have gone by.”

  Pine exchanged a glance with Blum. Pine said, “Lineberry gave me their address. He didn’t have their phone number or email, which seemed odd.”

  “Well, I guess you could just drive over there and see what happens.”

  “What can you tell me about them when they lived here?”

  Graham pulled up a chair and sat down. “The first term that comes to mind is odd. Myron Pringle was some sort of, oh, I don’t know, genius. Maybe now you would say he’s on the spectrum, if they even use that phrase anymore.”

  “What did he do for a living?” asked Pine.

  “Back then, he worked at the mine. In the office.”

  “And his wife?”

  “Britta wasn’t nearly as odd as Myron, as I recall. They had kids, a boy and a girl, but I don’t really remember them. I was older. They would be closer to your age. Britta was nice enough, but they didn’t come into town much. If she worked, I don’t recall where. Most women in Andersonville back then were either stay-at-homes or else they had part-time work.”

  “If their kids were my age, I suppose we would have played with them. I vaguely recall some kids coming over from time to time.”

  “Well, it’s not surprising you don’t really remember. You were so little. But they lived the closest to you. It was that little green-and-white house on the road to your place. Last house you see before you got to where you lived. It was still a hike between the houses. Over a mile or so.”

  Pine thought back, but there were no firm memories of either the house or the Pringle family.

  Blum said, “Well, I guess we’ll find out when we see them.”

  They finished their meal and about a half hour later climbed into the rental and set off.

  “Hoping for a big breakthrough with the Pringles?” asked Blum.

  “These cases are almost never solved that way. It’s baby steps all the way. But if a big breakthrough comes our way, I won’t say no to it.”

  Chapter 17

  OKAY, IF I WERE GOING TO SHOOT a horror slasher film, I think I just found the perfect location,” said Blum.

  They had turned down a gravel road that turned and twisted along, the whole path darkened by the overhang of old oaks draped in Spanish moss that created the sensation of being in a tunnel. The sunlight was mostly blocked out. They were back in Macon County, about a forty-five-minute drive from Andersonville.

  “I guess this is why Graham didn’t know they were back. This is pretty far from town. I doubt they ever come to Andersonville at all.”

  “You really don’t remember anything about them?” asked Blum.

  Pine shook her head. “But we’re about to find out.”

  The oak tunnel ended but the sun was still obscured by a grouping of other trees clustered around the house that had been revealed when they passed a final curve.

  “Well, I never would have guessed this is what we would have found back here,” said Blum. “I was thinking it would be more like the House of Usher.”

  The home was large, new, and contemporary in design, with lots of metal and glass.

  “Looks like something you’d see a tech mogul build in Palo Alto,” commented Pine as she slowed the SUV and then pulled to a stop in front of the house.

  They got out and looked around.

  “See anyone?” asked Blum.

  “No. No cars, either, but the garage might be around back.”

  “Can I help you?” said the voice.

  They turned to look around for the person.

  “Can I help you?” said the voice again.

  The sound seemed to be coming from the front door.

  “They must have one of those video se
curity systems,” said Pine. They stepped up to the front door and Pine held up her badge. “I’m FBI Special Agent Atlee Pine. Jack Lineberry gave me your address. I think you knew my parents, Tim and Julia Pine?”

  The voice said nothing back. Pine looked at Blum.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  The front door opened and an attractive woman in her fifties stepped out. She was of medium height with dyed blond hair cut short accentuating her long neck. She was fit and trim and stylishly dressed in black slacks, shoes with a chunky heel, and a pale blue blouse with a light sweater over it. Even from here they could see the chunk of diamond on her ring finger.

  “Lee Pine? Is that really you?”

  “It’s really me.”

  “My God, I never would have recognized you,” said the woman.

  “You’re Britta Pringle?”

  “Yes, I am. I guess you don’t remember me, you were so young.”

  “This is my assistant, Carol Blum.”

  They all shook hands.

  Blum noted, “Beautiful home you have here. I…I wasn’t expecting anything like—”

  “—like this out in the boonies?” said Britta with a weary smile. “Who would? It’s my husband’s design. He’s Silicon Valley. I’m more of a Cape Cod girl.”

  Britta looked up into Pine’s face and smiled. “I certainly see your mother in there. And just a bit of Tim, too, in the cheekbones.”

  This threw Pine off her stride. During interviews with potential witnesses, she had her agenda and her protocols and she always stuck to them, adding in the possibility of flexibility with the script depending on the subject and how things went. But she had to remind herself, this was not like any other investigation she’d ever pursued.

  This is about my family. Ultimately, this is about me.

  “I’m sure,” she said curtly.

  “So what in the world are you doing out here? And you say you’re an FBI agent now?”

  “I am. Have been for over a decade.”

  “How time just flies.”

  “And I’m here because of my sister.”