A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

  Pine left the tent and gazed around. Wallis came to stand next to her.

  “This was a risk, putting the body in so public a place,” she said.

  “But nobody was around at the hour he probably did so.”

  “But if he came from town, he had to drive across the highway. I don’t see the guy schlepping a body in his arms across the road in the dead of night.”

  “He could have come from the other way.”

  “Still had to drive.”

  “Lot of cars come and go from here. Asphalt parking lot. We found no useful traces.”

  “Maybe somebody was out late and saw something.”

  “We’ll be checking all of that,” promised Wallis.

  “We have a serial murderer here, you know.”

  “It doesn’t take a genius.”

  “No, I mean, you have to make a call.”

  “To who?”

  “The FBI.”

  “You are the FBI.”

  “I’m here unofficially. You need to officially request their assistance. This is what they do. They have a ton of resources and specialists devoted to this. I used to be one of them.”

  “You mean profilers and such?”

  “Technically, there is no such thing at the Bureau. They’re called analysts.”

  “Do I tell them about your involvement?”

  Pine didn’t answer right away. “Might as well. They’re going to find out at some point.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Catch a couple more hours of sleep. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Chapter 26

  WHO DO YOU THINK they’ll send?” asked Blum.

  They were at the Cottage in Pine’s room. It was later in the morning, and Pine had filled Blum in about the recent murder.

  “I don’t know. I was offered a position at BAU Three while I was stationed in the DC area,” said Pine, referring to the Behavioral Analysis Units that were part of the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Unit Three deals with crimes against children,” said Blum.

  Pine nodded. “And Unit Four deals with crimes against adults and includes the ViCAP database that you accessed earlier. I did work there for a year.”

  “Why just a year? Don’t most agents stay there for longer than that?”

  “Let’s just say I had my fill.”

  “I’ve read that some people are critical of using psychological profiling.”

  “It’s not perfect, and it’s only one tool that we use among many. But it got results. Now, with a team being called in, they can do a deeper dive and also integrate what we learn with this latest death.”

  “A groom’s outfit,” said Blum with a slight shiver. “This is really getting creepy.”

  “This guy is sophisticated and focused and organized. And he must know the area. Putting a dead black guy on top of a Union soldier’s grave? But one of the Raiders, who were really bad guys because they preyed on those who wore the same uniform? I’m not certain there’s a message there, but I also have a hard time believing it’s a coincidence.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We have no leads to run down on that case, so I want to focus on why we came here.”

  “Do we have leads on your sister then?”

  “We have a clue. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. The guy said that rhyme. I know I didn’t imagine it. So if it wasn’t Tor who did it, who was it? And why use that device?”

  “It was a way to decide which of you to take,” opined Blum.

  “Why was it a choice?”

  “He could only take one of you.”

  “Why? If my parents were stoned downstairs, and he had already come through the house? If he carried Mercy downstairs, why not me, too? We were only six. He probably could have carried us away together. But he took Mercy and struck me so hard he cracked my skull.”

  “Maybe he only wanted one of you, for some reason.”

  “Right. But I’m just wondering what that reason was. And if he really wanted to kill me, why not just do it? He could have suffocated me, broken my neck. But he chose to hit me. He couldn’t have known whether I would die or not from my injuries.”

  Blum sat back in her chair as she considered all this. “It’s a puzzler.”

  “Myron Pringle knows more than he’s willing to tell.”

  “What are you going to do about that?”

  “Talk to him again. We’ll have to go out there since he doesn’t have a phone or email.”

  “How about I talk to Britta while you speak to Myron? I think she has some secrets of her own. Maybe I can talk to her, mom to mom, to find out what they are.”

  “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Nearly an hour later they pulled into the unsettling quiet drive and drove down to the contemporary dwelling. Before they even reached the front steps the door opened and there stood Britta Pringle. She had on a light gray pleated skirt that showed off tanned, toned calves, a blue sweater vest, and a white long-sleeved shirt and gray canvas shoes.

  “I saw you coming up the drive,” she explained. “Myron has the whole place under video surveillance.”

  “I’m sure he does,” said Pine as she and Blum walked up the steps. “I don’t like just showing up like this. I would have called, but—”

  Britta’s look turned weary. “But we don’t have phones or emails. Yes, I know. It definitely cuts down on friendships,” she added—a little unhappily, Pine thought.

  “What can I do for you?” Britta asked.

  “I wanted to talk to Myron again. I assume he’s up.”

  “Yes, he just finished eating.”

  “If he could spare some time.”

  “What is this about?” said Britta.

  “Just some follow-up questions.”

  She led them into the house and said, “I heard on the news that another body was discovered in Andersonville.”

  “Yes, at the cemetery next to the prison site.”

  “My God. Does that mean that there’s a serial killer in our midst?”

  “It could. They’ll probably call the FBI in for this.”

  “But you’re already here.”

  “Yes, but not in my professional capacity. Where’s Myron?”

  “He’s floating in the pool. He likes to do that right after he eats.”

  “Not a proponent of the thirty-minute-wait rule?” said Blum.

  “Oh, he’s not swimming. I’m not sure he can. He’s just lying on a float. He said it helps him to think. Like being in a womb, he says.”

  “Can I head out there then?” asked Pine.

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  When Blum didn’t move to join her, Britta said, “Are you not going with her?”

  “I think Agent Pine wants to do this alone. Maybe you and I can chat?”

  Britta brightened at this suggestion. “I can make some coffee. And I just baked some muffins.”

  “I would love that.”

  Pine and Blum exchanged a meaningful glance and then headed off in opposite directions.

  Chapter 27

  THAT’S A LOT of white skin, thought Pine as she approached the edge of the pool.

  Myron Pringle was lying on a blue float wearing a pair of dark swim trunks. His calves hung off the end of the float. He had on a pair of sunglasses. He was so pale and still, he looked like a corpse.

  Pine bent down and put her hand in the water. It was heated.

  Myron was thin but not very fit and he seemed to have an abundance of hair all over. She didn’t think she could see a defined muscle on the man. But then again she assumed his brain was of Olympic caliber.

  “Mr. Pringle?”

  He didn’t react to her voice and she thought he might have glimpsed her coming over to the pool but had chosen not to say anything. “Mr. Pringle?”

  He finally turned his head slightly.

  “Yes?”

  �
�Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Yes I do. This is my thinking time.”

  She slid a wicker lounge chair over to the side of the pool and sat down in it. “Well, I can give you something to think about.”

  He lifted his glasses to his long, furrowed forehead and stared at her. “Such as?”

  “It’s not algorithms, just to forewarn you.”

  “It’s about your mother, correct?”

  “Care to fill me in on what you didn’t tell me the last time?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

  “Sure you do, you’re a smart guy.”

  He lowered the glasses. “I’m apparently not that smart, so you’re going to have to spell it out, Agent Pine.”

  “Let me start with a lunch I had recently with Jack Lineberry.”

  “Jack, huh? Did he tell you to call him that?”

  “He did.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why? What do you call him?”

  “Boss.”

  “Would you like to know why he wanted to have lunch?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “He wanted to know what had happened to my mother.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you find that odd?”

  He lifted his glasses again. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Did you know that Lineberry found my father dead?”

  “I think he might have mentioned it.”

  “You think? Do you get many people telling you they found the bodies of people who had blown their heads off with a shotgun? I thought your memory was better than average.”

  “Okay, yes, I do remember him telling me that. But it was a long time ago. What does that have to do with him wanting to know about your mother?”

  “Maybe nothing.”

  “What did you tell him about her?”

  “So you want to know, too?”

  He lifted the glasses a third time. “I was her friend as well.”

  “But I don’t recall either of you trying to contact my mother after we left Andersonville.”

  “I didn’t know where you had moved.”

  “But Lineberry had kept in touch with my dad. And my dad knew where we were. All Lineberry had to do was ask.”

  The glasses came down again. “Yes, well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “So I guess you weren’t as friendly with my father as you said.”

  “What are your questions?” he asked in a brusque tone.

  “What were you doing the night my sister was taken? Britta said she didn’t remember.”

  “Then why would I?”

  “Do you?”

  “I’d have to think about it.”

  “So what about the next day? Run me through that.”

  “I was at work.”

  “When did you hear what had happened?”

  “Britta called me at the office that morning.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I couldn’t leave the office right that minute. But I did get away early. Britta had already gone to the hospital with your mother. I went over to your house. Your dad was out looking for your sister. When he got back I saw him. That’s when that idiot Barry Vincent accused Tim of having done this awful thing. He went after Vincent and I pulled them apart. Nearly got beaten up in the process. Luckily, I’m a big guy. And I was lot stronger back then.”

  Pine looked him over. He was a big man. Taller than Daniel Tor. And thirty years ago he probably was more muscular, and stronger, as he had just admitted.

  “Why weren’t the police at the house to do that?”

  “As I said before, I don’t know. I can just tell you that there weren’t any. It was only a bunch of gawkers.”

  “Did they try to determine if anyone other than my parents were at the house that night?”

  “Again, I don’t know. I only know that Britta and I weren’t there.”

  “So where were you?”

  “If you really have to know, we were at our house entertaining some friends.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that the first time around?”

  “You were very blunt in your questioning. It turned me off, if you want to know the truth.”

  “I always prefer the truth. Who were these friends?”

  “Just friends. We had some drinks, smoked some pot, and that was that.”

  “Friends have names?”

  “They’re no longer in the area.”

  Pine considered this as Myron climbed off the float, came over to the edge of the pool, and rested his arms on the coping. He said, “Now let me ask you some questions. What do you know about your parents’ backgrounds?”

  “Not a lot. High school sweethearts in Kansas. Fell in love, married early, had me and my sister, and then at some point we moved to Georgia.”

  “Really? Who told you that?”

  Pine scrunched up her face. “They did, why?”

  “Because your mother was a model starting at age sixteen. Milan, London, Paris. I doubt they went to the same high school and I doubt it was in Kansas. I’m not sure that Julia even finished high school.”

  Pine couldn’t find her voice for a few moments. “Bullshit.”

  “Come with me.”

  Myron climbed out of the pool, toweled off, donned a T-shirt, and led Pine inside the house through a rear door and up to the second floor. He entered a room and beckoned her to join him. The room was set up as a small study. Myron tugged open the drawer of a wooden file cabinet, rummaged through it, and pulled out a magazine. He opened it to a certain page and handed it to Pine.

  “Your mother treading the catwalk in London.”

  Pine looked down at the open page and her mind seemed to flutter uncomfortably as her gaze settled on the tall, leggy teenager who looked remarkably like her.

  “A surprise, I take it,” said Myron, who was watching her closely.

  “Where did you get this?” demanded Pine.

  “When your mom had been drinking or smoking pot, she opened up more than normal. She mentioned doing some modeling when she was a teenager. I was intrigued by that.”

  “But that doesn’t explain how you came by this magazine.”

  “This was long after they had moved away from Georgia. In fact, it was only a few years ago. I did some online research on her. There wasn’t anything there, but then I had a guy I knew who had access to the fashion world check into it. I gave him what I knew about your mom, including a picture I had taken of her when she did live here. It took him nearly a year, but he sent me that.”

  “But it doesn’t give her name in the caption.”

  “Do you doubt that’s your mother? Nobody I’ve ever known looked like her.”

  “It is her. Did this guy you hired tell you anything else?”

  Myron eyed her closely. “Well, for starters he told me he thought her name wasn’t Julia.”

  “What?”

  “He said she had all the tools to be really something in the industry, but she just upped and left after only being on the scene for a few years. No one knew why and no one knew what had become of her. And no one he could find could tell him her last name. But apparently her first name was Amanda. Or at least that’s the one she used at the time.”

  “Why would my mother change her name?” demanded Pine.

  Myron, in response, spread his long, thin arms. “How should I know? I’m only telling you what the guy told me. And he wasn’t some chump off the street. He came highly recommended. A real pro.”

  “Can I talk to this ‘real pro’?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Why?”

  “He dropped dead of a heart attack about a month after he reported back.”

  Pine felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

  “I can see what a shock all this is for you,” said Myron sympathetically.

  Pine, her suspicion needle now hovering near the red zone, said, “And why would you go to all that trouble
to track down my mother’s past?”

  “Like I said, I’m a curious guy. And most people like to talk about their pasts. Neither one of your parents ever did. Not while they were sober. It just made me wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Although Pine was already wondering herself.

  “That maybe they weren’t who they said they were. I mean, I told you her name might’ve been Amanda. But she comes here and it’s suddenly Julia Pine.”

  “And my dad?”

  “I don’t know. He could very well be who he said he was. I didn’t check into him.”

  “Does Britta know about all this?”

  “She doesn’t know that I investigated your mom, no. But she was there when Julia let slip that she had done some modeling.”

  Pine slumped down in a chair as she studied the photo of what was undoubtedly her mother walking the stage at a major fashion show in London. She read a bit of the article and said in amazement, “Karl Lagerfeld? This was Karl Lagerfeld’s fashion show for Chanel? I basically know nothing about the fashion industry but I’ve heard of him.”

  “According to my guy, your mom apparently walked the runways of all the major designers’ shows around the world back then.”

  “So how did I not know this?”

  “It was long before Google. You couldn’t just look it up online. And as I said, she only did that work for a short time. She wasn’t like Cindy Crawford or Claudia Schiffer, who made careers out of it and became world famous. Your mother was taller and more gorgeous than any of those supermodels. But she didn’t stick with it. So she passed into obscurity. No Wikipedia page or anything.”

  “Why? What happened to her?”

  “I have no idea. They just showed up here one day with two little kids in tow. From the little bit they told us, I thought they had met on a blind date or something and fell in love.”

  “So they weren’t high school sweethearts?”

  Myron took back the magazine and looked down at the photo of the long-legged Julia Pine sauntering down the catwalk in an elaborate Karl Lagerfeld creation with her hair piled high looking like she owned the world and everyone in it.

  “Does she look like she would be enrolled in a high school in Kansas? She couldn’t be more than seventeen there.” He gave her a hard stare. “And when I just now said your parents showed up here with you and your sister in tow, you didn’t seem surprised. And you knew you weren’t born here.”