A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

  Pine was about to turn to the Cottage when her attention was riveted on the group of kids.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” began the biggest kid, alternating pointing his finger at two smaller kids. He ended the rhyme on the kid on the right, who was all smiles as he was picked for the team. The other child stepped back looking dejected.

  “Shit,” muttered Pine.

  “What?” said Laredo.

  “The kid the nursery rhyme ended on over there was the clear winner. He got picked for the team.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess that’s right.”

  “But I always assumed whoever the rhyme ended on was the loser.”

  “I guess it can go both ways, depending on who’s setting the rules. In the films Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers, they used that rhyme to pick who was going to die. The person who ended up with the last word of the rhyme bit the dust. I would call that a loser.”

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “And this matters to you why?”

  She explained about the intruder all those years ago using the same rhyme on her and Mercy.

  “He ended the rhyme on Mercy. I distinctly remember that. But I always assumed that meant she was the loser. She was the one taken. I was the one left. I was the winner.”

  “And what happened to you?”

  “The guy fractured my skull. The doctors said it was a miracle that I survived the night. But I did survive. And that’s why I always assumed that Mercy got the worst of it. That he had taken her to kill her.”

  “So you’re saying that by ending the rhyme on your sister it means…?”

  She looked up at him. “Maybe by picking her, that means that Mercy is still alive.”

  Chapter 51

  PINE WENT TO HER ROOM, stripped off her clothes, climbed into the shower, and let the hot water drill her.

  You are an idiot. For thirty effing years you have been an idiot. And that includes thirteen years as an FBI idiot.

  She pressed her head against the fiberglass wall of the shower.

  She wanted to both cry and cheer. Cry because of her absolute stupidity by never considering another possibility for the purpose of the rhyme. But she also wanted to cheer because if she was supposed to be the loser that night, then Mercy was the winner.

  And you didn’t kill winners.

  Pine knew she was grossly, and perhaps idiotically, speculating here. Her “evidence” was watching one kid pick another kid for a game of kickball. And in the two films Laredo had mentioned the person the rhyme ended on had died. The absurdity of it all made her want to scream.

  She licked water off her lips and closed her eyes. In her concentrated recollection she could see the finger thumping first her forehead and then her sister’s. The finger had touched her skin and then Mercy’s. Next, the fist had come crashing down, perhaps more than once. She couldn’t know for sure because she apparently had been knocked unconscious by the first blow.

  But I had to be the loser. Mercy was touched last and he wanted to kill me. Probably thought he had killed me. He took Mercy.

  But for what purpose?

  There had never been a ransom note. It wouldn’t have mattered if there had been. Her parents had no money to pay.

  Why take Mercy, then, if not to kill her?

  It was true that human trafficking had been going on since time immemorial. But in 1989 on the outskirts of Andersonville, Georgia? Was it someone obsessed with twins? Someone who had been watching the family? And intended to kill Pine? Why?

  I was six. The man was masked. I couldn’t identify him. If he wanted to keep me from crying out, or going to warn my parents, he could have done any number of things to accomplish that short of fracturing my skull.

  She got out of the shower, dried off, and sat on her bed in a towel. She picked up her phone because standing under the water—one of her preferred ways to think—had led to a thought. And a possible lead.

  She had taken pictures of all the files in the old police investigation of her sister’s disappearance. There was one that now intrigued her.

  Six o’clock in the A.M. That was when the police had said her mother had come into her bedroom and found Pine horribly injured and Mercy gone. She was looking at the detective notes that documented this. And this timing had been corroborated by other witnesses.

  Yet the thing was her mother had a routine with her daughters. She put them to bed at nine every night. She would then check on them at ten to make sure they were still in bed and not playing. Pine had been caught out so many times over this that she knew that rule well. Then Julia Pine came to rouse her daughters at seven thirty sharp so they could clean up, dress, eat breakfast, and get to the bus stop for school at eight thirty. Even though this had all taken place decades ago, the routine had been a large part of Pine’s life, day after day. Because of that it was ingrained in her.

  So the question was, why had her mother come in at six in the morning? And now that Pine thought about it, she didn’t remember her mother coming in to check on them at ten.

  Pine both liked and disliked discrepancies. She disliked them because they could be inexplicable. But she also liked them because they could lead to a breakthrough.

  She was hoping this was one of those times.

  It could be that her mother awoke after a night of drinking and smoking weed and raced up to check on the kids. Maybe she had been unaware of the time because of her being hung over. Perhaps she had thought she had overslept and that the girls were late for school.

  Pine shook her head clear.

  At six A.M. at that time of year it would have still been dark. So how could her mother have thought it was hours later?

  As Pine got dressed she knew the answer to that: Her mother would not have been confused about that. There had to be another explanation.

  Pine walked down to the first floor of the Cottage to find Blum sitting in a chair there.

  “Jenny is in good hands. I investigated the place thoroughly before I handed her over.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Mrs. Quarles gave me a ride back here and we had a nice chat. She is a very caring, very nurturing woman.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Jenny is a precious little girl. Once she warmed up to me she wouldn’t stop talking.”

  “No doubt.”

  “So why do I think you just had a revelation of sorts?”

  “Is it that obvious on my face?”

  “Not obvious to everyone, but obvious to me. So tell me.”

  Pine sat down across from her and told her about the time discrepancy.

  “That does qualify as a revelation, actually. Any theories?”

  “Not sure. Could be a number of reasons. Some innocuous, others problematic.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  Pine shook her head. “Not yet. I need to think things through.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I am really glad Jenny is all squared away.”

  “Who knew Cy Tanner could have a granddaughter that cute? Of course he had no idea what to do with her. I think he can barely take care of himself.”

  “It was nice of the minister and his family to take her in.”

  “Speaking of children, any ID on the boy?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. But we do have a lead to follow up.” Pine told her about the Pagani outside her old home.

  “You really think it could be connected to Jack Lineberry?”

  “You think Paganis grow on trees down here?”

  “But why would he be watching your old house?”

  “Even if it was his car, it wasn’t necessarily him inside doing the watching.”

  “That’s true. How are you going to handle it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Eddie couldn’t track the ownership to Lineberry, but there are a lot of dodges on that score.”

  Pine’s phone buzzed. She looked down at it and flinched.

  “It’s from Stan Cashings.”

&nbs
p; “The Cloak and Dagger issue you asked him to look into?”

  Pine nodded as she read through the email.

  As Blum watched, the expression on Pine’s face turned from curiosity to shock and then to disbelief.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that,” she said, worried.

  Pine looked up at her. “Well, I never imagined it could be something like this.”

  “What is the Cloak and Dagger? A bar, like you thought?”

  “Yes and no,” was Pine’s surprising reply.

  “I’m not following. Isn’t it either one or the other?”

  “Not according to Stan. He did some deep digging and he says in his email that he couldn’t get full answers, not just because of how far back it goes and there not being people around who are familiar with it, but also that much of it is still classified.”

  Now Blum looked shocked. “Whoa, classified? What kind of bar was this place?”

  “It was a sting operation, set in place by the IC,” said Pine, referring to the American intelligence community.

  “A sting operation? At a bar? Who were they looking to ensnare?”

  “From the little Stan could find out, he believes it had to do with international spies.”

  “They named the place Cloak and Dagger? Didn’t they think that was a bit obvious?”

  “He asked someone with knowledge of it, and they said it was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek. There were other bars sprouting up around that time with catchy names and themes. You know, like old speakeasies where you enter through a hidden door after using a secret code or go into an old phone booth and call a certain number you’ve been given that opens some portal. The Cold War was still going on back then, though it was drawing to a close and the Berlin Wall would come down at the end of the decade.”

  “Did they catch anybody?”

  “Apparently so. Without naming names, Stan was able to determine that it was very successful.”

  “But how does this tie in to your parents? And why did your dad have those coasters?”

  “Stan couldn’t find that out. No one would tell him the names of anyone who worked on it.”

  “So…?”

  Pine’s face turned ashen. “So I think it either comes down to my dad worked there and maybe helped the good guys bring down the bad guys.”

  “Or?” said Blum nervously.

  Pine stared despondently down at her hands. “Or my dad was a bad guy and went on the run and that’s how we all ended up here.”

  Chapter 52

  THE MORGUE.

  Again.

  Pine’s stomach was churning like it never had before when confronted with a dead body. The reason for this was obvious.

  The dead person was a child.

  She, Wallis, and Laredo were standing over the metal table where the boy’s remains lay.

  The ME, the same woman as before, was on the other side holding an iPad in one hand and glancing down at the screen.

  Blum had respectfully declined to accompany them today, for which Pine was grateful. A mother of six with over a dozen grandkids should not have to see this.

  Hell, no one should have to see this.

  “Cause of death?” asked Wallis, who looked downright nauseated.

  “If you want the common name, it’s a Hangman’s Fracture,” said the ME.

  “That would account for the odd angle of the neck,” noted Laredo.

  “He died by hanging?” said Wallis. “So, asphyxiation?”

  “No. The Hangman’s Fracture can lead to death by asphyxiation, but this boy wasn’t hung. The technical name for it is a fracture of both partes interarticulares of the axis vertebrae. But it’s really simply a catastrophic hyperextension of the spine emanating from under the chin. The result was his spinal cord was crushed between the C1 and C2 posterior elements. Death would have been instantaneous, or as close to that as it ever gets.”

  “But how was it done?” asked Pine.

  “You see these sorts of injuries in car accidents, skydiving, even contact sports. You run into or hit something with your chin, but with the chin pointed up and the head arched back against the upper spine. If whatever you hit is unyielding enough and you hit it with enough force, it can snap your spine.”

  “How do you think it was done here?” asked Pine.

  “I can’t be certain but it’s more than a guess because of other bruising on the body. You see the chin is bruised and discolored. The jawbone there is actually cracked, and that’s not all that easy to do. It’s the strongest bone in the face.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Laredo. “Could he have died in a car crash?”

  The ME shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’d see some other indicators if that were the case. And with the sorts of restraints they have these days, you’d have to have your seat belt unbuckled. And if that had happened here, you’d be seeing a whole host of other injuries. But I can tell you this, whoever did it knew what they were doing. It was a clean break.”

  “Maybe some military training?” ventured Wallis. “Gillespie was in the military. Maybe somebody who knew him back then and held a grudge.”

  “Still no ID on the boy?” asked Pine, glancing at Wallis.

  “Nothing yet. We’ve circulated his description and a drawing of him to the public and the media and asked for their help.”

  “No hits on him at the Center for Missing and Exploited Children either,” said Laredo.

  “It’s like he doesn’t even exist,” said Pine. She looked down at the body. “But he did. He had a life to live. And somebody robbed him of that. And they’re going to pay.”

  * * *

  On the drive back to Andersonville, Laredo glanced over at Pine, who was driving.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m just fine, Eddie. Didn’t feel a thing back there. How about you? Let’s go get some lunch, maybe a beer. Have some fun.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I want to blow the guy’s head off too, Atlee. So what? We can’t. Our job is to catch the son of a bitch, not execute him.”

  “I’m not a rookie, so I don’t need the lesson in police ethics, thanks very much. I’m just venting. Is that a crime?”

  “No. It’s actually healthy. So go for it.”

  “We can’t allow another person to die, Eddie. Not another kid.”

  “You think he picked this kid because it was easy? Maybe no family, nobody to look out for him?”

  “Why do it the hard way when you don’t have to? But how sick do you have to be to do that to a kid?”

  “We usually only deal with sick people, Atlee. By default.” He tapped his fingers on the seat’s armrest. “You thinking about the little girl you saved on the Amber Alert?”

  When she didn’t answer, he continued, “You can’t make it personal. You know that as well as I do. In fact, if you remember, you lectured me on that back in DC.”

  “The McAllister case,” said Pine automatically.

  “Guy raped and imprisoned little girls and had babies with them over fifteen years. And when they hit eighteen he killed them. Doesn’t get any sicker than that. I wanted to put a bullet in his head when we finally got him. And you talked me out of it.”

  “I know, Eddie,” said Pine slowly. “I know everything you’re telling me is spot-on. And I accept that. And I’ll do nothing to screw it up when we get to this guy.”

  “I never had any doubts about that,” said Laredo firmly.

  She glanced at him in surprise. “Really, even after the Amber Alert guy?”

  “Hey, everybody gets to vent at least once.”

  Pine’s expression softened. “I like Eddie 2.0 a lot better than the previous version.”

  “Yeah, even my ex told me that. Denise said it was lousy timing on my part.”

  “Well, in life, it’s really all about timing.”

  Laredo’s phone rang. He answered it and
listened. When he clicked off and didn’t say anything Pine looked at him worriedly.

  “Please don’t tell me…”

  “No. That was Wallis. It’s good news. They got a lead on the boy. With an address.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “You get to go back to Columbus, Georgia.”

  Pine hit a U-turn and punched the gas pedal flat to the floor.

  Chapter 53

  FRANCISCO GOMEZ.

  He went by Frankie, Wallis, Pine, and Laredo were told, probably so he could fit in better in his new life.

  They were sitting in the front room of a small house far away from the luxurious condo that Hanna Rebane and Beth Clemmons had recently lived in and where Clemmons had died. It was in a neighborhood that had seen better days, and nights. It was working-class, it was hurting, it was a slice of left-behind America.

  The woman sitting in a chair across from them was in her forties, with mousy brown hair and wearing a cotton print dress and flat-soled black shoes. Her name was Genie Duncan, and there were plump tears in her eyes.

  “Frankie was a good boy,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

  From upstairs Pine could hear kids shouting and laughing, and the tumble and grind of youthful feet threatened the floor joists.

  “When did you take him in?” asked Wallis, his official notebook open and ready to go.

  “About six months ago. He came from Texas, I believe. Actually, they weren’t very clear on that. We take in kids. We have three with us now.” She stifled a sob. “Not counting Frankie.”

  “We?” said Pine. “So, you and your husband?”

  “Yes. Roger is at work now. He has a job at a local car dealership.”

  “Salesman?” asked Laredo.

  “No. He’s a mechanic. Salesmen are paid on commission. We needed something more steady. He’s good at his job and makes okay money. But what they charge per hour for his services, he should make a lot more,” she added brusquely. “We barely make ends meet.”

  “Do you have kids of your own?” asked Laredo.

  She shook her head. “We never could. My fault. That’s why we became foster parents. These kids need adults in their lives, helping to guide them.”