The Innocent

by David Baldacci

  ROBIE DROVE NORTH into Prince George’s County, Maryland. Prince George’s was largely working- and middle-class, with cops, firefighters, and midlevel government types making their homes there. Its more affluent neighbor, Montgomery County, had more than its share of lawyers, bankers, and CEOs who lived in massive houses on relatively small plots of land.

  Rick Wind had lived on a narrow street in a neighborhood where people parked their cars and trucks at the curb and filled their garages with things their small homes couldn’t contain.

  There was a police presence here, though no crime scene tape was strung, for the simple fact that no crime had been committed here. Blue Man had had his people call ahead, and the officer on duty let Robie pass by after he showed his cred pack.

  Since there might technically be usable evidence here, Robie put on latex gloves and shoe covers before entering the house. He passed through the front door and shut it behind him. He turned on the lights and gazed around. Wind’s pawnshop business had obviously not been doing that well. The furniture was old and shabby, the rugs stained and worn. The walls needed painting. The smells that hit Robie were all deep-fried foods. Wind hadn’t been here in a while to cook anything, so Robie assumed these aromas were buried deeply in the bones of the place, never to be eliminated until the house was knocked down.

  There was a shelf against one wall. On it were a few books, mostly military thrillers, and a number of framed photographs. Robie picked them up one by one and saw Rick and Jane Wind and the couple’s two sons, only one of whom was still alive.

  The family looked happy in the pictures and Robie let his thoughts wander for a moment and wondered what had caused the marriage to break down. He put down the last photo and kept moving. Affairs of the heart were beyond his expertise.

  He worked his way from the main floor to the top floor. And found nothing.

  He searched the basement and again struck out. All he found was damp and mold and boxes filled with junk.

  He stepped outside and entered the single-car garage through the side door. He assumed the police had thoroughly searched inside here, as well as the house, but they might not have been looking for the right things.

  As I if I know what I’m looking for either.

  A half hour later he sat down in a lawn chair in the middle of the garage and gazed around. Staring back at him was a push mower, cardboard boxes, power tools, a workbench, a weed whacker, lawn and plant food, some sports equipment, and a combat helmet that Wind had obviously kept from his time in the Army.

  Hanging from the helmet were Wind’s dog tags. Robie rose and picked them up, read off the information. It was not very useful to him. He set the helmet back down.

  This had been a wasted trip. But at least he could check it off his list.

  He looked at his watch. It was after eight now. He called Vance.

  “Got time for some coffee?” asked Robie. “I’ll buy.”

  “And what exactly do you want for that?”

  “How do you know I want anything?”

  “I’ve finally figured you out. Nothing comes before the mission for you.”

  Maybe she does have me figured out.

  He said, “Okay, how about the medical examiner’s report on Rick Wind?”

  “Why do you want that?”

  “It’s a piece of the investigation.”

  He heard her sigh. “Where and when?”

  He told her, making the location close by for her and not too distant for him.

  Robie drove back south, crossing over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, where he ran into rush-hour traffic, but did a decent job threading his way through it. Vance was already there when he arrived at the café on King Street in Old Town Alexandria.

  He sat down and noted that she had ordered a coffee for him.

  “I know how you like it,” she said, spooning some sugar into her cup. “From when you were at my place,” she added unnecessarily.

  “Thanks. Do you have the report?”

  She slid a file out of her bag and passed it to him. It was filled both with photos of Wind’s body from every angle and a detailed analysis of his physical condition and cause of death. Robie studied the pages while he drank his coffee.

  Vance said, “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

  “Not all night. Just most of it.”

  “Don’t you need to sleep?”

  “I get three solid hours a night just like everybody else.”

  She snorted and sipped her coffee. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Wind wasn’t in the greatest shape. Heart disease and a bad kidney, and report said his liver and lungs were suspect too.”

  “He fought in the Middle East. You know all the crap they used over there? It can do stuff to you.”

  “Can it?” asked Robie.

  “My older brother fought in the First Gulf War. He died at forty-six. His brain looked like Swiss cheese.”

  “Gulf War syndrome?”

  “Yep. Never got much traction in the news. Too many defense dollars stacked against it. Truth could never get out.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Robie put the file down.

  She said, “So, you find anything useful?”

  “Interesting tattoo on his left forearm.”

  He slid the photo of the arm out and showed it to her.

  “I know. I wondered what that was,” said Vance.

  “You don’t have to wonder anymore. It’s a Spartan warrior in a hoplite battle stance.”

  “What?”

  “Did you ever see the movie 300?”

  “No.”

  “It depicted a battle between the Greeks and the Persians. Persia had a far bigger army, but the Greeks used a bottleneck in the terrain to hold off the superior force. A way around this was provided to the Persians by a traitor. The Spartan king sent the vast part of the Greek army away while he stayed back with a small contingent of Spartans to take on the Persians. They were the three hundred depicted in the movie. They used the hoplite battle formation. Close ranks, many rows deep, shields up, spears out. They were killed to a man, but it took the Persians a long time to do it. By then the Greek army had escaped.”

  “Interesting history lesson.”

  “Makes sense for Wind to have a tattoo like that. He was in the infantry. You mind if I keep this file?”

  “Go ahead. I have copies. Anything else?”

  “Not really, no.”

  Her phone buzzed.

  “Vance.”

  She listened and Robie noted her eyes widened considerably.

  She clicked off and looked at him. “I think we just got the break we needed.”

  “Really?” Robie took a sip of coffee and looked casually at her.

  “We just had someone come forward. An eyewitness to the bus blowing up. She apparently saw everything.”

  “That’s great,” said Robie. “Really great.”

  CHAPTER

  58

  “YOU WANT TO follow me over?” Vance asked, rising from the table in the café.

  Robie looked up at her. “I’ve got a meeting at DCIS I have to get to. Where are you going to be questioning the woman? WFO?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can hook up with you there later. What’s her name? What was she doing there? And why is she only coming forward now?”

  Robie was thinking, Did the homeless woman Diana Jordison get past Blue Man’s guys and go to the FBI? If so, she might tell Vance about her meeting with me.

  “Her name is Michele Cohen. I don’t have the other information yet, but I will soon enough. Give me a call when you’re on your way.”

  They parted company at the door. Robie hustled back to his car and drove off. He got on the phone to Blue Man and filled him in.

  The man’s remarks were terse. “I would stay away from this eyewitness if I were you.”

  “I think I had that one covered on my own. But find out what you can about her. Do you h
ave Jordison?”

  “She’s doing fine and eating quite well. She’s cleaned up and has new clothes. Does our help include finding her suitable employment?”

  “Yes, it does, preferably somewhere other than here. And make sure she gets a nice bump in salary over what she was making.”

  Robie clicked off and sped up. Something had just occurred to him. He needed to talk to Julie. And he didn’t want to do it over the phone.

  She was waiting for him when he opened the door.

  “I’m not sure how much longer I can just sit in this place and do nothing, Will.”

  He closed and locked the door behind him. He sat across from her. She wore jeans, a sweatshirt, lime green Converse tennis shoes, and an exasperated attitude.

  “I’m juggling lots of balls,” he said. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I don’t want to be one of the little balls you’re juggling,” she shot back.

  “I’ve got a question for you. Depending on how you answer might change the complexity of everything.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why the bus? More particularly, why that bus on that night?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a simple question, Julie. There are lots of ways you could’ve gotten out of town. Why did you choose that way?”

  If her answer was what he thought it would be, things were going to get more complicated than they already were. His head started to throb at that possibility.

  “My mom sent me a note.”

  “How? You said you didn’t have a cell phone.”

  “She sent the note to my school. She did that a lot. They put it in your mailbox and they send an email to your advisor that a student has a note. I went to the office and got it.”

  “When did she send it?”

  “I guess the day I left the Dixons’. It was hand-delivered.”

  “Did the office say your mom had delivered it?”

  “No, I just assumed.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “It said to come home that night. That my mom and dad were going to make some changes. Get a fresh start.”

  “Sounds like they were moving.”

  “I wasn’t sure about that, but I knew that could be a possibility. All I know is as soon as I got the note I wanted to get out of the Dixons’ house. I dropped off those photographs of them at the foster care agency that night.”

  “But what about the bus?”

  “That was in my note too. Mom said if they weren’t home when I got there I was to go to the Outta Town bus station and take the 112 bus to New York City. They would meet me at the Port Authority Bus Terminal the next morning. They put cash in the envelope that came with the note.”

  “Did you recognize your mom’s handwriting?”

  “It was typed.”

  “Did she often send you typed notes?”

  “Sometimes. She used the computer at the diner. They have a printer too.”

  “Why not just come to the school and talk to you directly?”

  “She wasn’t allowed to. I was in foster care. They wouldn’t have let her in to see me. But she could drop off a note at the office.”

  Robie sat back.

  She stared pointedly at him. “You think my mom didn’t write that note?”

  “I think the odds are very high she didn’t.”

  “Why would someone else send me that information? And the cash?”

  “Because they wanted you on that bus. And it was a pretty big coincidence that the moment you walk in the house, the guy comes in with your parents and starts shooting. And think about it, Julie. The man who killed your parents, do you really think he would’ve let you get away?”

  “You mean it was all a setup? And he let me escape? So I’d get on that bus?”

  “Yes. We wondered where your parents were from the time your mom got off work to when they showed up at their house. I think they were abducted and held until they saw you sneak in the house.”

  “But the bus was rigged to blow up. If they were going to kill me why didn’t he just do it at the house?”

  “I don’t think that bomb was set on a motion timer to blow up. I think the plan was if we got off the bus they would detonate it remotely. If we didn’t get off the bus, the bomb wouldn’t have been triggered. We would have ended up in New York City. But that wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Why?”

  “The man who killed your parents was instructed to get on that bus and kill you. He obviously didn’t know about the bomb or else he never would have gotten on. Loyalty is one thing, a death wish is something else. They were counting on the fact that I would have intervened when the guy made his move against you. Then the most likely result is we both get off the bus.”

  Robie thought, Especially if they knew what I was running from.

  “You say ‘we’ as though we were paired together.”

  Robie said, “I think that’s exactly what happened. We were supposed to team up.”

  “But why? Wouldn’t they want us dead?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I could’ve gone to the police about my parents. And you’re investigating the case. Why would they have wanted that?”

  “They might have correctly guessed you wouldn’t have gone to the police. And maybe they want me to investigate.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “If I’m right it makes sense to someone.”

  “But wouldn’t they be afraid my parents had told me something? If they killed those other people because of that, why not me?”

  “You already answered that question. You were in foster care, no access to your parents. No cell phone. When your mom told the guy you didn’t know anything, I think they knew that was true.”

  Robie unzipped his knapsack and pulled out her stuffed bear and the photo he’d taken from her home. He handed them across to her.

  “Why did you go back there?” she asked, looking down at the objects.

  “To see if I missed anything.”

  “Did you?’

  “Yeah. They wanted me to spot the blood. They wanted me to know that your parents were dead.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “That’s not the point. They also want me to know I’m being played.”

  “What about that guy in the alley with the rifle? If they wanted us to get away, why send him after us? The bus had already blown up.”

  “At first I thought it was a change of plan on their part. They didn’t want me to live, but then they did. But now I think their plan all along was for me to walk away. But they knew I’d get suspicious if they made it look too easy.”

  “Easy!”

  “I have higher standards than most people, at least when it comes to survival. They had to send someone else after me. It was probably the shooter from the Winds’ apartment.”

  “But if they wanted you to live and me too, that means they need us