HEY LEFT THE next day and began the long drive back to Burlington. Decker hardly spoke at all, and any questions posed to him by Jamison went largely ignored. She finally gave up and turned on the radio. They stopped to eat at a truckers’ grill off the highway. Amid a sea of big rigs, Jamison pulled her minnow of a vehicle into an available slot and they climbed out.

Decker was moving stiffly. She noted this.

“Sorry about the cramped quarters,” she said.

He rubbed his neck, straightened his back until he heard a little pop, and said, “I’m hungry.”

The place was crowded and they were led to a corner table in the back adjacent to the pool hall where truckers smacked balls and bet on the outcomes. Next to that was a gift shop where the most popular items seemed to be lingerie and sex toys for the missus or girlfriend back home.

They ordered and Decker spooned sugar into his coffee while he stared at the laminated tabletop.

A Bonnie Raitt song started wafting over the room from a jukebox.

Jamison looked around at the beehive of activity, including one man wearing a Stetson who rode an electronic bucking bronco for a few seconds before being pitched off, to the delight of his buddies.

Decker scratched at his beard and lifted his gaze to her.

“You need to get on a plane and get as far away from me as you can. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I thought we’d been through this and it was settled. Andy Jackson was—”

“He was your friend and mentor. And being your friend and mentor he would not want you to be murdered.”

“I have my Mace and—”

“They could be here right now, you know. Watching us. Watching you.”

“You’re just trying to scare me.”

“I don’t have to try to scare you, Jamison. You’re a smart woman, which means you’re already scared.”

Their food came and they ate in silence, each seemingly unwilling to meet the other’s gaze. When the check came, Decker paid.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

“I ate a lot more than you. Splitting the tab wouldn’t be fair.”

They walked back to the car. Decker, without seeming to, kept vigilant observation of their surroundings.

* * *

“Where do you want me to drop you?” asked Jamison as they drove along the city streets after having reachedBurlington. “Your place, the school, the police department? Another life?”

“Are you going to be getting on that plane?”

She turned to look at him. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

“I hear Florida is nice this time of year. Maybe Miami?”

“I don’t like running away from trouble.”

“This isn’t trouble. It’s something more than that. It’s more about survival.”

“And what about you? You’re staying, right? You’re not hopping on some plane and getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“I’m staying,” was all Decker would say. “And you can drop me off at my place.”

She did. As he climbed out of the car Decker said, “Stay or go. Either way, let me know, okay?”

She nodded and then drove off.

Decker went to his room, took a shower, grabbed some sleep, and then headed back out, taking a crosstown bus to Mansfield.

He got off at the corner, looked up at the faded façade of the high school, and trudged inside.

Lancaster met him in the library. She looked thinner and paler, and her left hand was trembling so badly she stuck it in her pocket. They sat at the back and he filled her in on the events of the last two days.

“So you think Jamison will take your advice?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I hope so. I can’t make her leave.”

“Well, Chris Sizemore was out of town, and look what happened to him.”

“They can’t run everyone down, Mary. This is not some secret organization with unlimited resources. It’s two people. Capable and methodical, but only two.”

“That’s not a fact. That’s speculation on your part. Just like my speculation on 7-Eleven.”

He considered this and nodded. “Actually, you’re right. What’s happened here, anything?”

She shook her head. “We’ve gotten lip service from the Army. Not that it’s likely they could add much. Forensicshas been a dead end. We know how the shooter got in, moved around, and left, but that doesn’t really lead us where we need to go, Amos.”

“The only proven point is my connection. It led me to Chicago and the institute. That lead was confirmed with the murder of Chris Sizemore. The only way they could possibly know about him, and the grievance he held against me, was if they were there, or had some inside knowledge of what went on there twenty years ago.”

“And you remember nothing that could help us? From all the folks who went in and out of that place while you were there?”

Decker slumped back in his chair and looked around at the investigators at their various stations poring over details of the case. But he could see in their eyes and movements an ebbing energy, a malaise settling upon them. He had seen cases go sideways like this before. They were coming to believe that they were not going to solve this case. That they were not going to catch whoever had done this. It was draining everyone.

He looked back at Lancaster. “The only link right now is Leopold, but I know for a fact that he was not at the institute. The only person he could have been was Sizemore. And even that was a long shot, now disproved.”

“Well, we’ve seen that these people can play with physical perceptions. They made a smaller person look massive. And we’ve had a BOLO out on him for a while now and nothing. Guy’s just vanished.”

“And no sign of our waitress from the bar?”

“None. Waitress or waiter, according to the barman.”

“Physical perception again. The guy impersonated a woman. And he did it well. I was sold on it. And he served me a beer. Was inches from me and I never suspected anything.”

“And you’re convinced that the waitress was in on it?”

“The barman told the FBI that she vanished about five minutes before Leopold left, and never came back. Could be a coincidence, but I don’t think so.”

“Okay, but it’s still not a fact. Not yet.” She riffled through some papers. “But I have something here that is a fact.”

He sat up. “What?”

“Six students and three adults were killed at the school. Five of the students were male.”

“And Debbie Watson was the lone female.”

“But the five males were all on the football team. Or three were, technically. One was a team manager, and one had gotten kicked off recently for some rule violation.”

Decker sat up even straighter. “Beth Watson said that Jimmy Schikel was on the team. But I didn’t make a connection with the others. Because of Debbie and the adults.”

“And, Joe Kramer, while the gym teacher, was also the football coach.”

“And the assistant principal?”

“Barry Dresden has no connection to the team that I could find. He has no kids at the school, so none of them could be on the team. And then there’s Andy Jackson.”

“But he was killed because he confronted the shooter. It might be that the others were targeted because of their connection to the football team.”

“But Dresden had no such ties.”

“But all of the male student victims plus the coach? That can’t be a coincidence, Mary. The odds are way too long. There were lots of targets in each of those classrooms. He had to know who he was shooting. Wait a minute, were the victims all large? Did they look like football players?”

“Two did, the others were normal-sized. So I doubt he could have picked them solely on their physical appearance. They wear their game jerseys on Fridays before the football game, but the shooting didn’t happen on a Friday. But he could have easily found out which ones were on the team. And he could have found their class schedules too. Or Debbie could have told him. And if so, maybe she knew what he was planning to do.” She paused. “But anyway, I wanted you to know what I had found out.”

He looked at her appreciatively. “That’s good work, Mary. No one else saw that, including me.”

She smiled wearily. “Well, I’m not used to getting somewhere before you, so it does feel good. But what does it mean, Amos?”

“I played on the football team here. They took all of my trophies. It could be just another way of getting back at me. Another facet of their vendetta.” He lapsed into silence.

“What?”

“Dresden, the assistant principal, was targeted. The shooter went to the office to kill him. Debbie and Jackson can be explained away. But not Dresden. If he has no ties to the football team, then why was he killed?”

“You mean the reason might not be your playing football here? Despite their taking the trophies?”

“Yes. But if not that, what?”

“I have no idea,” admitted Lancaster.

“Well, it won’t do us any good beating our heads against the wall on it until we find out more. But we do have someplace to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“The bar.”

“You thirsty?”

“Yeah, but not for a beer.”