Memory Man

“Right. But the base and the school are right next to each other.”

She snagged a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand and lit up. She exhaled smoke and glared at Decker. “I don’t see what that has to do with a damn thing.”

“The school was built right at the start of the Cold War, shortly after World War II ended. People all over the country were putting bomb shelters in their backyards. Well, folks were doing that in buildings too, including schools. Bombproof shelters under them.”

A hint of remembrance came into the woman’s eyes.

“Wait a minute. A long time ago Simon did say something about…about a whatchamajigger at Mansfield. He didn’t build it originally. He just added to it. I’d forgotten all about it.”

“What whatchamajigger are we exactly talking about here?” asked Lancaster pointedly.

Beth pointed at Decker. “Like what he said. A place, a safe place under the school in case the Russians attacked us.”

“Soviets,” corrected Decker. “But close enough. Did he tell you anything about it? Like where it was located?”

“No, nothing like that. It was never used, apparently. And then I guess it got sealed up or something because they didn’t want anyone sneaking down there. You know, high schoolers are full of hormones. You could only imagine what would go on down there.” She paused and said in a low voice, “Orgies.” Then she giggled and hiccuped. “If I’d known about it when I went to school there, I’d been the first one doing it.”

Then she screamed down the hall, “Orgies, you prick. That’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow! Orgies with other men! Lots of ’em!”

Decker once more guided her back into the bedroom.

“So a shelter is down there. Fortunate for us that you remembered that,” noted Lancaster with a sideways glance at Decker.

Beth gave a lopsided smile. “Actually, my memory sucks. But I remember Simon was talking to me about it while I was making dinner one night. Funny, I never listened to the old fart, and, like I said, my memory is so bad. I never remember birthdays, shit like that. But I was making German chocolate cake when he was telling me about it. Only time I ever tried it. And I guess that’s what triggered it.”

“What triggered what?” asked a confused Lancaster.

“German chocolate cake. See, Germans and the Russians. They were in Germany, right? I mean the Russians.”

“That’s right,” said Decker. “They were. At least half of it.”

She smiled. “Weird how the brain works.”

“Tell me about it,” said Decker. “Did Simon have any friends in town who might still be around and who might know about this underground place?”

“Not that he ever mentioned. I mean, he was over ninety when he died. Now he’d be close to a hundred. They’re all dead, right?” She added quietly, “Like my Debbie.”

There was an awkward silence until Decker said, “If you remember anything else, please give Detective Lancaster here a call. It’s important. We want to find who did this. Who did this to…Debbie.”

“You still think she was…was in cahoots with whoever did this?”

“No, I really don’t.”

The woman’s lips trembled. “Debbie was a good kid.”

“I’m sure she was, which makes it even more important that we find out who did this.”

Lancaster glanced at the partially packed suitcase. “Look, it’s none of my business, but do you think you should be making that sort of drastic change right after losing your daughter? It might be better for you and your husband to get through this together and then you can make some decisions. Knee-jerk tends to come back to bite you in the butt.”

Beth looked at her cross-eyed. “I wanted to leave two years ago, but I stayed for Debbie’s sake. Well, Debbie’s not here anymore. So I’m not wasting another second of my life in this fucking place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing so I can get the hell out of here.”

She slammed the bedroom door in their faces.

“So much for ‘for better or worse,’” said Lancaster.

“For some people, the longer the marriage, the worse it gets,” said Decker. “But at least we know my theory might work out. Simon did know about something at the school. An underground shelter.”

“So now what do we do?” asked Lancaster.

“Let’s go outside. You can smoke a cigarette and I can make some phone calls.”

“You know I can quit anytime I want.”

He stared at her. “No you can’t, Mary. You’re addicted to nicotine.”

“I was making a joke. Damn, do you have to take everything so literally?”

But Decker was already on his cell.

It took three phone calls and being passed from one person to the next before Decker found someone who sort of knew what he was talking about. He patiently explained who he was and what he wanted.

“Mansfield,” said the woman on the other end of the line. “Where the mass shooting took place?”