Free Memory Man by David Baldacci

memory is that good. Also, he’s a druggie. Needle tracks on his arm are fresh.”
    “Go on.”
    Decker had already decided not to tell him everything he had discovered or thought about. His gut told him to hold things back, see how it all played out. “He said I dissed him at my neighborhood 7-Eleven. He didn’t say if he worked there or not. Apparently he told you guys the same thing. The 7-Eleven. Now, that store? I only ever drove there. Never walked. He doesn’t have a car. But he said he followed me back to my house. So how did he do it? And I’ve never seen the guy before. I would have remembered if someone had a problem with me.”
    Miller considered all this while he rubbed one hand down his tie and fiddled with his tie clip. “You never forget anything, do you?”
    Decker had never told anyone about what had happened to him. When his condition had been diagnosed he’d been sent to a research facility outside of Chicago for additional testing. He had spent months there meeting others with similar abilities, both men and women. They had done numerous group sessions together. Some had been better adjusted than others. Some had really deep problems adjusting to what they were. Some may never have adjusted. To his knowledge, Decker had been the only one not born with his condition. The others in the group seemed to have lived with it much longer than he had, which was both a positive and a negative, he supposed.
    “Everyone forgets stuff,” he said.
    “I had you checked out. I ever tell you that?”
    Decker shook his head.
    “Knew you were a jock. Saw that play on TV.”
    “You mean on YouTube?”
    “No, I mean I was watching the game when you got laid out. Hardest hit I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how you survived it, Amos, I really don’t.”
    “Why’d you watch the game?”
    “You were a damn good player for Mansfield. Best QB we’ve ever had, kickass of a linebacker on the D side. You were fast for your size. You were a good college player. And far as I know you were the only person from the humble town of Burlington to ever play in the NFL. So, yeah, I watched the game. Would’ve gone to it if I could have.”
    “Well, good thing you did watch, since that play was my only one in the NFL.”
    Miller continued, “And I checked your scores at the police academy. And your tests for detective grade.”
    “Why’d you do that?”
    “Because I was curious about you, Amos. Don’t think the department didn’t notice your success rate as a cop and then a detective. You had something extra that the others didn’t have.”
    “Mary is a good cop.”
    “Yes, she is. Good, but not great. Good, but not perfect. But, see, your scores at the academy and later the detective’s exams were perfect. You didn’t miss a single question. They tell me it’s the first time in the history of the state. Then I went back to your college days. You were a good student, but a B student. Nothing perfect about your record back then.”
    “Football didn’t leave a lot of time for studying.”
    Miller rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. “Let’s get back to it. What else you got?”
    Decker could feel the migraine marching up the back of his neck. The lights in the room were dim, but right now they felt like three-ring circus illumination. The color blue, terrifyingly electric, was starting to seep out of all corners of life with the goal of converging on his very soul. He could sense it all building.
    “I don’t think Leopold is our guy,” he managed to say.
    “I already knew that before I sat down across from you.”
    “How’s that?” Decker asked.
    “You didn’t kill him before you left the precinct. Because that’s why you went in there, right? Size the guy up, ask your questions, stare him down, read his mind, see if he was the guy? And if you decided he was, no more Leopold.” He looked Decker over. “Easy enough. Football player, strong as a horse. You might be way out of shape now, but you