The Fallen

by David Baldacci

  A Yukon had far more leg- and headroom.

  “You said a short ride,” said Jamison. “Gee, let me guess our destination.”

  “Just drive over to the next street, Alex.”

  “And may I ask why, since we’ve already been over there?”

  “Just want to see something.”

  “We could just walk.”

  “It’ll be easier in the truck.”

  As they pulled down the street Decker pointed at the sign posted at its entrance. “Dead end. No outlet.”

  “Well, dead end is an appropriate sign for this street tonight,” noted Jamison.

  The police were still there processing the scene and one of the officers glanced at them as they drove by. Before he could react, however, Jamison had driven past the house. She reached the end of the road, turned around, parked the SUV at the curb a half-dozen houses down from the crime scene, and cut the lights.

  As they watched, Green and Lassiter appeared at the front door. In the illumination provided by the front porch light, the two detectives seemed to be in animated conversation.

  “Is that what you wanted to see?” asked Jamison, yawning.

  Decker shook his head. He wanted to see the street and the cars parked there. The homes here had no garages, only carports and street parking.

  The only thing was, other than the cop cars and their SUV, there were no cars parked on the street, and none near the crime scene house. Decker looked at the houses up and down the street. None had lights on, but that might be due to the lateness of the hour.

  “Most of these homes don’t look lived in.”

  “Well, like we’ve been told, Baronville isn’t exactly a hopping place.”

  “And that also means there won’t be many eyes around that can help us with the comings and goings of the crime scene. They had to get the two men in there, either dead or alive. There’s no attached garage on the house to pull into, so they would have been exposed at some point.”

  “Or the two guys could have walked in and been killed there.”

  Decker closed his eyes and thought about what he had seen and heard before the lights in the house had started going on and off because of the electrical short.

  A plane going over.

  A series of sounds: thuds and scrapes.

  A car starting up.

  The plane? Obviously, no connection.

  The weird sounds? Maybe connected.

  A car driving away after dumping the bodies there?

  He closed his eyes more tightly. His perfect recall was best with visual things. But it was still far better than average with things of an auditory nature.

  “What are you doing?” asked Jamison.

  Decker scrunched up his face as her voice interrupted him while he was trying to precisely conjure the noises he’d heard.

  “Decker, it’s nearly one in the morning and I’m beat. We drove over six hours to get here. Well, I drove over six hours to get here.”

  Decker relaxed his features. “She’s your sister. If we ever visit my sisters, I’ll drive.”

  “Your two sisters live in California and Alaska, respectively. We’re not driving to California or Alaska.”

  “Well, then I guess we won’t be visiting them.”

  She sighed and sat back, fiddling with the turn signal on the steering column. “Why does this matter to you so much? I get that it’s murder. And it’s horrible. But you can’t investigate every murder you run across.”

  “Why can’t I?” he said brusquely.

  She sputtered, “Because you just can’t.”

  He shook his head. “We can agree to disagree.”

  A few moments of silence passed before she said, “You found who killed Cassie and Molly, Amos. They got what they deserved. But you can’t solve every murder you come across. It’s impossible. You’ll just be setting yourself up to fail.”

  Decker said nothing in reply. He just stared out the window at the house where he had found the two dead men.

  Finally, Jamison said, “Can we go back to my sister’s house now? Or I’m just going to curl up in the back and go to sleep.”

  “We can go now.”

  She quickly drove off.

  They were staying with the Mitchells in two guest bedrooms upstairs. Amber told them it had once been one large bedroom but they’d converted it into two. Although Zoe was nearly six years old, Amber and Frank wanted more children.

  Jamison spoke briefly to her sister, who was still up waiting for them, and then said good night. She and Decker walked up the stairs and Jamison went to her room and Decker to his.

  Later, he sat at the window and looked out onto the street. It looked a lot like his hometown in Ohio. Half alive and half dead. Maybe more dead than alive, actually.

  He undressed and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

  In a way, perhaps in a significant way, Jamison had hit it right on the head.

  I’m trying to catch Cassie and Molly’s killer over and over again.

  And it will never end, because killers will always be out there.

  So this is my world and welcome to it.

  Chapter 7

  DECKER HAD JUST finished putting on his shoes the next morning when his phone rang.

  It was Detective Green.

  “What’s up?” asked Decker.

  “The blood on the floor of the house?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were right. It’s not human.”

  “We’ll meet you in half an hour.”

  * * *

  Thirty-five minutes later Decker stared down at two metal tables on which lay the dead men from the house. Both had been autopsied. The Y-incision staples looked like the tracks of giant zippers across their chests.

  A tired-looking Jamison was on his right, a crisp-eyed Detective Green on his left. The medical examiner was on the other side of the table. Detective Lassiter had not yet made an appearance.

  “You’re sure it’s not human blood?” asked Decker.

  The ME, a short, balding man with a paunch and a trim gray beard, nodded.

  “Ran it last night, or early this morning more precisely, while I was doing these posts.” He yawned. “Simple test. The specific reagent for human blood wasn’t there. But it is blood. Probably some animal rather than synthetic. I’ll do some more tests and see exactly what we’re looking at.”

  Green said, “So somebody poured out a bunch of, I guess, animal blood under the guy hanging in the living room.”

  “And did he die by hanging?” asked Decker.

  The ME nodded. “All signs point to that. Ligature mark on the neck, burst capillaries in the eyes.”

  “Petechial hemorrhaging in the sclera,” said Decker absently.

  This comment drew a sharp glance from Green.

  With the ME’s help Decker moved one of the bodies onto its side. He stared at the man’s back. “This was the guy hanging?”

  “That’s right,” said Green.

  Decker laid the body back down and looked at the man’s feet, ears, hands, and groin.

  He frowned.

  “What is it, Decker?” said Jamison.

  Ignoring her question, Decker said, “His hands weren’t bound. But no sign of defensive wounds. A guy getting hung is going to fight back. And he was a good-sized man and looked pretty fit.”

  The ME pointed to a spot on the back of the dead man’s head. “Contusion here. Blunt force trauma. I think he was knocked out and then strung up. No need for restraints then.”

  “And this one?” asked Decker, as he looked over the second body, also turning it onto its side. “There was foam on his lips. Ordinarily, that could mean death by drowning. Or some type of poison.”

  “We’re running toxicology tests on him,” said the ME. “But there was no water in his lungs, so drowning is out for the cause of death. Could be a drug overdose. God knows we have enough of those around here. The cooler here holds twenty bodies. That used to be plenty. Never got fille
d up. Then the opioid crisis hit full force and the city had to buy a refrigerated trailer for excess capacity. We keep it out in the parking lot. And now it’s always full too. I can’t autopsy them all. Not enough time. If they come in with a needle sticking out of their arm, that’s good enough for me on the cause of death.”

  Decker eyed the man incredulously for a moment, though the ME didn’t seem to notice. Then Decker laid the body back down and said, “Doesn’t account for the other guy hanging from the ceiling. Or the blood.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” agreed Green.

  The door to the room opened and in walked Lassiter, dressed in the same clothes she had worn the previous night. It seemed that she had not been home.

  Green said, “Donna, you should’ve gotten some shut-eye.”

  Lassiter wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at Decker and Jamison.

  “I thought we agreed that—”

  Green turned to the ME. “So we probably got animal blood. What does that tell us?”

  The ME shrugged. “I just find out how they died. You’re the investigator.” He looked at Decker. “I’m not a forensic pathologist. They’re apparently in short supply and cost too much,” he added with a grin. “And a town like this can’t afford one. I’m just a local semi-retired doctor. Urologist. I do this job part-time. But the state prescribes a course you have to take. And there are continuing education courses you have to take.”

  “We might have to do better than that,” said Decker, drawing a quick frown from the ME.

  Decker turned to Green. “The blood, was it symbolic? A message? A ritual?”

  “I don’t think we can answer those questions yet,” said Green.

  Lassiter closed the door behind her and drew closer to the table, coming to stand right behind Decker. He didn’t seem to notice her proximity.

  “How about IDs on these guys?” he asked.

  “We ran both their prints through AFIS,” said Green. “No hits came back. I know AFIS isn’t perfect, but if they’re criminals they’ve never been arrested.”

  “Run them through other databases,” said Decker. “They might be civilians who were getting background checks run for employment and things like that.”

  “We’re doing that,” said Lassiter.

  Decker turned around to see her standing directly behind him.

  Even though she was in heels, there was nearly a foot of height difference between them. He looked down at her and she looked up at him.

  “Good,” he said before turning back around to look at the bodies again. “I take it that neither of the men had any connection to the house? Didn’t own it?”

  “How do you know?” Lassiter blurted out.

  “If they had, you probably would have identified them by now,” said Decker. “But who does own the house?”

  “The bank,” answered Green. “It was in foreclosure. The previous owners defaulted on the loan and left town nearly a year ago. Place has been basically abandoned since then.”

  Decker said, “But the house had electricity, or else the blood wouldn’t have fried the lamp cord and started a fire. Why would the power still be on after all that time?”

  “Well, we have squatters around,” said Green. “They crash in these abandoned houses for weeks or months, and they illegally tap into the electrical supply. And sometimes the banks rent the houses out to make some money while they’re trying to sell them. They would need to have the juice on for that.”

  “Was that house rented out at any time?” asked Jamison.

  “Still checking on that, but I don’t think so.”

  Decker said, “The neighborhood looked pretty much empty. There were no cars parked on the street.”

  “Nothing unusual about that around here,” said Green. “Baronville has lost about half its population. At our peak, when all the mines and mills and plants were cranking, we used to have almost double the people living here now. Nearly the size Erie is now. But no more.”

  Decker said, “The point is, there won’t be many people able to help us with what happened at that house.”

  Green said, “There are only three houses on that street with people living in them. I spoke to one and Donna spoke to another, but they didn’t see or hear anything. And prior to last night they had seen no activity at the house in question.”

  “Nothing?” said Decker.

  “According to them, no,” replied Green.

  “Any reason to believe any of them might have been involved?” asked Jamison.

  Lassiter answered. “Alice Martin is an elderly woman who’s lived her whole life in Baronville. I actually know her because she was my Sunday school teacher. The second home is owned by an old man in a wheelchair named Fred Ross. The last house is the closest to the crime scene, but the man who lives there, Dan Bond, is blind. I spoke to Bond, and my partner talked to Mrs. Martin. I think we can safely rule out each of them as possible suspects.”

  Decker turned around to look at her again. “Why is that?”

  Lassiter blinked. “Don’t you think it’s obvious?”

  Decker glanced at Green. “There are some things about a murder investigation that are obvious. Ruling out someone as a suspect after one contact or an assumption is not one of them.”

  Decker could see Lassiter’s face flush and her features turn ugly, but he plowed ahead.

  He added, “So, Dan Bond and Alice Martin have been interviewed. Why haven’t you talked to Fred Ross yet?”

  Green said, “He wasn’t home at the time. We’re going to check with him, though.”

  “Any idea how one of your uniforms got on the dead guy?” asked Decker.

  “None. All uniforms are accounted for, as far as we can tell.”

  “So maybe the source of the uniforms?” said Jamison.

  “We’re checking all that,” interjected Lassiter, who looked like she was barely containing her anger. “We didn’t just fall off a truck, you know.”

  Decker ignored this and pointed to a spot on the shoulder of the man found in the basement. “What’s that?”

  The ME said, “I noted that in my report. Maybe something was placed there and then removed.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Could be any number of things. Pain patch for one. Nicotine patch for another.”

  “Was he a smoker?” asked Jamison.

  “His lungs showed some damage from smoking, yes. I’m estimating that he wasn’t yet forty, so if he had stopped smoking his lungs most likely would have been able to regenerate.”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter now,” said Green.

  The ME said, “The tox screens should show what was in it, if it was a medication patch. If the drugs are still in the body, that is. If the patch was taken off too long ago, the meds might have worked through his system.”

  Decker eyed the man closely and said, “So, the big question: Have you got a time-of-death determination yet?”

  The ME said, “When I got to the house limbs were stiff on both, so they were in rigor. I’d say they’d been dead about twenty hours or so, or even far longer, since they might have actually been coming out of rigor at that point. I’ll know better later.”

  “Did you take a core temp?”

  The ME said in an annoyed tone, “Something went wrong with my equipment. It was registering wacky numbers.”

  “Meaning really, really cold?”

  The man looked surprised. “Yes, how did you know that?”

  “So even without a core temp, twenty hours or even far longer is your final verdict? You sure about that?”

  The ME looked indignant that Decker seemed to be challenging his conclusion. He said stiffly, “Yes, I am. Well, that they were dead at least twenty hours. Why?”

  “And are you sure the bodies weren’t moved after they died?”

  The ME shot a look at the corpses and then glanced back at Decker.

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m pretty sure, why?”

  “I think you might want to take
some additional forensics classes beyond the minimum or maybe better yet, try another line of work that doesn’t involve performing postmortems.”

  The man said furiously, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I thought I was pretty clear.” Decker turned to Green. “So, are we good to go on this investigation? Working it together?”

  Green looked at him curiously for a moment and said, “You have to keep us looped in on everything. No exceptions.”

  “Agreed,” said Decker quickly.

  “From a practical point of view, how do you want to do this?” asked Green.

  “There’s a lot of ground to cover, so I say two and two,” replied Decker. “That way we can each hit a crime scene.”

  Lassiter interjected, “Good, I’ll go with you and your partner can go with Marty.”

  Jamison looked surprised by this. “Why? You have your team and we have ours.”

  “Because that way we’ll be apprised and up to date on both sets of investigations,” said Lassiter. “There won’t have to be any long, drawn-out reports or multiple explanations. Saves everyone time and trouble.”

  “Works for me,” said Decker distractedly, which drew a quick glare from Jamison.

  * * *

  As they were leaving the morgue, Jamison drew Lassiter aside.

  “Just FYI, my partner is a little difficult to work with.”

  “Trust me, I’d spotted that myself,” replied Lassiter.

  “No, I’m not sure you have the full picture.”

  “Well, Marty’s no peach to partner with either. But we’re girls in guys’ territory, right? We learn how to deal with it.”

  This unexpected comment drew a smile from Jamison. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve said I agree with.”

  “Let’s hope there’s more in the future.”

  Chapter 8

  CRIME SCENE NUMBER Two.

  At least that was how Decker had designated it in his mind.

  It had been an auto repair facility. An unexpected place for a murder. But then again, most everything about a murder was unexpected.

  He and Lassiter climbed out of her car, a pale blue four-door Prius with limited legroom, at least for someone as tall as Decker. It was her personal ride. The department didn’t have money in the budget for cars for their detectives, she’d told him on the drive over.