The Fallen

by David Baldacci

“It wouldn’t be so good if we were dead!” snapped Jamison.

  “Do you have the graph paper?”

  “What?”

  The graph paper from the house?”

  “My God, Decker, we were nearly killed. And you apparently did die. And all you can think about is the case?”

  When he didn’t say anything, she sighed, pulled out the graph paper from the evidence pouch in her bag, and handed it to him.

  With the tissues stuck to his head, Decker laid the paper on the ground and used the flashlight feature on his cell phone to go over it. He held the light an inch from the paper and still had to squint to make things out.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  “Just impressions from the pencil or pen he used to draw something on the sheet above this one. It looks to be pretty large. It covers most of the sheet. I’ll take a better look at it when we have some decent light.”

  He clicked off the phone light, handed the paper back to Jamison, rose, and leaned against the truck bumper.

  Jamison said, “Do you think whoever it was we chased came back and tried to kill us?”

  “I don’t know. Could be, but that would have been a risk.”

  “So maybe somebody else? Do you think we were followed?”

  Decker looked back at the dirt and gravel road. “It would have been hard for anyone to follow us here without us seeing them.”

  She looked back at the trailer. “Good thing we went over that before it disappeared. Though we didn’t find anything, really.”

  “We found some things.”

  “Like what?”

  He suddenly clutched his head and groaned.

  “Decker, what is it?” asked Jamison anxiously.

  “Just the mother of all headaches.”

  A few minutes later two police cars, an ambulance, and two fire engines showed up.

  The firemen dealt with the trailer, dousing it and the surrounding area with water. Two EMTs checked out Jamison and Decker. She had some bumps and bruises and some smoke inhalation. They treated her and gave her oxygen. They did the same with Decker, but after examining his head wound and testing his cognitive responses, they insisted that he go to the hospital for an X-ray and other tests.

  “I don’t have a concussion,” said Decker. “At least not a bad one.”

  Jamison admonished, “Decker, you stopped breathing. So you’re going to the hospital. I’ll ride with you in the ambulance.”

  As they drove off, Decker lay back on the gurney with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. Jamison had wiped her dirty face and tried to get some stains off her clothes with a clean wet cloth that one of the EMTs had given her.

  “I’m going to have to get some new clothes. When packing for this trip, I didn’t account for being nearly drowned in a monsoon and then almost blown up.” She leaned back against the interior wall of the ambulance and closed her eyes while Decker stared at her from the gurney.

  Decker said quietly, “So, Alex, are you enjoying it?”

  She opened her eyes and gave him a bewildered look. “Enjoying what?”

  “Your vacation.”

  Chapter 17

  GREEN SAID, “HE had a metal plate put in his head from an industrial accident.”

  Decker was in the process of being discharged from the hospital. Despite his protests to the contrary, he had suffered a concussion. They had determined that his heart had stopped due to a combination of the blow to the head and smoke inhalation. In lieu of sutures they had glued his scalp back together, and consequently his hair stuck up like a cockatoo’s feathers. He also had on dark glasses because of the concussion.

  “I feel like I have a metal plate in my head,” groused Decker.

  Green was walking beside the wheelchair taking Decker to a new rental truck Jamison had arranged. She was behind the wheelchair pushing Decker along.

  “So Toby Babbot’s disability was brain-related?” asked Jamison.

  “Appears to be. His employment history had been spotty since then. A few menial jobs. Living on unemployment. When that ran out he got on partial disability. But it didn’t pay much.”

  “And where did he live before he moved to the trailer?” asked Decker.

  “He shared a house with a woman, Betsy O’Connor. Strictly platonic, at least that’s what she claimed when I talked to her last week.”

  “What was the connection?” asked Jamison.

  “They knew each other. Both fell on hard times. They couldn’t afford the place separately, but they could together. It actually happens a lot here.”

  “So why did he move out?” asked Decker.

  “Couldn’t keep a job, and while O’Connor worked a number of jobs, her salary alone couldn’t cover the rent and utilities. They lost the house and had to split up. She lives in an apartment on the east side of town with two other roommates. And Babbot apparently found that abandoned trailer in the woods and moved in there. Not sure if he lived anywhere else in between residing with O’Connor and then at the trailer.”

  “Did he have a car?”

  “He did. But he lost it to the bank.”

  “So how’d he get around?” asked Jamison.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you think he got to the house where he was found dead with Joyce Tanner?” asked Jamison.

  “Maybe his killer took him there.”

  As they reached the new rental, Decker stood up, though he was still a bit shaky. Green put a supportive arm around him.

  “You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should spend the night in the hospital.”

  “I’m good. I’m actually hungry. I’ll be fine after I eat.”

  “I can recommend a place over on Baron Square. The Little Eatery. Good food and not pricey. Not that we really have pricey here.”

  “Baron Square, huh?” said Jamison. “You just can’t get away from the name, can you?”

  “I’d have to move,” said Green, smiling. “Oh, and I had our arson guy check out the trailer. Don’t know what was used to lock you both in, that’s long since gone. But he found remnants of something like a Molotov cocktail and a pile of dry wood under the trailer that showed evidence of being the point of origin of the fire. Even with all the rain we had, that wood would have gone up in an instant. And that trailer was really old. Doubt it would pass fire code these days.”

  Jamison drove them to her sister’s house, where they cleaned up and regrouped downstairs about thirty minutes later. Even though it was nearly nine, Frank Mitchell was still at work and Amber and Zoe were at a school event. Jamison had not told her sister what had happened to them. She checked her watch. “It’s getting late. I hope they’re still serving.”

  As they headed to the truck, she noted that he had taken his glasses off. “The doctor said for you to keep the glasses on.”

  “He also told me to sit in a dark room in complete quiet. I’ve had concussions before, Alex. This one is no big deal.”

  “Okay,” she said, not looking convinced. They drove along in silence for a few minutes. “Decker, with all the years you played football, do you ever worry about…?”

  “What, CTE, dementia?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Every game I played I came out of it feeling like I’d been in a car accident. Every play helmets would smack together. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about what might be coming for me.”

  “Pretty fatalistic attitude.”

  “Pretty realistic attitude. But the good thing is I barely played in the pros, so maybe there’s hope for me. NFL players hit a lot harder than college players do.”

  “I hope you’re right. We need that brain of yours to find bad guys.”

  “We need to put together a list of people to talk to. Dr. Freedman and Betsy O’Connor, and anyone connected to Joyce Tanner. And we need to find out what Tanner was living on. We also need to visit Bradley Costa’s workplace and home. And then we need to check out where Michael Swanson called home.”


  “Look, while I know that we both believe all these murders are connected, we really have no evidence that they are.”

  He eyed her appraisingly. “Even if they aren’t connected, should we stop investigating?”

  Jamison looked taken aback. “No, of course not. I’m just saying—”

  “I’m just saying that if there is one murderer or more than one murderer working together or separately, they still deserve to be held accountable for their crimes. Because I don’t know any other way to approach it.”

  Jamison sighed and nodded. “I get the logic. But it’s a long list of people. Could take a while. Longer than a week,” she pointed out.

  “Could be. You should call Bogart and tell him we might need to extend.”

  “No, you can call him. This was your idea. I just wanted to come here and visit my sister and my niece, not get involved in another murder investigation.”

  Decker didn’t say anything.

  “We were almost killed tonight,” added Jamison.

  “Yeah, I know. I was there, Alex.”

  “Whoever did it might try again, if we keep going on this.”

  “I told you I could do it. That you could just hang with your family.”

  “And I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I wasn’t doing it with you.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “I guess it leaves us investigating a bunch of either separate or connected murders. Together.”

  Decker turned to her.

  “I’m going to do all I can to keep you safe, Alex.”

  “I know. You promised Zoe.”

  “No, you’re my partner. We have each other’s backs. Remember? You told me that before.”

  “I remember, Amos. And you’ve already saved my life a bunch of times. But I have to rely on myself as well as you. And the same for you.”

  “No argument there.”

  * * *

  The Little Eatery was still open and they ate their meal in a half-full dining room, where they continually caught people stealing glances at them.

  “Word apparently travels fast in Baronville,” noted Jamison.

  “Word travels fast in every small town,” replied Decker, swallowing the last piece of his steak. “We have a dead guy with a metal plate in his head living on disability in a trailer in the woods that just got blown up. We have Joyce Tanner, unemployed from JC Penney, living on who knows what.”

  “And four more dead.”

  Decker looked down at his phone, which had just buzzed. He frowned and put down his fork.

  “What is it?” asked Jamison. “Someone else dead?”

  “No. It’s a text from Green answering my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Whether it was pig’s blood.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what does that mean, since you never bothered to tell me?” she said, clearly irritated.

  Decker didn’t answer. He punched in a phone number and stared at the ceiling while it rang. Then the person answered.

  “Detective Green, this is Decker. I just got your text.”

  “Right, pig’s blood it is. What made you think of it?”

  “It was a long shot and I wish I had been wrong. This means we need to check another database for the two dead men in that house.”

  “We checked all the criminal and civilian databases we have access to.”

  “I don’t think they’re civilians or criminals.”

  “Then what do you think they are?”

  “Cops.”

  Chapter 18

  WHY COPS?” ASKED Jamison as they were driving to police headquarters.

  “You’re too young to know it, but in the sixties and seventies ‘pig’ was a commonly used derogatory term for police. That’s why I mentioned the old cop shows on TV. So the vic in the policeman uniform coupled with the pig’s blood starts to make some sense. And that might mean we’re talking killers from a certain generation.”

  “Maybe not,” countered Jamison. “The term’s obviously made a comeback. It’s being used by other groups now.”

  “Okay, but we have to find out first if the two dead men we found were cops. I could be totally off base with my theory.”

  “God, this is like a horror show.”

  “I never ran into a murder that had any positive elements, Alex.”

  Decker looked out the window. “If they are cops, you have to wonder where they’re from. They would’ve been identified by now if they were local.”

  “From another state, then?”

  “Why would they be here? I’m assuming they were performing in some professional capacity. Local cops almost never cross state lines.”

  He stopped speaking and stared off once more.

  “Wait a minute, Decker, are you thinking what I think you are?”

  “They could be Feds, Alex.”

  * * *

  Green and Lassiter were waiting for them at the station.

  “We’ve run the prints through databases we have access to,” said Green. “But it’s limited. And we got zero hits.”

  Decker said, “I can get them run by the FBI. Just get me a set of the digital prints.” He looked at Jamison. “I guess I’m going to have that talk with Bogart after all.”

  “Lucky you,” replied Jamison.

  Decker called Bogart from the privacy of an empty office at the police station.

  To FBI special agent Bogart’s credit, he didn’t scream or even interrupt as Decker laid out what had happened.

  “Can you send me the prints now?” asked Bogart.

  “Soon as I hang up with you.”

  “If they are Feds this is going to turn into a shit storm, Decker.”

  “It pretty much already is.”

  Decker and Jamison waited at Green and Lassiter’s desks, which were situated next to each other in the open room of the detectives’ section of the station. There was one other plainclothesman working at another desk.

  Thirty minutes passed and then Decker’s phone buzzed. He and Jamison stepped into the empty office to answer it.

  It was Bogart.

  Decker put it on speaker so that Jamison could hear.

  “We ran the prints through our own employee database and got nothing. Then we provided the prints through our liaison office to sister agencies.”

  “And did they get a hit?”

  “No. We heard back from all of them except one.”

  “Which one?”

  “DEA.”

  “Okay, did you contact them when they didn’t get back to you?”

  “We did and found out that a DEA special ops team is going to be arriving in Baronville in about two hours.”

  “So the dead guys were with them?” asked Jamison.

  “That’s the thing—they’ll neither confirm nor deny that.”

  “But if they’re sending a team?”

  “That could mean a lot of different things. But I’ve got a buddy over in the D.C. office at DEA. I talked to him before I called you. He said this has gone right up to the DEA director’s office. Look, I can jump on an agency plane and be up there in about two hours.”

  “No, you have enough on your plate.”

  “And you two are supposed to be on vacation.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to get to that,” said Decker.

  “I tried to talk him out of it,” chimed in Jamison. “But you know Decker can’t resist a good murder.”

  “Seriously, there is something going on here that I don’t like,” said Bogart.

  “There are a lot of things going on here that I don’t like, principally a bunch of murdered people. And me and Alex almost ending up roasted.”

  “I’m going to monitor the situation from here. When the DEA show up they’re going to want to talk to you.”

  “I just don’t know how much I have to tell them. It’s pretty early yet.”

  “The point is the DEA will play things close to t
he vest.”

  “Just like all our alphabet agency friends,” noted Jamison. “Remember the DIA? Talk about zipped lips.”

  Bogart said, “And if the dead men are two of theirs, they’re going to want to take the lead. There might be a turf battle.”

  Decker said, “I’m just here to find the truth. Somebody else can play the politics.”

  “Which is why I’m asking you, Alex, to play the counterfoil to the DEA. They’re going to come in like a tank brigade. They’re going to run right over the locals for sure. Just don’t let them do that to you. You have the right to be there. You were asked to join the investigation. They can’t force you out.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “And if the dynamics on this shift, I can inject the Bureau into the situation. And we can go toe-to-toe with anybody. Good luck.”

  Decker put his phone away and looked at Jamison.

  He grumbled, “Turf battles and office politics. I hate that crap.”

  She smiled and said, “So, Decker, are you enjoying your vacation yet?”

  Chapter 19

  THE EIGHT-PERSON DEA team blew in with the intensity of a Cat Four hurricane.

  It was led by Special Agent Kate Kemper. She introduced herself to Decker and the others with a handshake like a grip of iron and a face set in granite. She was in her midforties, average height, but wiry, with dirty blonde hair and the determined features of a person who had faced many obstacles in life and had overcome them all.

  “I need to see the bodies,” she said firmly.

  Green nodded. “They’re in the morgue. Are they yours?”

  “Let me see the bodies and then we’ll talk. To the extent I can.”

  Green frowned at this, but nodded. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  The DEA team followed Green, Lassiter, Decker, and Jamison over to the morgue.

  Inside, the drawers were opened and the metal beds rolled out.

  The sheets were lifted and Kemper stared down at the first man, and then the second.

  Decker watched her closely while she did this.

  “Thank you,” she said to the ME. “We will be taking possession of the remains.” She turned to Green. “And we will be taking over this investigation.”