A few minutes later, Jamison joined him and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I saw Agent Kemper last night, or early this morning, depending on how you look at it,” he said.
She sat down openmouthed across from him.
“Where?”
“At the house where we found the dead guys.”
“What were you doing over there?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Took a walk past the Murder House. Met Fred Ross, the neighbor who Green and Lassiter haven’t spoken with yet. He’s a hard-ass prick with a sawed-off shotgun under his blanket. Thought he was going to shoot me.”
“Jesus, Decker, can’t you just go to sleep like the rest of us?”
“He said he wasn’t home at the time. But he said something else.”
“What?”
“He said he’d come to realize that nothing is really illegal in Baronville.”
She frowned. “What did he mean by that?”
“I don’t know. After I left him I was walking back here when Kemper came out of the Murder House.”
“Did she cop an attitude?”
“No, she seemed to have mellowed out, actually. She told me something about the two dead men. They were DEA agents. Will Beatty and Doug Smith. Beatty was the one in the basement. Undercover, like I thought. Only she said they had gone rogue.”
“Gone rogue? What does that mean?”
“They allegedly killed a bad guy they were working with. Man named Randy Haas. And it looks like Beatty and Smith were killed earlier and put on ice to screw with the TOD calculation. Kemper brought in her own medical examiner because she didn’t trust the local one.”
“Well, neither did you. I guess this proves you right.”
“Beatty died from a massive drug overdose of a super powerful opiate, obviously forced into him. Smith was strangled, but not by the rope.”
“So they were brought to that house already dead?”
“Appears so.”
“Why go to all that trouble?”
“No idea.”
“That was a big risk bringing two dead guys to that house. Someone might have seen something.”
“I know. That part is inexplicable.”
“So Beatty and Smith had gone bad, then?”
“That’s what Kemper thinks.”
“And you? What do you think?”
“I don’t know enough to think anything, really. I’m still collecting information.”
“So what do we do?”
“We keep digging. Next up is Bradley Costa, the banker. We’re going to his place of business first. And then his house. After that, we check out Michael Swanson. And then I want to go and talk to John Baron the Fourth.”
“Baron? Why?”
“Like I said before, I think he was lying about knowing some of the victims. Anyone who lies about something like that, I want to get to know him better.”
“From what you said, he seems like an interesting person.”
“He is an interesting person. But that doesn’t mean he’s not involved in this.” He added thoughtfully, “I wonder why he stays in a town that hates his guts?”
“Maybe he’s a sucker for punishment.”
“Or maybe there’s another reason.”
Decker reached over and snagged the page of numbers off the counter and held it up.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Decker explained about Zoe testing his memory.
“I think Zoe is really intrigued by you.”
“Not the point. I looked at the page again, after my concussion, and I couldn’t remember the last two numbers. Then I looked at it again and I could remember the last two numbers, but not some of the figures in the middle.”
“You think it’s connected to your head injury?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe probable.”
He looked so glum that Jamison said, “Decker, your having a phenomenal memory is awesome. But it’s not the only thing that makes you great at what you do. You’ve been a cop for over twenty years. You see stuff. You figure stuff out, like no one else I’ve ever seen. And you don’t give up.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it.”
“Thanks, Alex. I appreciate that.”
“Wow, maybe that concussion had some positive results.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She sighed. “Never mind.” Jamison looked up at him, fingering her coffee cup. “Is Kemper really okay with us working this?”
“I think so. But even if she weren’t I’d still be doing it.”
“You never worry about the politics or optics of a situation, do you?”
“When it comes to murder, I never saw a reason to,” replied Decker.
Chapter 24
DECKER LOOKED AROUND and frowned. He didn’t like banks. Not since they had foreclosed on both his house and his car back in Burlington, leaving him with no roof over his head and no wheels under his butt.
Bradley Costa’s office at Baronville National Bank was spacious and filled with mementos from local events. The bank had sponsored everything from high school debate squads to Little League baseball teams, as well as the local Kiwanis and VFW branches.
The key to the city lay on his desk. There were no family photos because Costa had been single with no kids. They learned he had been born in New York, in Queens, gone to college at Syracuse, gotten his MBA at NYU, and worked on Wall Street before moving to Baronville.
Jamison studied the pictures on the wall. “Photo ops with the governor, the mayor, the town council, the police chief. And over there the local historical society, the ladies’ garden club, and the Daughters of the American Revolution. He was definitely a schmoozer.”
Decker’s gaze swept around the room.
It was neat, organized, efficient. And at the center of it was a man who’d been shot to death in an auto repair facility with a local drug dealer with whom he’d apparently had no connection.
They had spoken to people at the bank who’d worked with Costa. He had been uniformly described as friendly, hardworking, and scrupulously honest. They could give no reason for his murder, and none of them thought he could have had any connection to Michael Swanson.
“You think maybe Costa had a secret life no one else knew about?” Jamison asked.
Decker picked up a photo from the dead banker’s desk. It was of Costa and a young woman.
“I know her,” he said.
“From where?”
“She was the bartender at the Mercury Bar. Her name is Cindi. She and John Baron are friends.”
Jamison glanced at the photo. “Costa was a good-looking guy. And this Cindi is really beautiful. Maybe they were dating?”
“Let’s find out,” said Decker.
Jamison went and got Costa’s secretary, Emily Hayes, and they asked her about the picture.
Hayes said, “I think that was taken at a local business gathering Brad organized. He made a point of holding as many of those as possible. Baronville has some pockets of success and wealth, and Brad was good at tapping into that. He had cocktail parties and events at his home, that sort of thing. We’ve never had anyone here who really did that. He was a real go-getter. He had the energy that we truly needed. He’ll be sorely missed.”
From her look and tone Decker wondered if the fiftyish Hayes might have had a thing for the young and charismatic banker.
“So you know the woman?” he asked.
“Oh yes, that’s Cindi Riley. She owns the Mercury Bar.”
“She owns it?” said Decker with mild surprise. “She seems a little young to own a bar.”
“Well, her father owned it before her. She’s a good businesswoman, though, in her own right.”
“Were Costa and Ms. Riley dating?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
“Okay, but this was the only picture on Costa’s desk. I’m assuming he had his picture taken with lots of businesspeople.”
“How about John Baron?” asked Decker.
The woman frowned. “What about him?”
“Was he a client of the bank’s?”
“He used to have an account here, yes.”
“Did he know Costa?”
“If he did, I was unaware of it.” She stopped and her features turned thoughtful. “Now that I think about it, I believe the bank does hold the mortgage on the Baron property. But I don’t know the details of that.”
“Would Costa have handled that transaction?”
“It’s certainly possible, but I don’t know for sure. I don’t have the authority to look into client accounts and disclose them to anyone.”
“Okay, do you know Baron personally?” asked Decker.
Hayes pursed her lips. “No, I do not.”
“You sound a bit hostile,” said Jamison.
Hayes gave her a piercing stare. “My grandfather died in one of the Baron mines. And my mother did backbreaking work at the textile plant for years. Then she showed up one day for her shift and there was a sign on the door saying that it was closed. Permanently. No warning. And there was supposed to be a pension plan. But that was gone too. She died soon after, probably from all the stress.”
“But hadn’t the Barons long since sold out by then?” asked Decker.
She folded her arms over her chest and looked at him crossly. “And do you really think the Barons would’ve treated their workers any differently if they’d still been in charge?”
Decker said, “What else can you tell us about Costa? Did he come in to work the day he went missing?”
“Yes. He worked all day. Mr. Beecher, our president, called the police when Brad didn’t show up for work the next day and we couldn’t reach him.”
“But nothing seemed out of the ordinary at work that day?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He seemed fine. The police asked me that too, but I told them the same thing.”
“And after work, did he have plans that night?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but then again, he wouldn’t have told me.”
“Did Costa have any problems with anyone here?” asked Decker. “Or maybe with one of his clients?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“You keep saying that a lot,” said Decker. “Would you be aware of it?”
She bristled a bit but said, “I’m his secretary, so I probably would. He got along fine with everyone here. In fact, everyone liked him. He was a very happy person. As far as clients, the bank has had to call in some loans and foreclose on some properties, certainly. But people here pay their bills if they can. If they can’t and they have to lose their homes or their cars, they understand that. A contract is a contract.”
“Very fair-minded of them,” said Decker, whose tone betrayed that he did not actually believe this.
“Will you be going to Mr. Costa’s residence next?” Hayes asked.
“Why?” said Decker.
“You might want to water the flowers, is all.”
“So you’ve been there?” said Decker.
“I assisted with some of his business get-togethers,” she said primly.
After they left the building, Jamison said, “Well, she was tight-lipped, but maybe she doesn’t know anything either.”
“Or maybe she was just lying,” replied Decker.
Chapter 25
WELL, THE FLOWERS do need watering,” observed Jamison.
They were standing in the middle of Costa’s loft in downtown Baronville.
It was open and airy, with exposed brick walls, and decorated with a flair that might have come from the combination of a deep wallet and professional design assistance.
“It’s nice,” said Jamison as she looked around the space. “No expense spared, I’d say. There was a plaque downstairs that said this was one of the old textile mills. At least the Baron family left something to the townspeople.”
“Well, Costa won’t be enjoying it anymore,” noted Decker.
He glanced at a shelf built into one wall. On it were various framed photos.
He went over and studied them one by one.
“Look at this.”
Jamison joined him.
He was pointing to a photo of a Little League baseball team holding a banner.
“So what? We saw from his office that the bank sponsored baseball teams.”
“Right, but look at the coach.”
Jamison ran her eye over the tall, lean man smiling back in the picture.
“Good-looking guy. Who is he?”
“John Baron.”
“What? You’re kidding.”
He looked at the date engraved on the frame. “This was taken a year ago. So Baron coached a team sponsored by the bank but doesn’t know Costa, one of the bigwigs there?”
“Well, I guess that’s possible. I mean, you don’t have to meet the coach to sponsor a team. You just have to write a check.”
“But this is the only business-related photo here,” said Decker. “The rest are of mountains and rivers and the sights of the area. Costa might have been an amateur photographer. But why only this one photo here? The other Little League team pics are in his office.”
“I don’t know.”
He walked over to the window and pointed. “That must be John Baron’s place up there on the hill.”
Jamison joined him at the window. “Wow, even from here you can tell it’s huge.”
“And apparently falling apart.”
“Well, I can only imagine the upkeep. It must cost a fortune just to heat the place.”
“I don’t think Baron has a fortune, not anymore.”
“He might only live in a portion of it.”
“It wasn’t cheap to furnish this space,” said Decker, turning his attention back to the apartment.
“I guess Costa’s job paid relatively well. And I would imagine the cost of living here is pretty low. And he probably saved some bucks from his time in New York.”
“Granted, but why here?”
“What?”
“He worked on Wall Street. Why come to Baronville and work in a bank? Last time I looked, they had banks on Wall Street. This is like the exact opposite of what the guy was used to.”
“Some people want change,” replied Jamison.
“That much change? You come to a dying town? With what expectations?”
“That you’ll have an opportunity and things will turn around. Like his secretary said, he was happy, he was generating business. He had this place.”
“And he ends up dead from a gunshot, hanging from a chain in an auto repair facility with a brand on his forehead. Some opportunity.”
“Decker, he couldn’t have known that would happen,” pointed out Jamison.
Decker didn’t answer her. He just kept looking around.
Jamison said, “Green told us that Joyce Tanner was laid off from JC Penney. Nothing suspicious there. Five other people were laid off at the same time. And then the store ended up closing. No ties to Costa, at least that we can see. And none to Babbot. We haven’t checked into Michael Swanson yet. Maybe they were all buying drugs from him.”
“We didn’t find any drug paraphernalia at Babbot’s place. And none was found here or at Joyce Tanner’s apartment. And no one we talked to mentioned that they had seen signs of illicit drug use by Costa, Tanner, or Babbot.”
“But drugs might still be involved somehow. Babbot was on heavy painkillers. And the DEA is here, after all.”
Decker tapped his finger against the wall of glass overlooking the city.
“Maybe they have no connection to each other,” he said.
“Meaning their deaths were random?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Well, if they don’t have a connection to each other, then by default, doesn
’t that mean their deaths were random?”
“Not if the four of them all had a connection to another person, but not to each other. The spider in the web, the hub of the wheel. That person might be the common denominator.”
Jamison sat down in a chair and mulled this over.
“But who could that person be?”
“Well, if I knew that I’d be able to solve the case,” said Decker. “Let’s go.”
Jamison jumped up. “Where?”
“Michael Swanson’s last digs.”
* * *
The last known address for Swanson, given to them by Detective Green, was a motel in an area of Baronville that was about as run-down as either Decker or Jamison had seen so far.
“Looks like where I used to live,” said Decker as he stared around the small room with a communal bath down the hall. They had been told by the manager of the motel that Swanson had left there two months ago. There was no forwarding address.
They went back to the manager’s office after looking over the empty room. “Did the police come by?” asked Jamison.
The manager, a grizzled, reedy man in his fifties, nodded. “And I told them the same thing I told you. Mike left here about eight weeks ago. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Well, you won’t see him again, since he’s dead,” noted Decker.
“Hell, everybody knew Mike sold drugs. You live in that world, you die in that world.”
“What else can you tell us about him?” asked Jamison.
“He was actually a nice guy. Not too much in the upstairs, if you catch my drift. But he helped out around here. Assisted some of the other residents. But for the drug stuff, he would have been okay. I’m actually sorry he’s dead.”
“So you let him stay here even though he was into drugs?” asked Jamison.
The man shrugged. “Hell, lady, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be able to rent to about half the people in Baronville, including my own mother, and she’s in her late seventies.”
“Anybody ever visit him here?” asked Decker.
“Not really. I don’t think he had many friends.”
“Did you see him shortly before he went missing?”
“Truth is, I hadn’t seen Mike since he left here.”
“Did he have any enemies?” asked Jamison.
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