The Fallen

by David Baldacci

  “What can I do for y’all?” she asked.

  Decker said, “Two large coffees to go.”

  Jamison pointed to some items in one of the display cases. “Are those carrot cake muffins?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they are.”

  “Awesome. We’ll take two.”

  “That’s a right good choice. They’re fresh out of the oven. I’m Linda Drews. I own the place.”

  “Hi, Linda. I’m Alex and this is Amos. So why name the place the Peacock Bakery?”

  “When I was just a little thing I always wanted me a peacock as a pet. That ain’t never happened. So this was the next best thing. And the sign sure is eye-catching, or so folks tell me.”

  As Drews prepared their order, Decker said, “This place looks pretty new.”

  “Open less than a year. I always loved to bake, so why not make money off it? And I like being the boss. And I’m making good money. Have the fulfillment center partly to thank. We get a lot of traffic from there. All the heavy lifting and walking makes people hungry for dang sure.”

  “I bet,” said Decker.

  As she poured the coffees Linda Drews said, “How’d you hear about us?”

  “Cindi Riley.”

  “Oh, right. Cindi’s real nice. She gets the word out about local businesses. We’re all trying to bring the town back.”

  “She also told us about your son. He was a friend of hers.”

  Drews had leaned down and was using a pair of tongs to pull out two muffins from the display cabinet. She stiffened at Decker’s words.

  “Cindi told you about Keith?”

  “Yeah. It sounded really sad.”

  Drews slowly put the muffins in a bag.

  “He was my only child. You never get over that.”

  “I’m sure. It was an overdose, Cindi said,” noted Decker.

  Drews nodded. “Baronville’s got lots of problems. Biggest one is drugs. Now, I admit, I was on ’em for a long time. Started out on Percocet and then became a mixer.”

  “A mixer?” said Jamison.

  “I’d mix the Percocet with Oxy, Xanax, hell, anything I could think of. I’d do a couple hundred pills a week.” She put the bag of muffins on the counter. “How old do you think I am?”

  Decker shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like guessing people’s ages.”

  “I just turned fifty.”

  She smiled sadly at their surprised looks. “Drugs ain’t beauty aids. I know I look like I’m sixty-five.”

  “But you’ve obviously conquered your addiction,” said Jamison.

  Drews rapped her knuckles against the wooden counter. “It’s a fight every day, but today I’m clean. Tomorrow? Who knows.”

  “You’re remarkably candid about your experience,” said Jamison. “I mean, you don’t know us.”

  “I talked about it long enough at the addiction centers. You got to wrap your mind around it. You got to lay your soul bare if you’re going to get better. I tried more than one way to do it, because one thing works for some and not for others. But I finally kicked it, thank you God. Hardest thing I ever had to do.”

  “But not Keith?” said Decker.

  Drews started to ring up their order and then stopped. “No.” Tears formed in her eyes. “You ain’t supposed to outlive your child, but I did Keith. He died sixteen months ago. He would’ve been twenty-eight next month.”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Jamison.

  “But at least you have the bakery,” prompted Decker.

  “Well, that’s due to Keith really.”

  “How so?” asked Decker.

  “Keith had him a life insurance policy for a million dollars, and I was the beneficiary. Never could’ve afforded this place otherwise. Ovens alone are a damn fortune.” She paused as Jamison handed her the credit card for the coffee and muffins. “I’d rather have my son,” she said dully.

  “Well, it was lucky that he had a policy,” said Decker. “I guess he had it through work, maybe.”

  “No, not through work. He had a job at the fulfillment center. He was a picker. Running all day long, bending over, lifting stuff. Then he hurt his back real bad and got laid off. He went to the doctor. Got on pain pills. And there you go. He got hooked. Same old story. One day he thought he was taking heroin but it was really that fentanyl crap. He was dead before the EMTs could get to him.”

  “That’s awful,” said Jamison.

  “Well, in Baronville, we just call that normal and ain’t that a damn shame.”

  Decker said, “Well, it was fortunate that your son got his policy before he became addicted. I doubt he could have passed a medical exam if he’d been addicted.”

  “I know. Willie said the same thing.”

  “Willie?”

  “Willie Norris is the one who sold Keith the policy. He told me that too when he gave me the check. But Keith was clean when he took out that policy. And then he was dead.”

  “So he took out the policy after he injured himself? And for a million dollars?”

  “Yeah. He heard it was a good idea. See, he wanted to get rehired at the fulfillment center. And that place can be dangerous. What with all them robots and such. Someone just got killed by one of them suckers, did you know that?”

  “Yeah, we heard,” said Jamison quickly.

  “Who suggested your son get life insurance? Was it this Willie Norris?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I guess some good came out of Keith’s death. I was able to bury him proper with the money and then open this place.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “I hope you enjoy the muffins. And spread the word.”

  Jamison said, “Do you have the contact information for Mr. Norris? My sister just lost her husband and I’m thinking she might need some life insurance. She has a young daughter.”

  “Oh, sure. You got to think about that stuff, ’cause you just never know in this old world.”

  Linda Drews rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the information. It’s about a mile from here. Willie’s a good guy. Lived here forever, just like me.”

  Jamison looked down at the card. “Thanks a lot.” She put a five in the tip jar on the counter.

  “Thank you,” said Drews.

  Decker looked the place over. “I hope you make it,” he said.

  “Me too,” Drews replied. “’Cause this is all I got left.”

  Chapter 59

  JAMISON HANDED DECKER the business card as they climbed into the truck.

  “It does make you wonder,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Keith Drews loses his job and then he buys life insurance. But Linda said he bought the policy after he hurt his back. That means he would have been on the painkillers.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t addicted then.”

  “Maybe not,” said Decker doubtfully.

  “Do we go see Willie Norris now?”

  “No, that’ll keep. Right now, let’s drive around a bit, have our coffee and muffins, and talk some things through.”

  “Okay, shoot.” Then she bit into her muffin and moaned, “Oh, God, I’m going to need a cigarette.”

  “Yeah, well, hold that thought.”

  He took a bite of muffin and a sip of his coffee. He said, “Costa, Tanner, Swanson, and Babbot. Let’s take them one by one and see where we stand.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bradley Costa figured out where the Baron treasure was and came to town to get it. He got hired by the bank that held the mortgage on the property.”

  “You think he planned it that way?”

  Decker nodded and took a moment to wipe cream off his lips. “I’m sure he did his research and joined the bank because it held the mortgage. He was a hotshot Wall Street type. How many of those do you think come to places like this?”

  “Zero.”

  “So he renegotiated the deal with Baron and put in the moral turpitude clause.”

  “And then do you thin
k he proceeded to frame Baron for the murders?”

  “No. For the simple fact that he ended up being murdered. I think he might have had some scheme in mind to nail Baron on the moral turpitude clause. It didn’t have to be murder. It could have been drugs. Maybe he knew about Swanson squatting up there and keeping his drug stash in the potting shed. Then Baron goes to jail and the loan is called, the property foreclosed, and the straw man buys the property. Then they get the treasure. But the straw man double-crossed Costa and killed him so he wouldn’t have to split the treasure. And then he completed the original plan to frame Baron, by murdering four people. In that way, with Costa, he killed two birds with one stone.”

  “But that’s all speculation.”

  “I’m going on probabilities.”

  “Okay. And Swanson died because he was squatting on Baron’s property. And he was also a drug dealer, which, like you said, would probably trigger the morals clause if they could tie Baron to drug dealing.”

  Decker nodded. “And they wouldn’t want Swanson around on the property while they looked for the treasure. Again, two birds with one stone. They get him off the property and use his murder to frame Baron.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “You remember the nail we found in Tanner’s car tire?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, when I was at the fulfillment center I drove around to the new section they’re building. Guess what I found?” He pulled from his jacket pocket the object he’d found in the parking lot and held it up.

  “It looks like the nail you found in Tanner’s tire.”

  “It’s exactly the same.”

  “You think Tanner was at the fulfillment center?”

  “I think her car was.”

  “You think she was kidnapped from there?”

  “I don’t know. But Tanner had a connection to Baron. She was his ex-girlfriend. He was helping her financially. That’s why she was killed.”

  “And Babbot?”

  “He’d trespassed on Baron’s property, like Lassiter said.”

  “Why? Maybe looking for the treasure? But how could he have known about that?”

  “It’s a small town. He might have heard something. And a treasure is a big incentive.”

  “Do you think Babbot also knew about the drug ring?”

  “It’s certainly possible,” said Decker. “At the very least he might have suspected what was going on at the fulfillment center with Ross. He knew about the secret space in Ross’s office, because that discrepancy was on his drawing. I just don’t know if he knew what was in it or how to access it. If he did suspect, then when they killed him they also got a double payoff. He was used to help frame Baron, and he would be silenced before he could disclose what he knew about Ross’s office having a hollow back wall.”

  Decker suddenly leaned back in the seat and tightly closed his eyes.

  “Decker, are you okay?”

  “I’m just trying to remember something but it’s not coming.”

  “Is it because of the hit you took on your head?” she said worriedly.

  He rubbed his brow. “It could be.”

  “What are you trying to remember?”

  “Numbers.”

  “What number?”

  “Numbers!” he said testily.

  In Decker’s mind was a swirl of numbers. They were all different colors. That was his synesthesia talking. Yet it was different, because the colors were different for some numbers than they had been in the past.

  Seven, four, three, is that a zero? No, an eight? Red, orange, green, two?

  He scrunched up his brow.

  Is that a nine or an upside-down six? Come on, dammit, come on.

  Finally, the numbers all lined up correctly. And he was able to weigh one set against another. And they tallied perfectly.

  He opened his eyes, took out his phone, and hit some keys.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “No one.”

  He hit more keys.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m searching for a listing on a phone number I saw.”

  “Where did you see it?”

  “On Ted Ross’s phone.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I saw the same number somewhere else.”

  He held up his phone for her to see.

  She said, “The phone number belongs to Fred Ross, Ted’s father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not unusual for a father to call his son.”

  “No, but it is unusual that a son doesn’t have his father in his contacts list, even if they don’t get along all that well. If he had the number in his contacts, Fred Ross’s name would have come up on the screen, not his number.”

  “That is odd. Wait a minute. You said you saw that number somewhere else.”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “On a wall.”

  “Whose wall?”

  “Alice Martin’s phone number wall.”

  “Well, they are neighbors.”

  “She told me that she only kept phone numbers up there that she called frequently, because otherwise she couldn’t remember them.”

  “Okay, but again, they’re neighbors.”

  “Only Martin told me that she despises Ross and has for decades. And after meeting the guy I can see why. Even his own son can’t stand him. And he’s a criminal!”

  Jamison said, “So why have his number up on her wall?”

  “Well, I can think of at least one reason.”

  Chapter 60

  WILLIE NORRIS’S OFFICE was located in what had once been a residence in a neighborhood about a mile from Drews’s bakery.

  The young woman in the front room immediately rose to greet them when they walked in. She was polite, if a bit shy, though Decker could sense something guarded, almost anxious in her features. She wore faded boots, jeans, and a white cuffed shirt. The computer on her metal desk was at least ten years old. Paper files were scattered over the desk’s surface.

  They had passed two cars in the driveway, a shiny black new Lexus convertible and a rusted-out ancient Ford pickup truck. Decker thought he knew which vehicle belonged to Norris and which one to his secretary.

  A moment later Willie Norris walked into the room. He was short and portly with slicked-back graying hair. His chin was pointed, his nose as narrow and spiny as a mountain ridge, and his eyes were two bits of coal in fleshy sockets. He wore an ill-fitting three-piece gray suit. A cigarette dangled from one hand.

  “Come on back, come on back,” said Norris, waving a flabby hand.

  He shut the door behind them.

  Decker looked around the room, which clearly had once been a bedroom. Where the closet had been was a built-in shelf filled with plastic binders. The man’s desk was an antique partner’s desk with elaborate moldings. A grimy square of rug was set under the furniture. On the wall were a series of framed certificates indicating membership in a variety of insurance organizations.

  Norris sat down behind his desk and motioned to them to take seats opposite him. He took one final drag on his smoke and then ground it out in an overstuffed ashtray.

  He smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t even insure myself,” he said. “Obese, smoker, bad lungs, worse kidneys.”

  “Never too late to start a new chapter,” said Jamison pleasantly.

  “Think it’s a little late for me. But you folks looking for insurance?”

  “For my sister, yes. She just lost her husband.”

  “Overdose?” said Norris, a little too quickly.

  “No, why would you think that?” asked Jamison.

  “You must not be from around here. You’re young, so I assume your sister is too. And her husband. Young man dies around here, it’s either a DUI that went way bad, or it’s an overdose.”

  “He died in an industrial accident.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Can you give me some information about the process of g
etting insurance?”

  “Sure can.”

  He pulled open a drawer, riffled through it, and handed Jamison a folder with some loose pages inside. “That will help her start the application process, but I can answer any questions you might have or she can set up an appointment to meet with me.”

  Decker said, “I assume she’ll need to take a medical exam and go through some sort of background check, in addition to filling out the application?”

  “Depends on how much coverage she wants. You got companies giving out small policies with no medical exam and no real due diligence. They’re just counting on the actuarial tables, but I don’t like to do business that way. Especially here.”

  “Because of all the overdoses?” said Decker.

  “That’s right. Young man, old man, don’t matter. One wrong pill, you’re dead.”

  “How much life insurance can somebody buy?” asked Decker.

  “Depends on the individual and what the underwriter will approve. If you want a policy for a ton of money that is out of whack for your personal situation, then that’s going to be a problem. Also depends on what you do for a living. If your job is working in a daycare that’s one thing. If you’re a police officer or a fireman that’ll be a factor. An underwriter may not write that policy, or the premiums would be higher. Or the policy might even exclude from coverage your dying from something related to your profession. So if you’re a cop and get shot in the line of duty, it won’t pay out.”

  “My sister is thirty-three and in excellent health, and she’s a homemaker with a young daughter.” She glanced at the overflowing ashtray. “And she doesn’t smoke.”

  “Okay, I can’t commit to anything based on that, of course, but how much insurance is she looking at?”

  “A million, maybe more? I mean, how much is normal?”

  “One person’s normal is another person’s abnormal,” said Norris, chuckling. “But there are basic parameters. Now, there are different types of life insurance. You have whole life and universal. They’re more like savings plans that actually build up cash value and that you can borrow against and such. Now, universal life insurance policies have some more flexibility than a whole life policy, but I think what you’re talking about is good old-fashioned term life insurance. It only pays out upon death. They come with fixed premiums for a certain period of time. Ten, twenty, or thirty years is typical. Now, you got a young kid who’ll need support for many years, you’ll want a higher policy amount. Or if the insured is a high earner, then you’ll want more to continue to support a certain lifestyle in the event they die, that sort of thing. Key man policies are often issued to cover the life of important executives, and the beneficiary is the business. But that’s obviously not your sister’s situation.”