“So people here hold grudges, I take it?”
“People here hold many things. Can I buy you a drink as a way of thanks?”
Decker sat down at the bar and Baron resumed his seat.
He put out a hand. “Formal introductions. I’m John Baron the Fourth.”
Decker shook his hand. “Amos Decker. I take it the town is named after your family?”
“You would be correct in that, yes. It used to be a good thing, actually. A point of pride. It no longer is, I’m afraid. Well, I suppose you saw that for yourself.”
The bartender said, “Whatever you want, it’s on the house, John. And here, take this.” She handed him a plastic baggie of ice, which he placed against the bruise on his face.
“Very kind of you, Cindi,” said Baron, smiling at her. He ordered a fresh scotch and soda. Decker asked for a beer.
“Here on business?” asked Baron.
“Vacation.”
Baron looked bemused. “You actually came here for…pleasure?”
“My partner has family here. She’s visiting. I tagged along. We’re staying with them.”
Baron took a sip of his drink. “And where is your partner now?”
“Back at the house. I wasn’t ready to go to sleep.”
“And are you enjoying our little paradise?”
“Can’t say that I am, actually. Maybe it has to do with a bunch of murders.”
Baron nodded thoughtfully. “I heard about that. Sounded pretty awful. But hard times lead to bad things.”
“That’s your explanation?”
“I don’t have an explanation. I’m just slowly becoming drunk and jabbering away.”
“Do you do that often?”
“I don’t have much else to do. I come here for about an hour once a week, and then I go home and never leave until I come back here, except to run a short errand or two. And I really have no obligations or responsibilities to get in the way of that little routine.”
“Lucky you.”
“Maybe not so lucky, actually. So, when you came in you called out, ‘FBI.’ Are you a special agent or was that just hyperbole?”
“I’m just a regular cop, but I work with the Bureau.”
“Where are you from?”
“Burlington, Ohio. Rust Belt town like this one.”
“Indeed. And have you been reading into the town’s history and my family’s culpability in its demise?”
“A little.”
“It’s partly true, you know. The town was created because my ancestor, after whom I’m named, discovered a particularly rich vein of coal. Much of it went to Pittsburgh for the blast furnaces in the steel mills. That was why he built coal and coke plants too. And after that he built textile mills. And then he discovered natural gas. He also ran many other businesses and actually owned much of Baronville. In fact, most of the town was in his employ back then. A regular Energizer Bunny of an entrepreneur, with far more luck and capitalistic drive than his family has experienced since.”
“I heard about all the businesses he built. But I hadn’t heard about the steel component.”
Baron nodded. “The coke used in making steel is derived from coal after it undergoes a distillation process. And back then coal was abundant and relatively cheap. Steel magnates flourished, and so did those who supplied their enterprises. In that regard John Baron Sr. was following a tried-and-true formula. He was a ruthless man, so I understand. He crushed unions, paid off corrupt politicians, polluted rivers and the air and the ground. He paid his workers as little as he possibly could and treated people in general as badly as he could. He made an immense fortune and his descendants sponged off that accomplishment.”
“But then it all came tumbling down?”
“It almost always comes tumbling down. America, in general, doesn’t like economic dynasties. Families like the Rockefellers are the exception rather than the rule. We each pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps. Or at least that’s how the theory is supposed to work. I guess there are enough people on the Forbes List who inherited their money to lay waste to that supposition.”
“But your family still had money?”
“Some. At least for a time.”
“Did you know any of the people murdered?”
Baron looked over at him with a curious expression. “That’s quite an abrupt segue. Why do you ask?”
“I’m a cop. I ask questions in the hope of solving crimes.”
“Who were the victims again?”
Decker told him. “The last two have not been identified yet.”
“I can’t say that I know any of them.”
However, Decker noticed the man’s hesitation.
“You sure about that?”
Baron held up his drink. “I’m hardly ever sure of anything. Especially in the Mercury Bar.”
Decker glanced at the bartender, who was listening intently to their conversation while pretending to wipe down the bar. She was quite beautiful, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a tall, lean figure outfitted in black jeans and a sleeveless blouse revealing wiry tanned arms.
Decker looked back at Baron. “You really come here once a week?”
“There’s hardly any other place to go.” He glanced at the bartender. “And I prefer the company here.”
The woman smiled at this, caught Decker staring at her, and quickly turned her attention to putting dirty glasses into a dishwasher behind the bar.
“Can I get your address?”
“Why?” asked Baron.
“I may want to talk to you again.”
“Why?”
“I already told you. I’m a cop trying to solve a crime.”
“Well, then look to the highest spot in town and you will see the biggest, ugliest home. FYI, the doorbell does not work and I don’t get up early.”
Baron drained his glass and inclined his head at the bartender and slid some cash across to pay for the drinks. “Thank you, Cindi. See you next time.” He patted Decker on the shoulder. “And thank you, Mr. Decker, for saving my ass.”
He walked unsteadily away.
“Hey, are you okay to drive?” Decker called after him.
Baron turned, gave a low bow, and held up a hand. “I am absolutely not okay to drive, but I will make a valiant attempt regardless, considering the odds are very good that whatever I might hit will have my family’s name engraved upon it, which will lessen my legal liability.”
Decker watched him go for a few moments and then turned back to the bartender.
Only she was gone too.
Chapter 13
FILES. AND MORE files.
Paper bones with very little meat.
Decker dropped the last of them on a pile in the middle of the desk, sat back, and breathed in the stale air that seemed to permeate Baronville’s police headquarters on Baron Boulevard. Right next door was Baronville City Hall.
Jamison sat across from him taking notes. Decker, with his perfect memory, never needed to do that. He idly watched her pen gliding over the paper. The door opened a moment later and Detective Green came in.
“Any luck?” he asked as he popped a stick of gum into his mouth.
Jamison finished the sentence she was writing and looked up.
Decker closed his eyes. “Joyce Tanner and Toby Babbot were unemployed. Michael Swanson was a drug dealer. Bradley Costa was an SVP at a bank. And they all lived alone. No family. Tanner had been married but subsequently got divorced.”
Green closed the door behind him. “Yeah, well, that we already knew.”
Decker opened his eyes. “What was Babbot’s disability?” He glanced at Green, who was taking a seat across from him.
“The file just said he was disabled,” pointed out Jamison. “It didn’t say how or why.”
“Is that relevant?” asked Green.
“Everything is relevant until you can show it’s not,” said Decker.
“I’ll check.” Green leaned back in his chair. “So, nothing really jumped out at you?” he asked.
Before either Decker or Jamison could answer, the door opened again and Lassiter came in. She was dressed in a beige jacket and knee-length skirt with chunky heels. Her hair was loose around her shoulders.
“So, have I missed anything at the powwow?” she asked, taking a seat next to Green.
“Not much,” said her partner. “Just a follow-up question that may or may not be ‘relevant.’”
Decker stared at the opposite wall. “I met John Baron last night.”