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 the 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