If the two DEA agents had spent time here, there was no sign of it. No discarded takeout meals. No place to sit. No clothes in the closet. At first Decker had thought the two had set up a surveillance nest here, but there was absolutely no sign of that. They could have taken their equipment with them. But why have such a nest here? What was there to see?
And if they were using this house, how had they ended up dead in the place next door?
He was about to go back up the stairs when he froze and backed away to a far corner of the basement.
A door had just opened on the main level. Whether it was the front or back he couldn’t be sure.
Next, he heard creaks on the floorboards just above him.
It had been the back door. The person was now heading to the front of the house.
Decker gripped his pistol.
His dilemma now was obvious. It could very well be that the person above was the agent from next door. He might have seen Decker moving around inside, or maybe had glimpsed his cell phone flashlight and gone to investigate.
Decker did not want to draw down on a fellow Fed.
But if it wasn’t the guy from next door?
The footsteps headed up the stairs. Decker waited until they returned to the main level a minute later.
He didn’t hear any sirens. He couldn’t see outside. Had the guy called in backup?
Then he heard what he knew he eventually would.
The basement door opened.
Keeping to the back corner of the basement, Decker called out, “Amos Decker, with the FBI. Identify yourself.”
“DEA Agent Stringer from next door,” said the voice immediately.
Decker didn’t move. “I’d like to believe you, but I need to see some ID.”
“Thinking the same thing. How do you want to do this before I call in reinforcements?”
“Don’t you recognize my voice?” said Decker. “I was pretty vocal with Agent Kemper when we were at the morgue.”
“I just got to town this morning with a new shift of agents.”
“Okay, toss your creds down the stairs and I’ll toss mine up.”
“Look, I’m supposed to be here and you’re not, and I don’t know who the hell you are, so toss your creds up, right now.”
Decker took his time pulling out his creds. He slipped his gun inside his waistband and with his free hand dialed a number on his phone.
“Give me a sec to get them out,” he called up the stairs.
Kemper answered after two rings.
“I’ve got a situation,” whispered Decker. “Is an agent named Stringer assigned to the house tonight?”
“No. Jenkins has the night shift. Eight to eight. Never heard of an Agent Stringer.”
“Okay, get some guys over here now. I’m in the house to the left of the crime scene when facing it from the street. I’m in the basement, with a guy pretending to be one of yours.”
Before she could say anything else he clicked off and looked down at his phone.
“You got two seconds to toss them up or this is going to get ugly,” said the man calling himself Stringer.
“Coming right now.”
Decker crept forward and approached the staircase from the side.
He put his thumb on the screen of his phone and readied himself, flicking the flashlight on at the same time as he tossed the phone in front of the stairs, with the light shining up them.
Four shots were fired instantly.
Four suppressed shots. The bullets hit the floor and ricocheted off.
Though he hadn’t been hit, Decker let out a yell as though he had so the other guy would let down his guard.
A moment later, he fired half his mag up the stairs in an arc wide enough to cover the entire width of the doorway.
He heard an impact, and then another, and then a grunt.
He stepped out of the way as something came rolling down the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom.
Decker retrieved his phone and shone the light on the bundle.
It was a man.
A dead man now, thanks to Decker.
As he stared down at the corpse, Decker felt himself audibly gasp.
Normally, when he was confronted by death, Decker’s synesthesia would kick in. The hairs on his neck would rise, as though an electrical current was running through him, he would feel dizzy and nauseous, and, most significantly, he would see the most vivid shade of electric blue. It would assail him from all angles, suffocating him.
Yet he wasn’t experiencing any of those things. He just saw a body.
It was as though his synesthesia had simply vanished.
And then he heard the sirens.
And then heavy feet clattering on the front porch.
Agent Jenkins from next door, he was certain.
The cavalry was here.
Decker slumped down on the bottom step and waited.
Chapter 33
OKAY, YOU NEED to stop going out at night, and I damn well mean it!”
These words came from Jamison, who was standing in front of Decker in a long T-shirt and sweatpants. She was barefoot, and her matted hair evidenced that until very recently she had been asleep.
They were in the living room of the Mitchells’ home. Amber and Zoe were still asleep upstairs.
Decker had called Jamison from the basement of the house where he’d shot and killed a man.
He had explained matters to the first responders and then to Kemper, and finally to Green and Lassiter when they had shown up, including how he had gotten there in the first place.
The real surprise had come when Kemper had seen the dead man lying on the floor with two of Decker’s bullets in his chest.
“That’s Brian Collins,” she had said.
“And who is he?” Decker had replied.
“He’s a drug dealer.”
“Do you think he knew Michael Swanson or maybe worked with him?”
“Doubtful. Collins was a heavy hitter. He’s wanted in several states for distribution and murder.”
Green had asked, “But what was he doing here? And why try to kill you?”
“He must have seen me go into the house,” said Decker. “He might have been watching the place.”
“Okay, but why take a chance on going after you when a DEA agent is right next door?” asked Green.
“I take that as a good sign,” said Decker. “That means they’re afraid we’re getting closer. Like when they tried to toast me and Jamison inside Toby Babbot’s trailer.”
“So, are you getting closer?” Green had asked.
Decker had looked down at the body. “Maybe too close.”
Now Decker looked up at the very pissed-off Jamison. “I didn’t know anything like this was going to happen, Alex. I just couldn’t sleep and decided to check some things out. I talked to Martin and that led me to the house.”
Jamison slumped down next to him. “Decker, I know you may not get this, but my sister and my niece just received horrible news. Frank is dead. This is going to affect them for the rest of their lives.”
“I know all that, Alex.”
“I know you know the facts. But sometimes you miss the stuff beyond the facts.”
“What exactly is your point?”
“One tragedy is enough right now. Please don’t add yourself to that tally. I don’t think any of us could take that. I know I couldn’t. Now, unless you’re going to do something else incredibly dangerous and stupid, I’m going to bed before my head explodes. I suggest you do the same.”
She trudged off upstairs and Decker slowly followed.
He washed up and undressed.
He glanced down at the hand that had pulled the trigger that had ended Brian Collins’s life. He didn’t feel bad about that. Collins had tried to murder him, so he got what he deserved.
Which still did not explain why a man he didn’t know had tried to kill him tonight.
A heavy-hitter drug dealer. Wanted in several states.
The DEA.
Rogue agents.
Six murders, four of which seemed to involve unrelated parties.
Was it all about drugs? Lots of people had died due to drugs. And by all accounts, Baronville was in the grips of the same opioid crisis that was terrorizing other areas of the country.
And he and Jamison had apparently run smack into it.