“I just want to impress upon you that a federal penitentiary is not the place you want to be.”
Baron thought about this for a few seconds while he stared up at a bird floating along on thermals. “Mike Swanson was…a loser on many levels. I can relate to that. I can understand that. Now, there are losers who are bad people. Really bad people.”
“But Swanson wasn’t one of them?”
“He was an idiot. But he was a nice idiot. He sold some pot. He sold some pills. He was basically harmless.”
“So you gave him a place to stay?”
“I found him in the shed one day sound asleep. He’d been kicked out of so many places, he apparently biked all the way up to my property just to see if there was a place he could land for a while. He ended up staying longer. I voiced no objections. It’s not like I lacked for extra space.”
“We found his stash in the shed. It wasn’t just pot and pills. It was harder stuff than that. And he had a gun and a big roll of cash.”
Baron spread his hands. “I didn’t condone it. But if I cast out everyone who sold drugs around here, well, I’d be as lonely as I apparently am, if that makes any sense.”
“Okay, you knew Swanson and Tanner, after you told me you didn’t. And Costa? The banker with the picture of your Little League team in his home?”
“Under penalty of perjury and going to that federal pen you mentioned, I did not know him. What I have, I have in cash and other negotiable instruments, which I keep hidden at my home.”
“Is that wise?”
“I don’t know. But it’s how I do things. The banks did not treat me or my family very well when we needed some help. I had no reason to entrust them with the little I had left.”
“So you can think of no reason why Costa would have that photo of you and your team in his home?”
“Other than he was proud we’d won the championship? No.”
“What about Toby Babbot?”
Baron shook his head. “Didn’t know him.”
“He was on disability. Had a metal plate in his head from an industrial accident. Lived in a ratty trailer, because he couldn’t afford anything else.”
“He’s not alone in that in Baronville.”
“His place got torched while Jamison and I were inside it.”
Baron’s eyes widened. “Someone tried to kill you?”
“That’s usually the case when you try to burn down a structure with people inside.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Maybe you could tell me.”
Baron thought about this. “When did Babbot suffer his industrial accident?”
“Several years ago.”
“Here in Baronville?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“What industry do we have here where someone could have that kind of an accident?”
Now Decker looked surprised. “That’s a fair point. And you’ve given me something to check out.”
“What’s that?”
“How broadly someone defines the term industrial.”
Chapter 39
SO, MY GUT was right.
Decker was in the Mitchells’ kitchen staring down at a report on Toby Babbot’s accident that had required the insertion of a metal plate in his head.
When the “industrial” accident had happened, he’d been working on the construction of the Maxus FC. He’d been driving a forklift that had collided with another piece of heavy equipment. Babbot hadn’t been wearing his safety harness and had been thrown clear of the forklift, resulting in the head injury.
A fractured skull.
He had health insurance through his job, so his medical bills had been covered. But apparently alcohol had been found in his bloodstream at the time of the accident. Thus any lawsuit he might have filed against the company was problematic. However, the company might have been hedging its bets, because they had allowed him to stay on for a few months in an office capacity before letting him go.
Decker heard the front door open. A few moments later Amber appeared in the doorway.
She looked so pale and shaky that Decker didn’t know how she was able to stay upright.
“Do you know where Zoe is?” she asked.
“Alex took her to run some errands for you.”
She nodded. “How are you doing?”
Decker looked embarrassed that she would be worrying about him at a time like this.
“I’m fine. Can I, um, get you anything?”
“No, I…I don’t need anything. Thank you for getting Frank’s car and personal items.”
“It was really nothing, Amber. We were glad to do it.”
Her lips trembled. “I got Frank a really nice coffin.”
Decker felt his skin turn cold. He wanted to get up and give the woman a supportive hug. But the thing in his head stopped him from doing that.
Tears beginning to slip down her cheeks, Amber said softly, “I’m going to go lie down.”
All Decker could do in response was nod.
He listened to her walk down the hall to her bedroom on the main floor.
The door closed behind her.
Next, he heard something hit the floor.
Shoes.
And then the squeak of bedsprings.
Amber flopping on the bed.
And then came the sobs that easily reached all the way to the kitchen.
Unable to endure the cries of the bereaved woman, Decker quickly rose and went out onto the rear porch, where all of this had begun.
He felt himself shaking all over. What Amber was experiencing was what he had experienced. And seeing someone who had lost a loved one to violence had brought all those memories flooding back.
You can’t go there, Decker. If you do, you’re no good to anybody.
He forced himself to focus on the house behind them.
The spark of electricity. The fire. The discovery of the bodies. All that had followed.
He sat in a deck chair and continued to stare at the place, even as his thoughts wandered to other facets of the investigation. And then he arrived at one particularly disturbing one.
If Babbot had been killed because of something at Maxus, then what about Frank Mitchell?
Was the accident not really an accident?
After all, if you could program a robot to do one thing, you could program it to do another thing.
But why kill Frank Mitchell? What would have been the motivation?
He pulled out his phone and called Todd Milligan, a team member of his at the FBI. He asked Milligan to check out anything he could find on the Maxus Corporation.
Milligan knew Decker well enough to not ask any questions. He simply said, “On it.”
Decker put the phone away and continued to stare at the house where the bodies of two DEA agents had been left. They had been killed elsewhere, that was now clear, but Decker had no idea why. Or why that house had been chosen as the location for their bodies.
He closed his eyes and let his memory flash back to the first time he’d met Frank Mitchell.
They had been sitting in the living room after Frank had gotten home from work. Frank had been naturally upset at two murders having taken place almost in his backyard. He’d been curious about the killings, but that was normal too. It would have been unusual if he hadn’t been curious.
Then Decker moved on to another image.
It was a photo. Of a Little League baseball team.
And maybe something more than that.
*
He met Jamison on his way out. She was holding Zoe’s hand as they came up the front walk. In her other hand was a bag of groceries.
“Where are you going?” she asked him.
“Just back out to check on a few things.”
“How’s it going?”
“It’s going.”
“Don’t do anything—” She stopped and glanced at Zoe. “You know.”
“I know.”
As he hurried away, Zoe called after him, “Mr. Amos, you’re going to come back, right?”
Decker stopped and slowly turned. “I’ll be back, Zoe. I promise.”
He drove over to Bradley Costa’s apartment and used the key Lassiter had given him to let himself in.
He walked right over to the photo on the shelf.
A smiling John Baron stared back at him.