He rubbed his head again, trying to smooth down the still sticking-up hair.
“You’re worried about something, I can tell,” she said. “It’s not the case, is it?”
He shook his head.
“What is it, then?”
“At the institute in Chicago where I went after my brain injury, they told me a lot of things, but one of them stuck with me.”
“What was that?”
“They said that a damaged brain can keep changing. The initial reaction was the perfect recall and the synesthesia. But they said changes could happen again, years down the road.”
“But it’s been over two decades and nothing has changed, right?”
“Until I got walloped in the head here.”
“But you said the memory blip hasn’t happened again. And how about the synesthesia?”
He looked at her. “When I shot Brian Collins I didn’t see electric blue like I normally do.”
“What color did you see?”
“I didn’t see any color. And I didn’t feel sick or claustrophobic. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. But it does mean that something has changed in my head. And that’s, well, it’s a little unnerving.”
“I could see that. So maybe the injury to your head did do something. But your synesthesia might come back.”
“Part of me doesn’t want it to come back. But—”
“But you’re afraid that other things will change about you?”
He looked directly at her now. “I already became somebody else, Alex. I don’t want to go through that again. Because I don’t know who I might become next.” He added with an embarrassed smile, “And let’s face it, that person might not be as likable as me.”
Chapter 47
ASHES TO ASHES and dust to dust.
When Decker had buried his wife and child, he had stood at their gravesites as though experiencing a cruel hallucination. He knew what was happening in front of him, but could not believe it actually equated with any sense of reality.
Frank Mitchell’s funeral, he understood from this experience, was probably no different for Mitchell’s wife and young daughter. They would go through the motions today and go to bed tonight. And then wake up tomorrow and momentarily wonder where their husband and father was.
The weather had turned rainy and cold, with the gloom of clouds adding weight to an already oppressive atmosphere.
Frank’s parents, flanked by their grown children, sat looking feeble and dazed.
Directly in front of the coffin, Amber held Zoe in her lap, the girl’s head tight against her mother’s chest. Her sisters were on either side of her. They were all seated on metal folding chairs set up in front of the coffin. Some people from the fulfillment center, including Ted Ross, were in attendance. There were a few other young women. Decker assumed they might be mothers of kids who went to Zoe’s school. Other than them, there was no one. The Mitchells hadn’t been here long enough to make many friends.
Decker had had no suit to wear to the funeral, and getting something quickly for a man of his size was out of the question. Thus his khaki pants, sweater, and overcoat had to suffice.
He stood in the very back, almost clear of the tent that had been put up against the inclement weather. Lumpy green turf carpet was under his feet. Rain blew in on him from the rear of the tent, but it didn’t bother him, and he didn’t try to move in closer. He wasn’t part of the family, and he wanted to give the bereaved their space.
His gaze had met Ross’s and the men had flicked a hello at each other. He thought it was good of Ross to be here. While he stood there, the man sidled over to him.
“I hope no one minds that I’m here,” Ross said quietly.
“You came to pay your respects. Nothing wrong with that.”
Ross dug into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to Decker.
“What’s this?”
“For what it’s worth, he’s one of the best lawyers in Pennsylvania. He’ll take Maxus for every penny he can.” He pointed over to Amber and Zoe. “They deserve it. And then they should just leave this place and find a nicer one to live in.”
Decker said, “Thanks. But why are you being so nice? You work for the company that will have to pay out big-time.”
“You told me you met my father?”
“I did.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with that.”
“He was terrible to my mother, and to me too, truth be known. I never forgot that. Always being on the receiving end of that crap. Always being the underdog. It leaves its mark on you.”
“I can understand that.”
Ross said quietly, “So when the little guy can punch back, you gotta take your shot.” He pointed to the card. “Have her call him.”
“I will.”
Ross walked away.
A few minutes later the preacher eulogized a man he didn’t know; some hymns were sung and then a final prayer was given. After that the man of the cloth went over and said some private words to the widow and patted Zoe on the head. The little girl recoiled from the stranger’s touch, while Jamison put a supportive hand on her niece’s shoulder.
And that was that.
A life of roughly three and a half decades ground down to about thirty minutes, that was what constituted Frank Mitchell’s exit from this earth.
That’s about what most of us will get, thought Decker. And then we just live on in memories and fading pictures set on tables and hung on walls.
If that doesn’t depress you, nothing will, he concluded.
The funeral party began to disperse as the burly men who had dug the grave came forward to lower the coffin and finish the job of placing the deceased in the ground and shoveling dirt on top.
And Baronville would be Frank Mitchell’s final home for eternity.
That thought nearly made Decker sick to his stomach.
He walked back to the rental alone while Jamison joined her two other sisters, who had formed a protective ring around Amber and Zoe.
“Hey, Decker?”
He looked over to see Kate Kemper standing next to a black SUV parked at the rear of the line of cars that had been part of the funeral procession.
She walked over to him.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.
“I didn’t know them, but a young guy dies and leaves behind a young widow and a kid? I just thought I’d come to pay my respects. At least from a distance. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Nice of you.”
“I lost my father last year. My mom passed away when I was in college. I’m an only child. So I’m next at the turnstile.”
“I think you have a ways to go,” noted Decker.
“Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one, especially in our line of work.”
“No arguments there.”
“Last time I saw you, you were heading out with the bartender from the Mercury Bar.”
“I remember,” he said.
“So, anything to report?”
Decker leaned against his truck. “How about you enlighten me on one point first.”
“What would that be?”
“You never told me what your agents, Beatty and Smith, were doing in the area.”
“Yes I did. They had gone rogue.”
“According to Randy Haas’s dying declaration?”
“Yes. I told you that too.”
“But before they went rogue, where were they assigned?”
Kemper said, “Why?”
“I’m investigating the case. I need information to do that.”
“Okay, there was some work to do in this area. Not in Baronville specifically, but in the general vicinity of northwestern Pennsylvania.”
“What sort of work? Feel free to be as specific as possible.”
Kemper looked around. “In my truck.”
They walked across the road and climbed into her SUV.
Once they were inside, Kemper said, “This part of Pennsylvania, Interstate 80 and some of the state routes are known drug distribution routes. We have a number of heroin and fentanyl drug rings that use it. A lot of it comes from New York and is brought to Middle America through those avenues. There’s another pipeline that carries the drugs down from Detroit and over from Columbus.”
“So, Beatty and Smith were working on that?”
“Yes. They were trying to identify both suppliers and shippers.”
“Had they made any progress?”