The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(11)

She sighed and sat back, fiddling with the turn signal on the steering column. “Why does this matter to you so much? I get that it’s murder. And it’s horrible. But you can’t investigate every murder you run across.”

“Why can’t I?” he said brusquely.

She sputtered, “Because you just can’t.”

He shook his head. “We can agree to disagree.”

A few moments of silence passed before she said, “You found who killed Cassie and Molly, Amos. They got what they deserved. But you can’t solve every murder you come across. It’s impossible. You’ll just be setting yourself up to fail.”

Decker said nothing in reply. He just stared out the window at the house where he had found the two dead men.

Finally, Jamison said, “Can we go back to my sister’s house now? Or I’m just going to curl up in the back and go to sleep.”

“We can go now.”

She quickly drove off.

They were staying with the Mitchells in two guest bedrooms upstairs. Amber told them it had once been one large bedroom but they’d converted it into two. Although Zoe was nearly six years old, Amber and Frank wanted more children.

Jamison spoke briefly to her sister, who was still up waiting for them, and then said good night. She and Decker walked up the stairs and Jamison went to her room and Decker to his.

Later, he sat at the window and looked out onto the street. It looked a lot like his hometown in Ohio. Half alive and half dead. Maybe more dead than alive, actually.

He undressed and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

In a way, perhaps in a significant way, Jamison had hit it right on the head.

I’m trying to catch Cassie and Molly’s killer over and over again.

And it will never end, because killers will always be out there.

So this is my world and welcome to it.





Chapter 7



DECKER HAD JUST finished putting on his shoes the next morning when his phone rang.

It was Detective Green.

“What’s up?” asked Decker.

“The blood on the floor of the house?”

“Yeah?”

“You were right. It’s not human.”

“We’ll meet you in half an hour.”

*



Thirty-five minutes later Decker stared down at two metal tables on which lay the dead men from the house. Both had been autopsied. The Y-incision staples looked like the tracks of giant zippers across their chests.

A tired-looking Jamison was on his right, a crisp-eyed Detective Green on his left. The medical examiner was on the other side of the table. Detective Lassiter had not yet made an appearance.

“You’re sure it’s not human blood?” asked Decker.

The ME, a short, balding man with a paunch and a trim gray beard, nodded.

“Ran it last night, or early this morning more precisely, while I was doing these posts.” He yawned. “Simple test. The specific reagent for human blood wasn’t there. But it is blood. Probably some animal rather than synthetic. I’ll do some more tests and see exactly what we’re looking at.”

Green said, “So somebody poured out a bunch of, I guess, animal blood under the guy hanging in the living room.”

“And did he die by hanging?” asked Decker.

The ME nodded. “All signs point to that. Ligature mark on the neck, burst capillaries in the eyes.”

“Petechial hemorrhaging in the sclera,” said Decker absently.

This comment drew a sharp glance from Green.

With the ME’s help Decker moved one of the bodies onto its side. He stared at the man’s back. “This was the guy hanging?”

“That’s right,” said Green.

Decker laid the body back down and looked at the man’s feet, ears, hands, and groin.

He frowned.

“What is it, Decker?” said Jamison.

Ignoring her question, Decker said, “His hands weren’t bound. But no sign of defensive wounds. A guy getting hung is going to fight back. And he was a good-sized man and looked pretty fit.”

The ME pointed to a spot on the back of the dead man’s head. “Contusion here. Blunt force trauma. I think he was knocked out and then strung up. No need for restraints then.”

“And this one?” asked Decker, as he looked over the second body, also turning it onto its side. “There was foam on his lips. Ordinarily, that could mean death by drowning. Or some type of poison.”

“We’re running toxicology tests on him,” said the ME. “But there was no water in his lungs, so drowning is out for the cause of death. Could be a drug overdose. God knows we have enough of those around here. The cooler here holds twenty bodies. That used to be plenty. Never got filled up. Then the opioid crisis hit full force and the city had to buy a refrigerated trailer for excess capacity. We keep it out in the parking lot. And now it’s always full too. I can’t autopsy them all. Not enough time. If they come in with a needle sticking out of their arm, that’s good enough for me on the cause of death.”

Decker eyed the man incredulously for a moment, though the ME didn’t seem to notice. Then Decker laid the body back down and said, “Doesn’t account for the other guy hanging from the ceiling. Or the blood.”