The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(21)

Decker looked at Baron. “What was that all about?”

“Didn’t you hear?”

“No, I apparently came in too late.”

“Well, the gist of it was that the town is going to hell and it’s my fault.”

“Okay,” said Decker slowly.

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, and it’s doubtful it will be the last.”

“So people here hold grudges, I take it?”

“People here hold many things. Can I buy you a drink as a way of thanks?”

Decker sat down at the bar and Baron resumed his seat.

He put out a hand. “Formal introductions. I’m John Baron the Fourth.”

Decker shook his hand. “Amos Decker. I take it the town is named after your family?”

“You would be correct in that, yes. It used to be a good thing, actually. A point of pride. It no longer is, I’m afraid. Well, I suppose you saw that for yourself.”

The bartender said, “Whatever you want, it’s on the house, John. And here, take this.” She handed him a plastic baggie of ice, which he placed against the bruise on his face.

“Very kind of you, Cindi,” said Baron, smiling at her. He ordered a fresh scotch and soda. Decker asked for a beer.

“Here on business?” asked Baron.

“Vacation.”

Baron looked bemused. “You actually came here for…pleasure?”

“My partner has family here. She’s visiting. I tagged along. We’re staying with them.”

Baron took a sip of his drink. “And where is your partner now?”

“Back at the house. I wasn’t ready to go to sleep.”

“And are you enjoying our little paradise?”

“Can’t say that I am, actually. Maybe it has to do with a bunch of murders.”

Baron nodded thoughtfully. “I heard about that. Sounded pretty awful. But hard times lead to bad things.”

“That’s your explanation?”

“I don’t have an explanation. I’m just slowly becoming drunk and jabbering away.”

“Do you do that often?”

“I don’t have much else to do. I come here for about an hour once a week, and then I go home and never leave until I come back here, except to run a short errand or two. And I really have no obligations or responsibilities to get in the way of that little routine.”

“Lucky you.”

“Maybe not so lucky, actually. So, when you came in you called out, ‘FBI.’ Are you a special agent or was that just hyperbole?”

“I’m just a regular cop, but I work with the Bureau.”

“Where are you from?”

“Burlington, Ohio. Rust Belt town like this one.”

“Indeed. And have you been reading into the town’s history and my family’s culpability in its demise?”

“A little.”

“It’s partly true, you know. The town was created because my ancestor, after whom I’m named, discovered a particularly rich vein of coal. Much of it went to Pittsburgh for the blast furnaces in the steel mills. That was why he built coal and coke plants too. And after that he built textile mills. And then he discovered natural gas. He also ran many other businesses and actually owned much of Baronville. In fact, most of the town was in his employ back then. A regular Energizer Bunny of an entrepreneur, with far more luck and capitalistic drive than his family has experienced since.”

“I heard about all the businesses he built. But I hadn’t heard about the steel component.”

Baron nodded. “The coke used in making steel is derived from coal after it undergoes a distillation process. And back then coal was abundant and relatively cheap. Steel magnates flourished, and so did those who supplied their enterprises. In that regard John Baron Sr. was following a tried-and-true formula. He was a ruthless man, so I understand. He crushed unions, paid off corrupt politicians, polluted rivers and the air and the ground. He paid his workers as little as he possibly could and treated people in general as badly as he could. He made an immense fortune and his descendants sponged off that accomplishment.”

“But then it all came tumbling down?”

“It almost always comes tumbling down. America, in general, doesn’t like economic dynasties. Families like the Rockefellers are the exception rather than the rule. We each pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps. Or at least that’s how the theory is supposed to work. I guess there are enough people on the Forbes List who inherited their money to lay waste to that supposition.”

“But your family still had money?”

“Some. At least for a time.”

“Did you know any of the people murdered?”

Baron looked over at him with a curious expression. “That’s quite an abrupt segue. Why do you ask?”

“I’m a cop. I ask questions in the hope of solving crimes.”

“Who were the victims again?”

Decker told him. “The last two have not been identified yet.”

“I can’t say that I know any of them.”

However, Decker noticed the man’s hesitation.

“You sure about that?”

Baron held up his drink. “I’m hardly ever sure of anything. Especially in the Mercury Bar.”