The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(40)
Chapter 25
WELL, THE FLOWERS do need watering,” observed Jamison.
They were standing in the middle of Costa’s loft in downtown Baronville.
It was open and airy, with exposed brick walls, and decorated with a flair that might have come from the combination of a deep wallet and professional design assistance.
“It’s nice,” said Jamison as she looked around the space. “No expense spared, I’d say. There was a plaque downstairs that said this was one of the old textile mills. At least the Baron family left something to the townspeople.”
“Well, Costa won’t be enjoying it anymore,” noted Decker.
He glanced at a shelf built into one wall. On it were various framed photos.
He went over and studied them one by one.
“Look at this.”
Jamison joined him.
He was pointing to a photo of a Little League baseball team holding a banner.
“So what? We saw from his office that the bank sponsored baseball teams.”
“Right, but look at the coach.”
Jamison ran her eye over the tall, lean man smiling back in the picture.
“Good-looking guy. Who is he?”
“John Baron.”
“What? You’re kidding.”
He looked at the date engraved on the frame. “This was taken a year ago. So Baron coached a team sponsored by the bank but doesn’t know Costa, one of the bigwigs there?”
“Well, I guess that’s possible. I mean, you don’t have to meet the coach to sponsor a team. You just have to write a check.”
“But this is the only business-related photo here,” said Decker. “The rest are of mountains and rivers and the sights of the area. Costa might have been an amateur photographer. But why only this one photo here? The other Little League team pics are in his office.”
“I don’t know.”
He walked over to the window and pointed. “That must be John Baron’s place up there on the hill.”
Jamison joined him at the window. “Wow, even from here you can tell it’s huge.”
“And apparently falling apart.”
“Well, I can only imagine the upkeep. It must cost a fortune just to heat the place.”
“I don’t think Baron has a fortune, not anymore.”
“He might only live in a portion of it.”
“It wasn’t cheap to furnish this space,” said Decker, turning his attention back to the apartment.
“I guess Costa’s job paid relatively well. And I would imagine the cost of living here is pretty low. And he probably saved some bucks from his time in New York.”
“Granted, but why here?”
“What?”
“He worked on Wall Street. Why come to Baronville and work in a bank? Last time I looked, they had banks on Wall Street. This is like the exact opposite of what the guy was used to.”
“Some people want change,” replied Jamison.
“That much change? You come to a dying town? With what expectations?”
“That you’ll have an opportunity and things will turn around. Like his secretary said, he was happy, he was generating business. He had this place.”
“And he ends up dead from a gunshot, hanging from a chain in an auto repair facility with a brand on his forehead. Some opportunity.”
“Decker, he couldn’t have known that would happen,” pointed out Jamison.
Decker didn’t answer her. He just kept looking around.
Jamison said, “Green told us that Joyce Tanner was laid off from JC Penney. Nothing suspicious there. Five other people were laid off at the same time. And then the store ended up closing. No ties to Costa, at least that we can see. And none to Babbot. We haven’t checked into Michael Swanson yet. Maybe they were all buying drugs from him.”
“We didn’t find any drug paraphernalia at Babbot’s place. And none was found here or at Joyce Tanner’s apartment. And no one we talked to mentioned that they had seen signs of illicit drug use by Costa, Tanner, or Babbot.”
“But drugs might still be involved somehow. Babbot was on heavy painkillers. And the DEA is here, after all.”
Decker tapped his finger against the wall of glass overlooking the city.
“Maybe they have no connection to each other,” he said.
“Meaning their deaths were random?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Well, if they don’t have a connection to each other, then by default, doesn’t that mean their deaths were random?”
“Not if the four of them all had a connection to another person, but not to each other. The spider in the web, the hub of the wheel. That person might be the common denominator.”
Jamison sat down in a chair and mulled this over.
“But who could that person be?”
“Well, if I knew that I’d be able to solve the case,” said Decker. “Let’s go.”
Jamison jumped up. “Where?”
“Michael Swanson’s last digs.”
*
The last known address for Swanson, given to them by Detective Green, was a motel in an area of Baronville that was about as run-down as either Decker or Jamison had seen so far.