The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(42)

“Oh, I heard they were excellent. But they hated their employer and so they did crappy work. At least that’s the family gossip.”

He pointed through an open doorway. “The gun room.”

He led them inside a space about twenty feet square. On three walls were rows and rows of gun racks, but they only contained a few long guns: one antique over-and-under shotgun, three hunting rifles, and an elegant-looking flintlock. In glass cabinets in the center of the room were a few sets of pistols, blunderbusses, old bullets, and assorted hunting accessories.

“Baron the First fancied himself lord of the fiefdom, and he liked to look the part.”

“Did he hunt?” asked Decker.

“Only for money. And he didn’t use a gun. Just a knife to stab people in the back.”

Jamison raised her eyebrows at this remark. “There were obviously a lot more guns in here at one time,” she observed.

“There was a lot more of everything here at one time. As for the guns, I sell them off occasionally to help pay the expenses on this place. But as you can clearly see, I’m running out of assets. Now, on to my little inner sanctum.”

Baron ushered them down the hall and into what looked to be a large study straight out of an early-twentieth-century period piece. There was an enormous partner’s desk set near the rear wall. Resting on it was an old computer, which still looked out of place with all the other antiquated trappings. Bookcases, low tables stacked with books and papers, an ancient freestanding metal globe, and a leather couch that sagged nearly to the floor were set around the room. Against one wall was a heavily carved credenza upon which sat a line of half-empty bottles of alcohol with cut crystal glasses set in front of them. There were two other upholstered chairs in the room across from the desk, which Baron waved them into as he settled himself down behind his desk and moved some stacks of papers and books out of the way.

Decker’s chair creaked ominously with his weight, but it held. Behind Baron were dark green drapes that were heavily stained.

Decker eyed the boxy computer. “So, what is it that you do for a living?”

“How do you know I don’t live off an immense fortune left to me?” asked Baron, but his grin showed that the question was not serious. He pointed to the computer. “I actually do research for a number of professors at Penn State and U Penn. It doesn’t pay all that well, but I can do it from here and it provides some income.”

“What sort of research?” asked Jamison.

“Mostly history. I like looking into the past. Allows me to forget my present circumstances and leaves me no time to dwell on my possible future prospects, or, more accurately, the lack thereof.”

“Have you researched your own family history?” asked Decker.

“Just what’s been passed down from generation to generation. It’s nothing you haven’t seen with other friendly neighborhood robber barons.”

“Speaking of Barons,” said Jamison. “I was wondering if that was really the family name, or if it was chosen by John Baron the First.”

“As far as I know it’s our real name, though I would put nothing past my ancestor in pretty much any department.”

He put his hands behind his head, sat back, placed his long feet on the desk, and said, “Okay, I’m ready for your routine questioning.”

Jamison took out her recorder.

When Decker didn’t do likewise, Baron said, “Does your partner docket everything for you?”

“No, I have a pretty good memory.”

“I’m sure that comes in incredibly handy.”

“Yeah, it can.”

“So, the routine questions?”

“I asked you before if you knew any of the victims.”

“I vaguely remember that.”

“And do you vaguely remember telling me you didn’t?”

“Possibly.”

“Either you do or you don’t, Mr. Baron,” interjected Jamison.

He looked at her and smiled disarmingly. “My dear Alex, normally I would answer such a question without hesitation, but at the time it was asked by your colleague here, I had imbibed quite a bit of alcohol. In other words, I was drunk. I should have walked home. As it was, I nearly drove my truck into the river. But may I say your query was exceptionally well phrased and spot-on with its content?”

Jamison looked taken aback. “Oh, okay.”

Baron turned back to Decker. “Now that I’m reasonably sober, shall we try again?”

Decker once more told him the names, leaving out the now identified DEA agents.

“Well, I’ve lived in Baronville really my whole life, other than a truncated stint in college. I suppose if these people lived here their whole lives I could have met them, or run into them, or known them in some way without actually remembering precise details.”

“Joyce Tanner lived here for over forty years. She was about your age. Swanson lived here his whole life but he was in his thirties. Costa and Babbot were more recent arrivals.”

“I can’t say that any of them ring a bell.”

“We found a photo of you and a Little League team. The kids were holding a championship banner. It was dated from last year.”

Baron smiled. “That’s because we won the state championship last year.”