The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(46)

“While Baron is ‘napping,’ I want to look around.”





Chapter 28



DECKER, WE CAN’T just barge into the man’s house while he’s here. We don’t have a warrant.”

She was hustling after Decker and caught up to him after he cleared the tree line and the mansion and other buildings came into view once more.

“I just want to look around the grounds and maybe in some of the outbuildings.”

“We still need a warrant to do that.”

“Do we?”

“You damn well know we do.”

Ignoring this, he kept walking until he reached the garage, which was not attached to the house but was separated by a lumpy brick courtyard. The garage had six bays, and all six were wide open, allowing them to see clearly inside.

“Just the one Suburban,” observed Decker. “Looks pretty old.”

The truck sat a bit crooked in the bay closest to the house.

“I don’t see anything that jumps out,” said Jamison.

Decker stepped into the garage and examined one of the walls.

“Look at this, Alex.”

She drew up next to him and looked at the hole in the wall.

“It’s a hole, so what?”

Decker pointed around. “There’re holes over there and over there. And I noticed some in the house when we were passing down the hall. And they were in his study too.”

Jamison’s face screwed up. “That’s weird. Do you think he has rats? And they opened the walls to check for that? Or mold?”

“That might be it. I would imagine a place like this is overrun with vermin and mold.”

“Great, and we’ve been breathing it all this time.”

“Well, he’s been breathing it all his life.” Decker glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll have better luck with that building over there.” He headed off to a structure set about a hundred yards away.

Jamison hurried after him, glancing back at the house to see if perhaps Baron was watching them.

Decker reached the building.

It had stone walls, a tin roof, and a thick wooden door, with a pair of windows bracketing the front portal.

“What do you think this is?” asked Jamison.

“One way to find out.”

Decker opened the door and stepped inside.

Jamison scooted in after him, looking uncomfortable at this illegal intrusion.

Inside were shelves with clay pots, an old copper sink, stacks of wooden boxes with faded writing on the sides, and hooks on the wall from which a variety of gardening tools and instruments hung. On the countertops were old seed packets and long, shallow wooden boxes with metal mesh over them. Next to that were some old leather-bound journals.

Jamison opened one and looked down at the spidery writing that included plant references, weather, soil conditions, and lists of supplies and materials.

“It’s a potting shed,” she concluded. “I haven’t seen one of them since, well, I never have except on HGTV. Some of the entries in this journal are dated eighty years ago.”

“They probably had a full-time outdoor staff way back when. Maybe a flower and kitchen garden.”

Decker tried the tap and water came out.

“Really smells in here,” said Jamison. “And look, there are holes in the wall here too. I bet there are whole colonies of critters living inside there.”

Decker opened some drawers. “And you have rotting soil and mulch and maybe decaying plants, plus mold and mildew collected over the decades. Not a nice mixture, but—”

He stopped talking when he opened what looked to be a closet door and peered inside.

“Check this out.”

Inside the space was a pillow, a thin rolled-up mattress, a blanket, and a small duffel.

Jamison peered over his shoulder. “Do you think someone was staying here?”

“Maybe.” Decker pulled out the duffel, set it on the counter, and opened it. Inside were a couple of threadbare shirts, a dirty pair of men’s dungarees, sneakers, and a rolled-up canvas fanny pack.

When Decker unrolled it, Jamison said, “Damn.”

They looked down at a trio of syringes, three needles with corks on the tips, a few vials of liquid, a spoon, a crack pipe, a length of elasticized rubber, some plastic baggies containing white powder, a Bic lighter, four joints, and a clasp knife.

“Basically, your classic druggie’s survival pack,” said Decker.

“You think this belongs to Baron?”

Decker held up the pants to his legs.

“Baron is about two inches shorter than me. These pants are for a guy under six feet, so no, I don’t think so.”

“Some squatter, then?”

“That’s more likely.”

“Do you think Baron knows about it?”

Decker stared out the window at the main house. “I don’t know. There’s a direct sightline from here to there. Unless whoever it was came and went at night.”

“Well, they probably would if they were here illegally.”

“But why pick this place when we’ve been told that there are lots of empty homes in Baronville where people squat? Why come all the way up here to a crappy old potting shed? It’s not like you could come and go so easily. And if the guy is squatting, it’s not like he can drive a car right up here and not expect to be seen. He can get water from the tap, but I don’t see any food around. How does he eat? And there’s no bathroom here.”