The Fallen (Amos Decker #4)(6)

“What is it that you two do at the FBI?” asked Curry.

“We track down people who hurt other people,” said Decker. “Just like what happened in that house.”

Curry seemed to sense where Decker was going with this. “This isn’t a federal case.”

“It’s funny how things can appear to be one thing and then turn into something else,” replied Decker. “So maybe we can help.”

“Decker,” said Jamison in an offended tone. “We’re on vacation. We’re here to get away from all that stuff.”

“Maybe you are,” said Decker. “But I had no reason to get away from ‘all that stuff.’”

“Not my call,” said Curry. “You can take it up with homicide.”

“Fair enough,” said Decker.

Curry closed his notebook. “But since you’re here now, you got any thoughts on the matter?”

Decker glanced back at the house. “Hanging someone is personal. It’s a control thing. It’s a terrible way to die because that guy simply strangled to death, or maybe his vertebrae finally popped. Either way, it takes a while.”

“And the blood?” asked Curry.

“Where did it come from? If he bled out somewhere else and the blood was collected and brought here and spread out on the floor, what was the point?”

“And the guy in the basement?” asked Curry.

“Is he a cop or not? If not, why was he in uniform? And again, how did he die? I didn’t see an obvious wound, but there was some foam on the mouth, so it might be poison. And another thing. Who owns this house? Was it the two men? Or somebody else?”

Curry had reopened his notebook and was jotting things down. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. I think your ME might have a tricky time determining the time of death.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because what I saw tonight was pretty much forensically impossible.”





Chapter 4



AMBER HAD SENT a reluctant Zoe off to bed and was now sitting with her sister and Decker in the living room of her home.

“Two men dead?” said Amber in a trembling voice. “Murdered? I can’t believe it. In the house right behind us? My God!”

“The police will want to talk to you at some point,” said her sister.

“Why?” asked Amber frantically. “We know nothing about it.”

“Standard procedure,” noted Decker in a calming voice. “Because of your proximity to the crime scene. Nothing to get anxious about. It’s all routine.”

“Have you called Frank yet?” asked Jamison, rubbing her sister’s shoulder.

Frank Mitchell was Amber’s husband.

“I tried to, but he’s not answering his phone. When I called the office, they said he was in a meeting. With this new job, he’s having to work ungodly hours.”

“What does he do?” asked Decker.

“He’s the assistant manager at a fulfillment center. They fill online orders for lots of different companies. That’s why we moved here, because Frank got the job. He worked for the same company in Kentucky, but this is a step up for him. They employ a lot of people.”

“Warehouses are the big job creators now,” said Jamison knowingly. “I’ve been reading articles on it. It pays okay, above minimum wage, with benefits, but it’s really physically hard work.”

“Tell me about it,” said Amber. “Frank worked as a picker at the one when we lived in Kentucky. It was nonstop movement. They scored him on how many packages he was able to process. Thank God Frank moved up into management. He’s in his thirties, and in good shape, but the pace just wore him down, and he always had aches and pains.”

Amber looked toward the back window, at the house where two people had been found dead. “I thought this was going to be a fresh start for us. But now here we are, next to a murder investigation.”

Jamison said, “It could be something totally unconnected to the neighborhood. The two men in there might be from somewhere else.”

Amber did not look convinced. “What am I supposed to tell Zoe? She’s very sensitive and very observant. She’s going to have a ton of questions.”

“I can talk to her, if you like. Or Decker can.”

Decker looked startled. “I think it’s better if you speak to her, Alex,” he said.

“But you were talking to her out on the deck.”

“That’s why I think it’s better if you talk to her.”

Jamison looked at her sister. “Amber, it’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” asked Decker.

“These aren’t the only murders in Baronville recently. I saw it on TV.”

“What other murders?” asked Decker quickly.

Amber was about to reply when someone knocked on the front door.

When she opened it, a man and a woman, both grim-faced, were standing on the front stoop.

The man was in his fifties, with a full head of gray hair. He was about five-eleven, his sloping chest running to a small potbelly that hung over his belt. The woman was petite and in her thirties, about five-three, with a wiry build, shoulder-length blonde hair, and pretty features. The man wore a rumpled suit. The collar of his white shirt had a small black stain and his tie was crooked. His teeth were uneven and darkened by nicotine. The woman had on a sleek black pantsuit with a pristine white blouse and two-inch chunky heels to bump up her height. And her teeth were a brilliant white.