Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fallen

“So whoever did this wanted to make sure that we would not be able to show precisely when the guys really died.”

“And by doing that they take away a key tool of any homicide investigation.”

“Alibis or a lack thereof become pretty much meaningless,” said Decker thoughtfully.

“Exactly.”

“The bodies had to be transported here at some point, relatively close to the time that I discovered them. There was no deep freezer in that house, so the bodies were kept on ice somewhere else before being brought here.”

“You said you heard a car?”

“I did. I also heard a noise.”

“What kind of noise?”

“It was more like a series of sounds. Scraping and clunks.”

“Nothing else?”

“A plane flying over. Other than that, nothing. So how does someone carry two corpses into that house and no one sees a thing?”

“Well, I understand there aren’t many people left in this neighborhood.”

“But the killers couldn’t be sure a car wouldn’t drive down the street. Or someone wouldn’t look out their window. I mean, it only takes one pair of eyes.” He fell silent for a moment. “Now, do you want to tell me what your men were doing here? And why they were undercover? If they were hanging out with a bad crowd, I think we can narrow our list of suspects, especially in a place like this.”

She pursed her lips and stared at him. “This goes no farther.”

“No farther,” repeated Decker.

“Will Beatty and Doug Smith, they were the two dead men in that house. Beatty was in the basement. Smith was the one hanging.”

“And they worked undercover for the DEA?”

“Yes and no,” was her surprising reply.

“How exactly is that possible?” asked Decker.

“They did work undercover for us. And then they went rogue.”

“How do you know they went rogue? Maybe their cover just got blown.”

“We entertained that possibility until something happened to disabuse us of that notion.”

“What was that?”

“They were working with a guy named Randy Haas.”

“Was he DEA too?”

“No. He was a bad guy who we had on a short leash feeding us info. He was working with Beatty and Smith. If he screwed us, he was going to prison for life.”

“What happened with Haas?”

“He was given a fatal dose of morphine. But with his dying breath, he pointed the finger at Beatty and Smith as his killers.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. Just that it was them.”

“Why would they kill him?”

“Don’t know.”

“And you believe Haas’s statement?”

“Dying declaration. What reason would he have to lie? And on top of that we’d been unable to get hold of Beatty or Smith.”

“Whoever killed Beatty and Smith knew they were cops. They dressed one as a cop and poured pig’s blood around the other one.”

“But the fact is, they’d gone over to the dark side.”

“Well, some folks just aren’t very forgiving,” said Decker. “Especially those already on the dark side.”

After only three hours of sleep, Decker went downstairs to find Zoe finishing her breakfast in the kitchen before going to school.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and accepted a toasted bagel from Amber, who was rushing around the kitchen packing Zoe’s lunch and also handling the laundry in a small room adjacent to it. Frank, he was told, had already left for work.

Decker wearily sat down across from Zoe and drank his coffee and munched on his bagel while she spooned cereal into her mouth.

When he looked over at her, he found the little girl staring at him.

“You went out last night,” she said. “I saw you from my window.”

“I couldn’t sleep, like I told you. But why were you still up? I thought you went back to bed?”

Zoe shrugged and tapped her spoon against her bowl.

“Zoe, hurry up,” said her mother from the laundry room. “We have to leave in five minutes and you still need to brush your teeth and comb your hair. And do you have your book bag, young lady? And your flute?”

Zoe rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of cereal, her gaze still on Decker. “Have you found the bad people yet?” she asked.

“Not yet, no. Still working on it.”

“Your hair looks funny.”

“It usually does.”

“No, I mean it’s all stuck up in the middle.”

“I, uh, accidentally got some glue there.”

Zoe perked up at this. “I put glue in my hair one time. But it wasn’t an accident. Mom was really mad. She had to use scissors to cut it out. Want me to cut it out for you?” She lowered her voice. “Mom doesn’t really like me to use scissors when she’s not around, but we don’t have to tell her.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just let it grow out.”

Zoe returned to her cereal, clearly disappointed.

Amber burst into the kitchen. “Okay, are you ready?” she asked her daughter.

“I still have to brush my teeth and hair. And I couldn’t find my flute.”

“I know today’s your birthday, but get going, young lady.”

Zoe held up her half-empty bowl. “But, Mom,” she began.

“Oh, no, you’re not pulling that again. You can finish it in the car. Now, go! And don’t come downstairs without your flute. I saw it on your dresser last night.”

Zoe slowly rose, and weakly waved goodbye to Decker.

“Happy Birthday, Zoe,” said Decker.

After she left the room, Amber took a few deep breaths. “Kids.”

“Yeah,” said Decker.

“I’ve never had a son but they can’t be harder than girls.”

“I never had a son,” said Decker. “Just a daughter.”

Amber stiffened and slowly sat down across from Decker.

She said nervously, “Alex told me about... ”

“Yeah,” said Decker.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Decker.

When he said nothing else, Amber rose and said awkwardly, “I... um, I have to get Zoe to school.”

“Yeah,” said Decker, staring down at the table.

A few minutes later, Jamison joined him and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“I saw Agent Kemper last night, or early this morning, depending on how you look at it,” he said.

She sat down openmouthed across from him.

“Where?”

“At the house where we found the dead guys.”

“What were you doing over there?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Took a walk past the Murder House. Met Fred Ross, the neighbor who Green and Lassiter haven’t spoken with yet. He’s a hard-ass prick with a sawed-off shotgun under his blanket. Thought he was going to shoot me.”

“Jesus, Decker, can’t you just go to sleep like the rest of us?”

“He said he wasn’t home at the time. But he said something else.”

“What?”

“He said he’d come to realize that nothing is really illegal in Baronville.”

She frowned. “What did he mean by that?”

“I don’t know. After I left him I was walking back here when Kemper came out of the Murder House.”

“Did she cop an attitude?”

“No, she seemed to have mellowed out, actually. She told me something about the two dead men. They were DEA agents. Will Beatty and Doug Smith. Beatty was the one in the basement. Undercover, like I thought. Only she said they had gone rogue.”

“Gone rogue? What does that mean?”

“They allegedly killed a bad guy they were working with. Man named Randy Haas. And it looks like Beatty and Smith were killed earlier and put on ice to screw with the TOD calculation. Kemper brought in her own medical examiner because she didn’t trust the local one.”

“Well, neither did you. I guess this proves you right.”

“Beatty died from a massive drug overdose of a super powerful opiate, obviously forced into him. Smith was strangled, but not by the rope.”