Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fallen

“You sure that’s wise?”

“Are you?” she shot back.

They climbed into a midnight black Toyota Land Cruiser.

“Nice ride,” he said. “And not cheap.”

“I get good tips and good deals on cars.”

She drove them to a large brick building on the edge of downtown. As they traveled, Decker could see a number of renovation projects under way.

“Baronville making a comeback?” he asked.

“In parts,” she said cryptically.

They arrived at an underground parking garage and she pulled into a numbered space. They took an elevator up to the top floor. Cindi opened the door to her place and motioned Decker in.

She said, “This was an old textile mill. Renovated to luxury condos.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve been here.”

“When?”

He gave her a quick glance. “When I came to check out Bradley Costa’s apartment. He lived here too.”

“That’s right, he did,” she said casually.

He looked at the sleek furniture, expensive-looking rugs, and stainless steel kitchen appliances set against exposed brick walls. In a far corner was a well-appointed exercise area with dumbbells, a chin-up bar, a rack of slam and medicine balls, an elliptical, a Peloton bike, and other machines that seemed designed to strengthen as well as torture.

“No wonder you’re in such good shape,” he said.

“It doesn’t just happen,” she said. “Gotta work for it.”

As Decker looked around at the expensive trappings he said, “Your tips must be really good.”

“It’s not just tips. I actually own the Mercury.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Inherited from your old man?”

“That’s right.”

He watched as she took off the jean jacket she had put on and hung it on a metal coat rack parked next to the front door.

“What are you, twenty-two?”

“I’m flattered. I’m actually almost thirty.”

“About the same age as my partner. Still pretty young to own your own bar.”

“Well, like you pointed out, I inherited.”

“But you’ve obviously been successful on your own. I take it you’re a good businesswoman.”

“My dad was a good teacher.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

“Yeah, that I get. I mean how?”

“Heart attack.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“You want a drink?’

“I think I hit my limit. You got a soda?”

She slid open a refrigerated drawer and tossed him a bottle of water. “It’s better for you.”

She poured out three fingers of Bombay Sapphire, cut it with tonic, and added a slice of lemon, a wedge of lime, and three chunky ice cubes taken from an under-the-counter icemaker.

She tapped her glass against his plastic bottle.

“And is that better for you?” he asked, indicating her cocktail.

“I don’t drink on the job, bar owner 101. But I do like one drink before I go to bed. And I’m a blue bottle gin lady.”

She took off her shoes and curled up on the couch in front of the kitchen area, motioning Decker to sit down in the chair across from her.

He did so and drank some of his water while he eyed her.

“I take it you were born here?”

“You take it wrong. I was born in Philly.”

“And yet your father came here and owned a bar? And by the time you came along the bloom was well off Baronville. So why exchange the City of Brotherly Love for this place?”

She shrugged. “I was only one year old and just came along for the ride, apparently.” She added, “Okay, full disclosure, my mom was from here. They met in college. He always wanted to run a bar. The opportunity came up here, and presto, there you go. Sometimes that’s all you need for a major life change: a dream.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Good question.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Here today, gone tomorrow. She left when I was little and I haven’t seen her since.”

“That’s tough.”

“Not that tough. My dad was great at being a single parent.”

“Do you remember your mom?”

“Not really. I was too young. I guess that’s a good thing. How can you miss someone you never really knew?”

“I suppose so.”

She sipped her drink. “So, what’s going on with John? Is he in any sort of trouble?”

“You seem very concerned about a guy who’s just a customer among many others.”

“He’s a very good customer. And a good guy who takes all sorts of crap that he doesn’t deserve.”

“I sort of got that impression at the bar that night.”

“Those guys were morons who don’t know any better. But there are many here who do know better. Or at least they should.”

“I’ve met some of them.” Decker shifted his bulk in the chair. “You know about the murders?”

“What’s that got to do with John?”

“He knew at least two of the four victims. One of them lived on his property.”

“Okay, so? Could be a coincidence.”

“I’m a cop.”

“And that means what?”

“That I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Well, what if I told you that I knew all four of the victims?”

“Because they came to your bar?”

“That’s right.”

“Even Toby Babbot, who I understood was off the sauce?”

“I do serve food at the Mercury, as you well know, having eaten there tonight.”

“And since you’re one of the few places like that in Baronville, it’s not surprising that they all went there. But you didn’t live with one of them, did you? You weren’t high school sweethearts with one of them, were you?”

“I always thought Mike Swanson was kind of cute. And Brad did live in this building.”

“Did you ever talk to him apart from when he was at the bar?”

“I actually think he had a thing for me.”

“Did he ever act on that?”

“I sort of gave him the vibe that it would be futile if he did. I mean, he was okay, but I’m not into the stiff banker types. Too corporate for my bohemian tastes. I gave out subtle hints and he stopped trying.”

“He had a photo of you and him in his office.”

She seemed surprised by this. “Did he? From where?”

“Some business event, his secretary said.”

“Oh, that’s right. I remember now. He had a cocktail party about six months ago. Invited me and a bunch of other local business owners. There was a photographer there.”

“That explains it,” said Decker.

She sipped her drink. “So, I probably knew all four and I lived in the same building as one of them. Does that mean I’m not a coincidence and that I’m in the same mess John is?”

“You ever been up to the mansion on the hill?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t remember.”

“Okay, a few times,” she admitted.

“Baron is pretty bohemian .” He waited to hear her response.

“I admit I find him interesting.”

“I think he’s very interesting. I’m just trying to figure out if he’s also a killer.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt a fly.”

“I don’t care if he hurts flies.”

She smiled at the remark. “John thinks you’re very interesting.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes, he did. We spoke on the phone after you and your partner paid him a visit.”

“Has he ever been here?”

“Once or twice. Please don’t ask about particulars.”

“He’s got some years on you.”

“He’s actually one of the youngest people I know.”

“You mean in spirit?” he said.

She nodded. “He’s also kept himself in great shape. He was an athlete. You look like you were an athlete.”

“I was, about a hundred pounds ago.”