Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fallen

“That Stanley Nottingham told Costa something about Baron and this town that made him pull up his roots in Manhattan and come here. Riley told me that Costa told her he came to Baronville to follow his dream, which struck me as really curious. Well, I’m hoping that Nottingham can tell me what that dream was.”

Jamison rubbed her forehead, her features exhausted.

“Okay, I can see how that might be important to the investigation. But can’t this wait until after the funeral?”

“Stanley Nottingham is elderly and just moved to a nursing home. How do I know the guy won’t drop dead tomorrow? And if he does, there goes the only lead I have.”

She snapped, “It’s always about the case , isn’t it? It always takes priority over everything. No matter what.”

Decker stopped packing and looked at her. “It’s not like that, Alex.”

“It’s always like that, Decker.”

“But this is important.”

She rose and walked back over to the door.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll just hold down the fort here.”

“Alex, I will be back. I promise.”

“Yeah,” she said absently. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Decker grabbed his overcoat from a chair. When he turned back she was gone. He heard a door close somewhere in the house.

He zipped his duffel shut and hefted it over his shoulder. He made his way quietly downstairs.

Only sitting on the last riser was Zoe, holding a stuffed cat.

She looked up at him and her gaze fell on his duffel. “Are you going somewhere, Mr. Amos?”

Decker’s first impulse was just to rush past the little girl and be on his way to New Jersey without explanation.

But after looking at her disconsolate expression, his second impulse made him set his duffel down and sit next to her.

“I am, Zoe. But I’ll be back. See, I have to go check on something in New Jersey. Have you ever been to New Jersey?”

She shook her head. “Is it nice?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What do you have to do there?”

“Talk to someone. An older man.”

“What about?”

“He knew somebody here in town. So I just wanted to ask him some questions about the person.”

“Is he a nice man?”

“Well, I’ve never met him, but I’m sure he’ll be just fine.” He paused and studied her. “How are you doing?”

She clutched her cat tighter. “My daddy’s funeral is the day after tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly.

“We’re going to bury him in the ground. That’s what Mommy said.”

“I’ll be back in time to go with you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Her features turned anxious. “Mr. Amos, do you think he’ll be cold? My dad? See, after Mommy told me that he was going to be buried, I got a big spoon from the kitchen and went out in the backyard and dug a hole. And I put my hand in it. And it was cold down there. And my daddy didn’t like to be cold. He would snuggle under the blanket with me. I don’t like the cold either.”

Lending a visual to her words, she shivered.

Decker leaned against the banister even as he felt his chest tighten and his throat constrict.

“I know your blanket doesn’t have a name, but does your cat?”

“His name is Felix. Aunt Alex gave him to me when I was five.”

“Where’d you come up with that name?”

“It was the name of my daddy’s dog when he was little. I thought if I named my cat Felix he wouldn’t miss him so much.”

“That’s really nice, Zoe.”

Her face wrinkled up and her eyes filled with tears. “I want my dad to be here.”

“I know. And I know he would want to be here too, more than anything. He would never want to leave you.”

Zoe leaned against his leg and he gently patted her head.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Do you remember I told you about my daughter?”

“Molly.”

“That’s right, Molly. Well, I didn’t really tell you the truth about her.”

“You mean you lied?” said Zoe, sitting up, her eyes wide and staring at him.

“No, not exactly. I just didn’t tell you... everything. The fact is, my daughter... My daughter... died right before she turned ten.”

“Was she sick?”

“No, she... she had an accident.”

“Like Daddy did?”

“That’s right. Anyway, we had a funeral for her and I had to bury her too. But I go back and visit her, you know, to check on her. And when I go there, I can... I can sense that she’s not cold. You can do that with people you love. So, I think that when you and your mom go to visit your dad, you’ll be able to sense that too. And by being there, you actually make things warm, because he’ll know that you’re with him. That people who love him are right there with him. Do you see?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on him. “Can I talk to him when I visit?”

“You absolutely can. Now, he won’t answer you back like he used to. But I can tell you that you’ll feel something right here.” He touched the center of his chest. “And that’s means that your dad is answering you back. And it goes right there, right to your heart. Because... that’s where you’ll always keep your dad now. Forever. Okay?”

She nodded, leaned over, and gave his thick calf a hug.

“I’ll see you when you get back, Mr. Amos.”

“You can just call me Amos.”

“Okay, Amos.”

Decker lifted his duffel and left.

He did not see Jamison standing at the top of the stairs.

She had heard the entire exchange and was quietly sobbing while holding on to the railing to steady herself.

When Zoe started up the stairs, she saw her aunt and ran up to her and flung her arms around her legs. As Jamison continued to shake, Zoe said, “Aunt Alex, are you okay? Are you sad?”

Jamison stroked her niece’s hair.

With tears streaming down her face, she managed to say, “I’m okay, Zoe. I’m really okay now.”

At nine o’clock in the morning Decker’s phone alarm went off.

He sat up in the driver’s seat of his rental, yawned, and looked around.

He’d arrived at the nursing home around six in the morning, parked on the street, and settled down to catch a few hours of sleep. He drove to a nearby McDonald’s, cleaned up, and changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom. He ate a breakfast sandwich and downed a cup of coffee.

He drove back to the Glenmont Senior Living Center and went inside.

The lobby was large and inviting, with sunlight blazing in through numerous windows. The whole place looked fairly new. It had comfortable seating areas with upholstered chairs, a large reception desk of polished wood, and wallpaper with a soothing flower-and-vine design.

An efficient-looking young woman was seated at the front desk. She looked up as Decker approached.

“Can I help you?”

He pulled out his creds and badge and held them up. “FBI. I need to speak with one of your patients.”

“We call them residents ,” she said, eyeing his badge. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“I’m investigating a series of murders in Pennsylvania. It’s come to our attention that one of your residents , Stanley Nottingham, may have known one of the victims when he lived in New York.”

“I think I need to get my supervisor.”

“Do what you have to do, but don’t keep me waiting long. I’m on a deadline.”

She hurried off and came back less than a minute later accompanied by a tall, stout man with thick dark hair. He wore a pinstripe suit along with an important expression.

“I’m Roger Crandall, the executive director. What seems to be the issue?”