Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fallen

Decker had had no suit to wear to the funeral, and getting something quickly for a man of his size was out of the question. Thus his khaki pants, sweater, and overcoat had to suffice.

He stood in the very back, almost clear of the tent that had been put up against the inclement weather. Lumpy green turf carpet was under his feet. Rain blew in on him from the rear of the tent, but it didn’t bother him, and he didn’t try to move in closer. He wasn’t part of the family, and he wanted to give the bereaved their space.

His gaze had met Ross’s and the men had flicked a hello at each other. He thought it was good of Ross to be here. While he stood there, the man sidled over to him.

“I hope no one minds that I’m here,” Ross said quietly.

“You came to pay your respects. Nothing wrong with that.”

Ross dug into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to Decker.

“What’s this?”

“For what it’s worth, he’s one of the best lawyers in Pennsylvania. He’ll take Maxus for every penny he can.” He pointed over to Amber and Zoe. “They deserve it. And then they should just leave this place and find a nicer one to live in.”

Decker said, “Thanks. But why are you being so nice? You work for the company that will have to pay out big-time.”

“You told me you met my father?”

“I did.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that.”

“He was terrible to my mother, and to me too, truth be known. I never forgot that. Always being on the receiving end of that crap. Always being the underdog. It leaves its mark on you.”

“I can understand that.”

Ross said quietly, “So when the little guy can punch back, you gotta take your shot.” He pointed to the card. “Have her call him.”

“I will.”

Ross walked away.

A few minutes later the preacher eulogized a man he didn’t know; some hymns were sung and then a final prayer was given. After that the man of the cloth went over and said some private words to the widow and patted Zoe on the head. The little girl recoiled from the stranger’s touch, while Jamison put a supportive hand on her niece’s shoulder.

And that was that.

A life of roughly three and a half decades ground down to about thirty minutes, that was what constituted Frank Mitchell’s exit from this earth.

That’s about what most of us will get , thought Decker. And then we just live on in memories and fading pictures set on tables and hung on walls.

If that doesn’t depress you, nothing will, he concluded.

The funeral party began to disperse as the burly men who had dug the grave came forward to lower the coffin and finish the job of placing the deceased in the ground and shoveling dirt on top.

And Baronville would be Frank Mitchell’s final home for eternity.

That thought nearly made Decker sick to his stomach.

He walked back to the rental alone while Jamison joined her two other sisters, who had formed a protective ring around Amber and Zoe.

“Hey, Decker?”

He looked over to see Kate Kemper standing next to a black SUV parked at the rear of the line of cars that had been part of the funeral procession.

She walked over to him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

“I didn’t know them, but a young guy dies and leaves behind a young widow and a kid? I just thought I’d come to pay my respects. At least from a distance. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Nice of you.”

“I lost my father last year. My mom passed away when I was in college. I’m an only child. So I’m next at the turnstile.”

“I think you have a ways to go,” noted Decker.

“Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one, especially in our line of work.”

“No arguments there.”

“Last time I saw you, you were heading out with the bartender from the Mercury Bar.”

“I remember,” he said.

“So, anything to report?”

Decker leaned against his truck. “How about you enlighten me on one point first.”

“What would that be?”

“You never told me what your agents, Beatty and Smith, were doing in the area.”

“Yes I did. They had gone rogue.”

“According to Randy Haas’s dying declaration?”

“Yes. I told you that too.”

“But before they went rogue , where were they assigned?”

Kemper said, “Why?”

“I’m investigating the case. I need information to do that.”

“Okay, there was some work to do in this area. Not in Baronville specifically, but in the general vicinity of northwestern Pennsylvania.”

“What sort of work? Feel free to be as specific as possible.”

Kemper looked around. “In my truck.”

They walked across the road and climbed into her SUV.

Once they were inside, Kemper said, “This part of Pennsylvania, Interstate 80 and some of the state routes are known drug distribution routes. We have a number of heroin and fentanyl drug rings that use it. A lot of it comes from New York and is brought to Middle America through those avenues. There’s another pipeline that carries the drugs down from Detroit and over from Columbus.”

“So, Beatty and Smith were working on that?”

“Yes. They were trying to identify both suppliers and shippers.”

“Had they made any progress?”

“Not really, although we were hoping that Haas would be able to assist. He’d been part of one of the drug crews using those very same pipelines.”

“But I don’t quite get how, if Beatty and Smith killed Haas, he was able to make a dying declaration.”

Kemper said, “He was found in an alleyway in Scranton. He’d been injected with an overdose of morphine. He cried out and some people nearby came to his assistance. The syringe was found in his arm. He told the people who discovered him that it had been Beatty and Smith. Then he died. The onlookers reported his last words to police.”

“No prints on the syringe?”

“None. They would have worn gloves. They weren’t rookies.”

Decker looked out the window at Frank Mitchell’s grave. He watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground. He glanced over at Zoe and her mother climbing into the car provided by the funeral home. Zoe was looking back at the coffin going into the ground.

Decker could see her shiver at the sight.

“Did Haas have any family?” asked Decker, his gaze holding on the little girl until the car door closed behind her.

“Family? I suppose so. We really didn’t check into that.”

Decker turned back to her. “Well, I would if I were you. Did you do a post on him?”

“Of course. The morphine stopped his heart. That was the COD.”

“Did the post show anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Like Haas was maybe already dying?”

“What? The ME didn’t mention anything like that.”

“Because you just wanted to know how he died, probably. Did you actually read the whole report?”

Kemper pursed her lips. “No, I didn’t. But I can remedy that right away.” She took a moment to thumb in a text. “I’ll let you know what they say.”

“Okay.”

“Why did you even think that a possibility?” asked Kemper.

“Because I don’t think your guys went rogue.” He glanced at her. “And I’m surprised you were so quickly convinced they had.”

“We’ve had other agents go bad, Decker. Nature of the beast. We chase after guys who literally have billions of dollars to throw at people to make them turn.”

“I get that. But that’s true of any law enforcement. Was there something else about the pair?”

“We didn’t always see eye to eye. They were unorthodox to a fault. I like to do things by the book. Smith and Beatty didn’t.”