Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fallen

“Yeah, she was, actually. For many years before she finally kicked it. But what the hell are you getting at?” added Riley angrily.

“A lot of people have died in this town from drug overdoses. And I’ve found out that a lot of those people had life insurance policies. Now, you have to have an insurable interest in someone to be named a beneficiary. And you can’t get much of a policy benefit without taking a medical exam and swearing on an application that the information you’re providing is accurate. They may even do a criminal background check on you, access your medical records and make you undergo a physical exam.”

“How do they get around HIPAA?” asked Jamison, referring to the law guarding a person’s medical history from unauthorized third parties.

“I had a life insurance policy when I was a cop back in Ohio,” replied Decker. “On the application, you can waive HIPAA protections. In fact, most insurance companies won’t write the policy if you don’t waive that so they can dig into your medical background. And evidence of illicit drug addiction would be a red flag for a life insurance company.”

Riley looked confused. “I don’t understand. You’re saying if you’re an addict you can’t get a life insurance policy.”

“I think that’s right. At least not one they will pay out for a drug overdose death.”

“So—”

“So how did somebody know certain insured people were going to become addicts and then overdose and die?” Decker finished for her.

It was only four for dinner. It should have been five.

But the fifth was six feet under.

Jamison sat next to Zoe.

Decker sat next to Amber.

They were in the kitchen at the small oval table in the center of the room.

“How was school, Zoe?” asked Jamison.

“Okay,” said Zoe, as she pushed food around on her plate without actually ingesting any of it.

Amber had lost weight, and she had been thin to begin with. Her features were strained, her eyes painfully red and her manner as though she had been drugged.

“Mommy, can I go to my room? My tummy hurts.”

Amber said absently, “Sure, sweetie. I’ll be up to check on you in a bit.”

Zoe got up from the table and hurriedly left. They could hear her shoes clattering up the stairs.

“She’s not eating,” said Amber miserably.

“Neither are you, sis,” said Jamison. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

Amber waved this off. “I’m fine. Just not hungry right now.”

Jamison glanced at Decker and then laid her fork down.

“What do you plan to do?”

Amber looked up from her plate. “What do you mean?”

“I mean will you stay here or move?”

Amber looked at her sister incredulously. “I haven’t gotten that far. For God’s sake, it hasn’t even been a week since Frank died, Alex.”

“I know. But I don’t think there’s anything keeping you here. You could move closer to family. They can help out.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Amber conceded. “And even with the life insurance, I’ll have to go back to work. I’m the breadwinner now.”

“You are going to bring legal action against Maxus, right?” said Jamison.

“Damn straight I am. But to uproot Zoe again, so soon? I’m just worried how that will affect her.”

“A fresh start somewhere else might be best for her and you,” replied Jamison.

“How can I be sure of that?”

“Have you talked to Zoe about this?” interjected Decker.

They both looked at him.

“Decker, she’s only six,” said Jamison.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have an opinion.”

“I’m not sure she can possibly understand the circumstances,” retorted Jamison.

“All I’m saying is that her mother should talk to her about it. If it’s going to affect her, why not?”

Amber and her sister exchanged a glance.

Amber said, “I actually think he might be right.” She rose from the table. “I’ll talk to Zoe and then I’m going to bed. I’m just very tired.”

Jamison rose too and hugged her sister. “I’m here for you, sweetie. Whatever you need, for as long as you need.”

“Alex, you have your own life, and you have a job. You can’t babysit us forever. Not that I’d want you to. I’ll get my life together. I have to, for Zoe.”

She glanced at Decker. “Thanks for the advice, Amos.”

Decker nodded.

She left the room and Jamison sat back down.

Decker rose and poured himself another cup of coffee.

He sat down and drank some of it.

“You going soft on me, Decker?”

He looked at her. “How do you mean?”

“You’re worrying about other people a lot lately.”

“I investigate homicides. That means there are always lots of people to worry about.”

“Do you think they should stay here or leave Baronville?”

“I don’t have a good answer for that, because I’m not them.”

“But there’s nothing for them here.”

“Frank Mitchell is here,” replied Decker. “He’s always going to be here now.”

Jamison changed color and looked down. “Right. I... I guess I wasn’t thinking about things that way.”

Decker took another sip of coffee and glanced out the small window into the dark. “I didn’t want to leave Burlington. And at the same time, I wanted to get the hell out of Burlington. My family was murdered there. They’re both buried there. When I left, I felt like I was abandoning them. I used to go to the graves every day when I lived there. I would sit and talk to them. Now I haven’t been in months.” He set his cup down. “I don’t want to end up with my only connection to them being faded pictures on the wall, Alex.”

“You of all people should never worry about forgetting them.”

“It’s not the same. I buried them there. That is my connection to that place. It will always be a part of me whether I want it to be or not.”

“So, based on that logic, you think my sister should stay, then?”

“I think... everybody is different.”

With that he rose, cleared the table, and he and Jamison loaded the dishwasher. Then he left the kitchen and went to his room.

Decker opened his closet and pulled out two things: the construction drawings he had found in the hall closet, and the piece of graph paper he had uncovered at Toby Babbot’s trailer.

After looking over the pages for about a half hour he decided he needed something else in order to make sense of it.

He left his room, walked down the hall, and knocked on the door.

A few moments later, a sleepy-eyed Zoe opened the door. She was in her pajamas and was holding her cat.

“Zoe, I’m working on a very important project and I think you might have something I need.”

At this, the little girl perked up. “Sure, Amos, what do you need?”

“A ruler. Do you have one?”

She nodded, hurried over to a small white-painted desk set against one wall, and opened a drawer. She pulled out a green ruler and brought it over to him.

“Thank you very much, Zoe,” he said, taking it from her.

“You’re welcome.”

Decker had turned to go. But then he faced her once more.

“Did your mom talk to you?”

She nodded. “She asked me if I wanted to stay here or move someplace else.”

“And what did you tell your mom?”

Zoe shrugged. “Daddy’s here. I don’t want to leave him all alone.”

Decker knelt down so he was eye to eye with the little girl.

“I can understand that.”

Zoe stared back at him. “You told me that when I visited Daddy he would know I was there. That he would know here.”

She touched the center of her small chest.