GREEN SAID, “HE had a metal plate put in his head from an industrial accident.”
Decker was in the process of being discharged from the hospital. Despite his protests to the contrary, he had suffered a concussion. They had determined that his heart had stopped due to a combination of the blow to the head and smoke inhalation. In lieu of sutures they had glued his scalp back together, and consequently his hair stuck up like a cockatoo’s feathers. He also had on dark glasses because of the concussion.
“I feel like I have a metal plate in my head,” groused Decker.
Green was walking beside the wheelchair taking Decker to a new rental truck Jamison had arranged. She was behind the wheelchair pushing Decker along.
“So Toby Babbot’s disability was brain-related?” asked Jamison.
“Appears to be. His employment history had been spotty since then. A few menial jobs. Living on unemployment. When that ran out he got on partial disability. But it didn’t pay much.”
“And where did he live before he moved to the trailer?” asked Decker.
“He shared a house with a woman, Betsy O’Connor. Strictly platonic, at least that’s what she claimed when I talked to her last week.”
“What was the connection?” asked Jamison.
“They knew each other. Both fell on hard times. They couldn’t afford the place separately, but they could together. It actually happens a lot here.”
“So why did he move out?” asked Decker.
“Couldn’t keep a job, and while O’Connor worked a number of jobs, her salary alone couldn’t cover the rent and utilities. They lost the house and had to split up. She lives in an apartment on the east side of town with two other roommates. And Babbot apparently found that abandoned trailer in the woods and moved in there. Not sure if he lived anywhere else in between residing with O’Connor and then at the trailer.”
“Did he have a car?”
“He did. But he lost it to the bank.”
“So how’d he get around?” asked Jamison.
“I don’t know.”
“How do you think he got to the house where he was found dead with Joyce Tanner?” asked Jamison.
“Maybe his killer took him there.”
As they reached the new rental, Decker stood up, though he was still a bit shaky. Green put a supportive arm around him.
“You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should spend the night in the hospital.”
“I’m good. I’m actually hungry. I’ll be fine after I eat.”
“I can recommend a place over on Baron Square. The Little Eatery. Good food and not pricey. Not that we really have pricey here.”
“Baron Square, huh?” said Jamison. “You just can’t get away from the name, can you?”
“I’d have to move,” said Green, smiling. “Oh, and I had our arson guy check out the trailer. Don’t know what was used to lock you both in, that’s long since gone. But he found remnants of something like a Molotov cocktail and a pile of dry wood under the trailer that showed evidence of being the point of origin of the fire. Even with all the rain we had, that wood would have gone up in an instant. And that trailer was really old. Doubt it would pass fire code these days.”
Jamison drove them to her sister’s house, where they cleaned up and regrouped downstairs about thirty minutes later. Even though it was nearly nine, Frank Mitchell was still at work and Amber and Zoe were at a school event. Jamison had not told her sister what had happened to them. She checked her watch. “It’s getting late. I hope they’re still serving.”
As they headed to the truck, she noted that he had taken his glasses off. “The doctor said for you to keep the glasses on.”
“He also told me to sit in a dark room in complete quiet. I’ve had concussions before, Alex. This one is no big deal.”
“Okay,” she said, not looking convinced. They drove along in silence for a few minutes. “Decker, with all the years you played football, do you ever worry about…?”
“What, CTE, dementia?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Every game I played I came out of it feeling like I’d been in a car accident. Every play helmets would smack together. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about what might be coming for me.”
“Pretty fatalistic attitude.”
“Pretty realistic attitude. But the good thing is I barely played in the pros, so maybe there’s hope for me. NFL players hit a lot harder than college players do.”
“I hope you’re right. We need that brain of yours to find bad guys.”
“We need to put together a list of people to talk to. Dr. Freedman and Betsy O’Connor, and anyone connected to Joyce Tanner. And we need to find out what Tanner was living on. We also need to visit Bradley Costa’s workplace and home. And then we need to check out where Michael Swanson called home.”
“Look, while I know that we both believe all these murders are connected, we really have no evidence that they are.”
He eyed her appraisingly. “Even if they aren’t connected, should we stop investigating?”
Jamison looked taken aback. “No, of course not. I’m just saying—”
“I’m just saying that if there is one murderer or more than one murderer working together or separately, they still deserve to be held accountable for their crimes. Because I don’t know any other way to approach it.”
Jamison sighed and nodded. “I get the logic. But it’s a long list of people. Could take a while. Longer than a week,” she pointed out.
“Could be. You should call Bogart and tell him we might need to extend.”
“No, you can call him. This was your idea. I just wanted to come here and visit my sister and my niece, not get involved in another murder investigation.”
Decker didn’t say anything.
“We were almost killed tonight,” added Jamison.
“Yeah, I know. I was there, Alex.”
“Whoever did it might try again, if we keep going on this.”
“I told you I could do it. That you could just hang with your family.”
“And I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I wasn’t doing it with you.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“I guess it leaves us investigating a bunch of either separate or connected murders. Together.”
Decker turned to her.
“I’m going to do all I can to keep you safe, Alex.”
“I know. You promised Zoe.”
“No, you’re my partner. We have each other’s backs. Remember? You told me that before.”
“I remember, Amos. And you’ve already saved my life a bunch of times. But I have to rely on myself as well as you. And the same for you.”
“No argument there.”
* * *
The Little Eatery was still open and they ate their meal in a half-full dining room, where they continually caught people stealing glances at them.
“Word apparently travels fast in Baronville,” noted Jamison.
“Word travels fast in every small town,” replied Decker, swallowing the last piece of his steak. “We have a dead guy with a metal plate in his head living on disability in a trailer in the woods that just got blown up. We have Joyce Tanner, unemployed from JC Penney, living on who knows what.”
“And four more dead.”
Decker looked down at his phone, which had just buzzed. He frowned and put down his fork.
“What is it?” asked Jamison. “Someone else dead?”
“No. It’s a text from Green answering my question.”
“Which one?”
“Whether it was pig’s blood.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
“So what does that mean, since you never bothered to tell me?” she said, clearly irritated.
Decker didn’t answer. He punched in a phone number and stared at the ceiling while it rang. Then the person answered.
“Detective Green, this is Decker. I just got your text.”
“Right, pig’s blood it is. What made you think of it?”
“It was a long shot and I wish I had been wrong. This means we need to check another database for the two dead men in that house.”
“We checked all the criminal and civilian databases we have access to.”
“I don’t think they’re civilians or criminals.”
“Then what do you think they are?”
“Cops.”