BALLISTICS MATCHED THE gun found at Baron’s property to the bullets that killed Costa and Swanson,” said Decker.
He was sitting at the Mitchells’ kitchen table with Jamison.
“Lassiter just called me. She sounded the happiest I’ve ever heard her,” he added. “And they also found all of the drug stuff in the potting shed. They ran prints and matched it to Swanson. Baron obviously just left it there even after we told him about it.”
“So, Lassiter finally nails the Baron family,” said Jamison. “But do you believe he did it?”
“Anyone could have planted that gun there,” noted Decker. “And Lassiter found it pretty fast.”
“She never said where she found it.” noted Jamison.
“She told me later. It was in the gun room, in one of the glass cabinets with some of the other pistols.”
“So was he counting on the fact that hiding a gun among other guns was a smart idea?”
“Well, it didn’t turn out to be.”
“With all the grudges people here have against him, I don’t see how John gets a fair trial.”
“Hopefully he’ll lawyer up and they’ll probably end up changing venues for the trial.”
“What’s his story?” asked Jamison.
“That he knows nothing about the gun and doesn’t know where it came from.”
“Prints?”
“Lassiter said no. But it could have been wiped clean.”
“There are too many moving parts to this whole thing, Decker.”
His phone buzzed before he could answer. The call lasted a few minutes, with Decker mostly listening and asking brief questions. Finally he said, “Thanks,” and hung up.
“What’s going on?” Jamison said.
“That was Agent Kemper. I’d asked her about life insurance policies.”
“Why?”
Decker explained to her what he had discussed earlier with the DEA agent.
“So what did she find out?”
“Over the last three years or so, nearly three hundred people in Baronville have died from drug overdoses. And about half had life insurance policies of at least half a million bucks. Quite a few had policies of over a million dollars.”
“My God, that’s almost one person dying every three days.”
“And that’s also a lot of money cumulatively. Kemper said the insurance companies had investigated a lot of them, but apparently each of the policyholders she could find out about had undergone a medical exam and had no history of drug abuse. So, at least in those cases, the money was paid out to the beneficiaries.”
“Damn, so is that the new American dream? Sign a relative up for life insurance and wait for them to OD to cash in?”
“Let’s hope not.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Jamison said, “So what will happen with Baron now that he’s been arrested?”
“He’ll have a bond hearing. Because of the seriousness of the charges, the judge will probably remand him into custody until trial. But even if bail is set I doubt he could afford it.”
Someone knocked at the front door. Jamison rose to answer it and returned a few moments later with Cindi Riley.
She had on faded jeans, a leather jacket, and a flannel shirt, coupled with an exhausted expression and reddened eyes.
Jamison said, “You look like you could use some coffee. I just made a fresh pot.”
Riley answered with a nod and then dropped into a seat across from Decker.
“You know what happened?” she said.
“To Baron, yeah.”
“He didn’t do it. He didn’t kill anyone.”
“Was it his gun?” asked Decker.
“I don’t know. You saw the house. There’s crap everywhere. John doesn’t know the half of what’s there.”
“Does he have a lawyer?” asked Jamison, setting a cup of coffee down in front of Riley.
“I got him one. I had to go outside of town to do it. Nobody here apparently wants to defend him. The jerks. I mean what did he ever do to anybody? Somebody killed his parents. Did anybody here do anything about that?”
“Have you talked to him?” asked Decker.
“Yes, at the jail. I’m really worried about him.”
“He should be worried,” said Decker. “They’re charging him with multiple murders.”
“No, I don’t mean just that. I mean that John seems to have finally given up. He’s always been so positive. No matter the crap they throw at him here, he just brushes it off, turns it into a joke, and keeps going.”
Jamison sat down next to her. “But not now?”
“No. I think he believes this is it. That he’s going to die in jail. They set bail because he’s not a flight risk. I tried to pay it after his hearing, but he refused to let me.”
“If he didn’t do it, he won’t be in jail long,” said Decker.
Riley glared at him. “You’re a cop. You should know that innocent people go to jail all the time.”
“Not if we can prove that someone else is responsible,” said Decker. “Then he’s home free.”
“How do we do that?”
“It’s all we’ve been doing since we got here,” said Jamison. “And we’ve made some progress.”
“Does Baron have alibis for any of the murders?” asked Decker.
“I talked to him about that. And not really, no. Like you said, with some of them it’s hard to tell exactly when they died. And John spends most of his time alone at his home, except for a couple hours once a week at the bar.”
Decker nodded. “Okay, then we have to approach it from another way to clear him.”
“So you don’t think he killed anybody then?” said Riley.
Decker ignored this question and said, “You told me before about new businesses popping up around the area.”
“Right.”
“You also told me about some people using payouts from life insurance policies to do renovations and start these businesses.”
“That’s right. But so what?”
“Can you remember any of your friends who overdosed and had a policy?”
Jamison interjected, “But, Decker, you said the insurance companies had investigated some of the deaths in Baronville and didn’t find anything amiss.”
“Answer the question, Cindi,” persisted Decker.
“I don’t know. Wait a minute.” She thought for a few moments. “Keith Drews did. Because his mom opened the new bakery downtown. I remember her telling me it was the only good thing to come out of Keith’s death.”
“Was he a longtime user?”
“No.”
“So what happened? How did he overdose?”
“He got injured, was prescribed Percocet, then Vicodin. Then he got hooked on Oxy. From there it was a downward spiral. He died of a heroin overdose. Whoever he got it from had laced it with fentanyl. Keith probably had no idea what he was taking. It killed him instantly, I heard.”
“How old was he when he died?”
“Younger than me.”
“His mother was the named beneficiary. How much did she get?”
“Enough to open the bakery. She totally gutted the first floor of an old building and bought all-new equipment. So it was a lot of money.”
“Was she an addict?” asked Decker.
“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.