“I’m remembering something Fred Ross told me.”
“What’s that?”
“That nothing in Baronville is really illegal.”
Chapter 61
Decker sat up in bed and listened to the rain pouring down outside.
Does it ever stop raining here?
He looked over at the small table under the window. He’d laid his clothes there. And on top of them was his badge.
He rose, walked over, and picked it up.
It wasn’t an FBI special agent badge, because he wasn’t one. But it was a federal badge and it did have the authority of the FBI behind it. And Decker had arresting authority as a member of an FBI task force.
Decker had carried a badge for over twenty years now. He’d had it the night he’d discovered that he no longer had a family.
He’d had it with him when Alex Jamison and then Melvin Mars came into his life.
He carried it now in Baronville, PA.
It had provided him comfort when he’d needed it. It had provided him a means to the only ends he had ever cared about.
The truth.
But that was not why he was now looking down at his badge.
He glanced out the window, and though he couldn’t see it, he knew exactly where the home of Dan Bond was located.
The old man should have been allowed to live out the remaining years of his life in peace. But someone had not allowed him to do that. And Decker was going to make that person pay.
Decker swiveled his head in the direction of the house where Alice Martin lived. And just a few doors down from that was Fred Ross and his sawed-off shotgun.
He cast his mind back to that first night, after he’d found the bodies. He and Jamison had driven down the street. There had been no cars parked on it.
However, Fred Ross’s van had been parked under his carport.
Ross said he’d been at the hospital. And Decker had confirmed that that was true. And he had been transported by ambulance, meaning his van would have been under the carport that night.
These thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his door.
“Yeah?”
Jamison said, “It’s me. Got a minute?”
Decker said, “Give me a sec.” He checked his watch. It was after midnight. He pulled on his pants. “Okay.”
Jamison, dressed in a robe, came in.
“What’s up?” he said.
“I got to thinking about our meeting with Norris and I decided to do some digging.”
“Digging on what?”
“Insurance premiums.”
“Okay.”
“I emailed a friend of mine who’s in the insurance business and asked her some questions. Specifically, I gave her Keith Drews’s information. The back injury, the fact that he was a prescription drug user, and also where he lived. I just got the reply back.”
He glanced at his watch again. “Your friend works late.”
“She works in Manhattan at one of the biggest insurance companies in the world, so she’s basically chained to her desk. Anyway, she said Baronville is smack in the middle of what the insurance industry has started to call Opioid Alley. Fifty or so years ago insurance companies had different insurance ratings for different communities, but that was outlawed. So even though they call places like Baronville part of Opioid Alley, that’s really unofficial because they really can’t charge more for a policy simply because of where you live. But insurers do file rates based on an entire state and the opioid crisis has grown to such an extent that it’s actually affecting longevity, and thus the premiums charged tend to be higher. Like Norris said, it’s a for-profit business. My friend said that even though Keith Drews was a young person, the fact that he lived here and had suffered a back injury and was consequently taking painkillers would raise a red flag for them. And the fact that most opioid abusers start with prescription painkillers would also be factored in. And a million-dollar policy for an unmarried and childless person with no job would have also raised questions. The bottom line, she told me, was that because of Drews’s circumstances, it’s highly doubtful a policy that large would have been approved. But even if an underwriter would okay such a policy, the premiums wouldn’t be a couple hundred bucks a year like Norris quoted me for my sister.”
“What would they be?”
“She could only give me a ballpark, but she said for a ten-year policy it would be about two thousand a year. For a thirty-year policy about four thousand. So how could Keith Drews have afforded that unless someone was making the payments for him, like you suggested?”
“But your friend said that she didn’t think the policy should have been issued in the first place, even though it was.”
“That’s right.”
“Which makes me wonder why an insurer would’ve taken that risk. And it’s not just Drews. As you know, Kemper told me a lot of life insurance policies have been cashed in here over the last few years.”
“Either the insurance companies involved have been royally screwing up, or maybe people are lying on their applications.”
“They would surely investigate that before paying out,” countered Decker. “In fact, Kemper told me that the companies had investigated a number of them, but still ended up paying out.”
“Well, if they did write the policies and they couldn’t find any wrongdoing, they would have to pay out.”
“Kemper emailed me a list of the insurers that have paid out money. It’s a long list. From all over the place. Some big names, but many I’d never heard of.”
“Meaning Norris and whoever else might be doing this are probably spreading it around. My friend also told me that life insurance companies give agents contracts based on the volume of business the agent will throw their way. If the volume isn’t there over a few years’ time, the contract gets yanked. And with the sort of scam Norris may be running, if you go to very few insurers or even just one, they’re going to quickly see something weird is going on and they’re going to stop writing policies here and stop doing business with the agent. But maybe Norris doesn’t care about that for some reason.”
“Which brings up another important question.”
“What?”
“I wonder how much of the million bucks Linda Drews got to keep. And who got the rest?”
Chapter 62
Decker finally fell asleep a little after one o’clock.
He dozed fitfully for a bit and then woke up coughing. He’d gotten wet yesterday and he was afraid he might have caught a cold.
He drew a long breath and coughed again, this time more violently.
He sat up and gagged, then suddenly lurched to one side of his bed and threw up.
Dizzy, he got to his feet and immediately fell to the floor. He managed to drag himself over to the window, open it, and stick his head out into the rain. He sucked in the chilly, wet air and his fuzzy brain cleared and his nausea passed.
When he brought his head back inside he smelled it.
He lumbered from the room, covering his nose and mouth with his T-shirt.
He pounded on Jamison’s door.
“Alex! Alex!”
When she didn’t answer, he opened the door and looked frantically around.
All he could see was her foot sticking up from the other side of the bed.
This froze Decker for an instant, because that had been exactly what he had first seen when he had discovered his wife’s body at their home back in Burlington.
He raced over to the other side of the bed, bent down, and checked the pulse at her neck. He detected it and she was breathing, if spasmodically. He lifted Jamison up in his arms and rushed back to his bedroom, where he placed her next to the window and held her head out the opening.