Paradox

by Catherine Coulter

  “A woman called me, name was Gunny—didn’t give her last name—to see what she should do about Mr. Henry’s belt buckle, and the secret. Then I heard something in the background, movement, and then someone’s harsh breathing. I heard Gunny gasp, and the phone went dead. I think something violent could have happened to her. I called her number, but no answer. I’m thinking her phone got smashed.”

  Sala felt a surge of adrenaline. “Where did she call from?”

  “She was near the corner of Fourth and Maple in Haggersville. This was three minutes ago. I called the police in Haggersville, spoke to Chief Masters. I could tell he was really upset when I said her name, and he was out the door fast. I think you and Chief Christie should get there as soon as possible.”

  “We’re on our way. If you hear anything from the chief, give him my cell.” Sala caught up with Savich, who was speaking to a teenager dressed in cut-off denim shorts, a baggy T-shirt, and sneakers, and she was over-the-moon excited. Savich saw him, raised a hand. Sala stopped and listened.

  “I was skateboarding with some kids down Pulman Avenue, a block from here. I think I saw the guy who bombed Father McKay’s church. That fire was so cool—” Her face froze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know,” Savich said. “It’s all right. What’s your name?”

  “Ellie, Ellie Corrigan.”

  “Okay, Ellie, tell me what you saw.”

  “I saw a guy standing beside an old banged-up green car—I think it was a Kia, like my brother’s. He was watching the church burning and listening to people screaming, watching them run. He was hollering and waving his fist, like he was happy, and then I heard a girl laughing, and she yelled out, ‘Wham! Kill the bugs!’ ” Ellie shuddered. “She sounded crazy wild. Do you want me to come with you and give a statement? Like on TV, you know?”

  Savich felt a cold chill. Those were nearly the exact words Lissy’s mother had said during the bank robbery in Georgetown. Kill the bugs. Lissy probably learned it at her mother’s knee. No, there had to be an explanation, had to be.

  “Yes, I know. Ellie, you said it was really banged up. How?”

  “It had all these scratches and what looked like holes—” Her eyes popped. “Bullet holes? Were all those holes from bullets?”

  He nodded. “Did you see the Kia’s license plate?”

  Her face fell. Savich quickly pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “It’s okay. Ellie, write down your cell number and your address. I might be calling you later. And yes, tell your parents how much you helped the FBI.”

  She grinned really big, showing perfect white teeth. Savich watched her hop back on her skateboard and steer toward the teens who’d been watching them.

  Sala said, “Nesser?”

  Savich nodded. “Did you hear? She said she heard a girl’s laugh, heard her yell, ‘Wham! Kill the bugs!’ ”

  “I heard.”

  “Victor’s still driving the green Kia. We still don’t have a license plate, but how hard can it be to find?”

  They both watched Ellie Corrigan get swallowed up in the small knot of kids, doubtless telling them she’d seen it all.

  Sala said, “Here’s Ty. Hey, are you okay?”

  She pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked back at the crowds of people. “I saw a lot of bravery back there. Sala, you look ready to jump out of your skin. What’s going on?”

  34

  * * *

  ON THE ROAD TO HAGGERSVILLE, MARYLAND

  TUESDAY

  Ty punched on her flashers and pushed her Silverado to its limit when they reached the interstate. Who cared about a little shimmy at one hundred miles per hour? Traffic wasn’t heavy at this time of day on a Tuesday, but still, cars melted out of her way. She said, “I can still hear the screams, smell the smoke. Sala, Dillon said as far as he knew, there were no serious injuries, a lot of smoke inhalation, some minor burns.” She said, “We were very lucky.”

  “What was amazing is there wasn’t all that much panic. I imagine every federal agency wants in, at least until Mr. Maitland informs everyone it was Victor Nesser, our own homegrown terrorist. The crazy shite. The girl who saw him said he was driving a banged-up green Kia, the same one from his shootout with Savich and Sherlock yesterday. You can bet everyone’s looking for him.”

  Ty’s attention was on the road, but she gave him a quick look. “You didn’t have to come with me, Sala. I know you’d prefer to go after Victor.”

  “You’re doing near one hundred ten,” he said. “Keep your eyes on the road. I’m where I belong. Now, the Google map shows Haggersville is in a valley about thirty miles from Willicott, as the crow flies. I see small lakes, windy roads, heavily forested lands enclosing the town.”

  “Sala, I’ve lived here for three years. Haggersville is in my backyard. I know all the shortcuts, you just hang on. And thank you. I appreciate you being with me.”

  “Okay. Now, did you know Haggersville has four thousand year-round residents, population explodes to over fifteen thousand in the summer, like Willicott?”

  “Sounds about right. That shortcut exit is coming up. It shaves off maybe ten miles.”

  Sala’s cell rang. HPD showed up on his screen. A man’s deep voice asked, “Is this FBI agent Sala Porto?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Daniel Masters, chief of police, Haggersville. I found Gunny unconscious behind a dumpster in the alley at Maple and Fourth, exactly where the hotline agent told me he’d last spoken to her. She was unconscious. An ambulance rushed her to our community hospital.” Emotion rode thick in his voice. “Someone struck her on the head. If the agent hadn’t called me immediately, she might have died.” He swallowed. “She’s still alive, that’s all I know. In case you’re wondering, Gunny’s my goddaughter.”

  “Chief Masters, what’s her full name?”

  “Leigh Ann Saks, but she’s been Gunny most of her life. The agent who called me said you were on your way. He also said Gunny had called your hotline about that Star of David belt buckle. Like everyone else, I saw the press conference. But I’ve never seen that belt buckle before, so I don’t understand how Gunny could have known anything about it. I called Ms. Saks—Lulie, her mother—immediately. We’ll meet you at the hospital. Oh yes, I found Gunny’s cell phone smashed beside her.” He paused, then, “I can’t help thinking whoever overheard her talking to the hotline agent about that belt buckle had to be scared enough about it to try to kill her. But why? What could Gunny possibly know about anything dangerous to do with that frigging belt buckle? I don’t know.”

  “We need to find that out, Chief. We’ll meet you and Ms. Saks at the hospital, but first we’d like to go by the crime scene.” He listened a moment, then punched off.

  “She’s alive and at the hospital. Chief Masters has no idea how Gunny could know anything that would cause someone to try to kill her.”

  She slowed the Silverado. “Exit coming up.”

  Ty pulled into Haggersville nineteen minutes later and drove slowly through downtown on Clover Street. Tourists strolled along the sidewalks, licking ice cream cones, going in and out of shops, arms loaded with shopping bags.

  Sala consulted his GPS and told her to turn off Clover onto Maple and head east toward Fourth. It was a part of town for the locals, not flocks of tourists deciding where to have a late lunch. They passed a small strip mall with a pharmacy, clothing boutique, and post office. At Fourth and Maple there was a home supply store and a cleaners. Between the two was a deep pass-through alley connecting to the next street.

  At the alley entrance, they saw Chief Masters had put up a cross strip of yellow crime scene tape. He’d marked the asphalt with white chalk where he’d found Gunny behind the single dumpster. Ty blocked the alley entrance with her Silverado, and she and Sala walked the area. Since it was open, the alley didn’t smell of garbage and was kept fairly clean. Ty said, “He probably walked up behind her fr
om the next street, heard her speaking to Dirk on the hotline, and hit her on the head without anybody seeing him, left her for dead.”

  “And smashed her cell phone.”

  They walked out the back of the alley, looked around. Nothing much to see, maybe a half dozen cars parked up and down Fifth Street. There was a 24/7 convenience store directly opposite the alley.

  “Bingo,” Sala said. While he trotted across Fifth to speak to the store owner, hoping they had a security camera showing the alley, Ty called the Haggersville Community Hospital and identified herself. Gunny was in surgery, as yet no word on her condition. The nurse paused, then added, “Chief Masters and Ms. Saks are in the surgical waiting room. This is an awful thing, Chief Christie, an awful thing. Gunny isn’t all there mentally, if you know what I mean, but she’s such a sweet girl and so pretty. She’s young and strong, that’s what I told Lulie.”

  Ty thanked the nurse, punched off her cell, closed her eyes, and prayed. Please, Gunny, hang tough.

  Sala jogged back, shaking his head. “Sorry, the camera hasn’t worked for six months, and they haven’t bothered to get a new one. No one there saw anything.”

  35

  * * *

  HAGGERSVILLE, MARYLAND

  TUESDAY

  Luke Putney, twenty-three-year veteran postal carrier for the Haggersville Post Office, liked his nickname: Mr. Gossip. He saw himself as the center of the information wheel. He saw it as his duty to ensure the good people on his postal route were kept fully informed. He prided himself on never being discreet. His last big bomb should have been a doozy. He’d outed Gill Pratt, owner of Penny Barrel Bar, a loud dog, and a silver BMW. He’d discovered, quite by accident, or nearly, that Pratt had a penchant for hard-core porn magazines. It hadn’t been Luke’s fault the plain brown envelope was ripped, or nearly. Luke had to hand it to Pratt, he’d spun things to his advantage, what with giving out a free beer and a porn magazine to each man who came into his bar until the furor died down.

  Luke didn’t really see the exposé as a failure, though. He’d gotten several free beers and a free porn magazine himself. He hadn’t shown the magazine to his wife, doubted most of the other men had, either.

  Now he had a new bomb and he couldn’t wait to drop it. He was sure to get some emotion, some outrage, out of Susan Sparrow about Gunny Saks’s attempted murder. Gunny and Mrs. Sparrow had a history. Gunny had worked for her at the crematorium for a while. He was primed to see the look on her face when he told her the news, not many people had heard about it yet.

  Luckily, Luke had a small package that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox, so he had an excuse to go to the front door. He’d checked to make sure it was Mrs. Sparrow’s black Lexus in the driveway, not Landry Sparrow’s white-as-snow Mercedes. Imagine making enough money for a car like that by putting people in an oven.

  Putney rang the bell, anticipation running high. Sure enough, Susan Sparrow answered the door in jeans and a T-shirt covered with a big apron. The smell of chocolate chip cookies wafted out of the house.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Sparrow,” Luke said and gave her a small salute.

  Susan knew from the gleam in his eyes Putney was bursting to tell her something. She didn’t like him, thought him a vicious little man. She smiled politely. “Thank you for bringing up my mail, Mr. Putney. Excuse me, I have to hurry to take my cookies out of the oven. Good day to you.” She held out her hand.

  Luke was fast. “You haven’t heard, Mrs. Sparrow?”

  “I really don’t have time to talk right now. May I have my mail, Mr. Putney?”

  “Imagine, Mrs. Sparrow, our Gunny was nearly killed, hit on the head by an unknown assailant. That’s what they’re saying at the police station.” He said it again, savoring the words: “Unknown assailant. Yep, poor Gunny’s in surgery, and the word is she might not make it. Last I heard from Sandy at the police station, Chief Masters got a call from an FBI agent, and he was out the door. He found her and got her to the hospital super fast. He’s Gunny’s godfather, you know—or maybe more,” he added, his voice confidential. “Lulie never talks about who Gunny’s dad is.” He was surprised she looked indifferent to his news, and peeved. Where was the outrage?

  Susan knew, of course, this was why he’d come to the front door. He’d wanted to see her reaction. And she hadn’t given him one. She saw the frustration on his face and was pleased. She took her mail and the small box from his still outstretched hand. “I will pray for her.” Susan tried to shut the door, but Luke wasn’t about to let her off his line.

  “The chief’s at the hospital with Ms. Saks. Sandy said it all has to do with that weird belt buckle they showed on TV yesterday in Willicott. I was working, so I didn’t see the news conference. But my Myra said the belt buckle was this big gold Star of David, though she’s got cataracts, and I can’t swear she saw it right.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Putney—”

  “Poor Mrs. Chamberlain at the post office—you know, she’s Gunny’s supervisor. Well, she runs the place, truth be told. She’s all upset, of course. Everyone at the post office is upset. Gunny might be simple in the head, but she’s a sweet girl. Mr. Klem said we all need to pitch in to buy some flowers and he hoped it wasn’t for Gunny’s funeral.”

  Putney watched Susan Sparrow’s face closely. She didn’t look ready to burst into tears. She looked impatient. With him.

  The gall. Here he’d gone out of his way to give her news about someone who’d worked for her, someone she should care about. When she’d married Landry Sparrow, a few of the older biddies had said right away she’d latched onto him for the Sparrow money. Even his Myra had said when the announcement came out, “Imagine, Landry’s nearly old enough to be her father. Well, maybe not quite, but there’s at least fourteen years between them. It won’t work out any different than Prince Charles and that poor Princess Diana. What some girls will do for money.” She’d shaken her head, even looked mournful. Although he’d never say it to her, Luke wished at the time he could have a wife fourteen years younger who looked like Mrs. Sparrow. She was on the petite side, with dark hair and brown eyes and the whitest skin. And she was usually nice to everyone—well, you’d have to learn to be nice, wouldn’t you, if you needed to convince people to cremate their grandmas?

  She gave him a serene smile. “Again, thank you, Mr. Putney, for bringing me the package and my mail.”

  “Didn’t Gunny work for you for a while?”

  He was tenacious, she’d give him that. She wasn’t about to say anything at all to this gossip-mongering buzz saw. They stood staring at each other. Susan smiled again. “Good day, Mr. Putney. Oh my, you made a mistake. This package isn’t for me, it’s for Mrs. Prentiss down the block.” Susan handed him back the small package.

  Putney took the package and studied the address. “Ah, you’re right, Mrs. Sparrow. Sorry about that mistake.” She let the door close in his face. Luke hated to leave with an empty tank, but maybe he hadn’t. Had Mrs. Sparrow looked alarmed? Frightened? Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to talk about it? He’d have to think that over, see what her neighbors thought. He walked down the flagstone steps to his white truck. He had a lot more mail to deliver. The day was young, and the afternoon spread out pleasantly before him.

  36

  * * *

  Susan Sparrow heard the sound of quiet breathing behind her as she turned back toward the kitchen. It wasn’t Landry, he was meeting with the Carters at the crematorium. It was Eric. He’d come in through the kitchen, heard her speaking to Putney, and stayed out of sight. If he hadn’t, there’d have been gossip about her and her brother-in-law tearing up the sheets before Mr. Putney finished his route today.

  He was grinning. “Now that idiot Putney will tell all the people on the rest of his route you didn’t show any concern at all about what happened to Gunny, and why was that?”

  Susan shrugged. “I learned very quickly never to show any reaction to anything Mr. Putney tosses at me.”

  “Doesn’t matter
, he’ll make something up. At least you didn’t give him any fodder. Hey, I think the cookies are nearly done. They smell great. Can I have one?”

  She laughed as she looked up at her brother-in-law. Eric looked like a bad boy with the beard scruff on his face. Ripped jeans, a black T-shirt showing off his muscles, and scuffed low-heeled black boots finished off the picture. “You’re back early. I thought you were fishing with your buddies until tomorrow.”

  He shrugged, turned away, walked to the kitchen. He wanted a beer with his cookie. Susan followed him and watched him open the fridge, twist the cap off a Bud, and take a long drink. He wiped his hand over his mouth, walked to the oven, and breathed in. “I’ve always loved chocolate chip cookies. Mom’s were great. She used them as bribes, mostly.”

  “To keep you from breaking heads at a bar?”

  “Yeah, maybe that, too. Mainly it was little stuff, like getting me to put the toilet seat down.”

  “Why’d you come over here, Eric?”

  “I wanted to see Landry. Then I realized he was with the Carters, going over their memorial service at the crematorium. He’s known them forever. He really likes them.”

  Susan put on oven mitts and pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. The cookies were fat and soft, the way both Landry and Eric liked them. She did, too, she supposed. She put the cookies on a rack to cool, saw Eric’s eyes fasten on them, shoved one on a napkin, and handed it to him. He said absolutely nothing, inhaled, took a small bite, and groaned. He’d always thought chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven had to be what heaven smelled like. “Gotta say, Susan, those are as good as Mom’s.” He paused a moment, grinned. “Do you know, from the age of seventeen, I always put the toilet seat down?”