There were three dead men in green BDUs lying near the middle of the hallway. All had had their masks pulled off. Nola choked back a sob.
The county attorney, Nola’s attorney, and the court reporter were bound with plastic straps, toward the end of the hall, and were being freed by a TAC officer with a pair of shears. The clerk and the judge were standing just outside her office, talking to one of the TAC team members.
Mark’s body was at the end of the hall. I didn’t look too closely.
We packed Nola down the stairs, along with several TAC team people, both federal and state. They surrounded us outside, while we waited for a cop car to back onto the lawn, going around the felled trees.
The sky was black with smoke, and the sidewalk was covered with broken glass.
‘‘What was that big thump a minute ago?’’ I asked.
‘‘One of the small propane tanks going off,’’ he said. ‘‘You hear that ‘jet engine’ out that way?’’
Yeah, now that he mentioned it. I thought it was just my ears still ringing.
‘‘Big propane tank, vented when it got too hot.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
Volont came down the stairs behind us, and watched Nola get in the back of the cop car. Sally got in with her.
I leaned over, into the back seat of the car, and said to Sally, ‘‘You were great. Really mean that. Fantastic.’’
Her grin spread all over her face. ‘‘Can I tell ’em I got to shoot your gun, Dad?’’
I smiled and shut the door.
Volont motioned me and Hester over to him and George.
‘‘Glad to see you’re all right,’’ he said. He really didn’t sound like he meant it.
‘‘Me too,’’ I said, still grinning. Relief does that to me. ‘‘Hey, where were you guys anyway?’’
Mostly shrugging from Hester and George. Volont didn’t appear to have heard me. They told me later, though, that Volont held all the specialist people up there at the jail, because he was so certain that this was a diversion and that Gabriel was really going to go after her at the jail. No kidding. Just like Hitler and D-Day. I don’t want to minimize the help that Sally was, but he had left me with a dispatcher, to take on Gabriel, while he sat up at the jail with enough muscle to plug the Fulda gap. But, like I said, they told me that later.
‘‘You know when I said he was a soldier?’’ said Volont, just like I hadn’t said anything.
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘And when I said that we’d have to look at him a little differently than some criminal?’’
‘‘I remember that too,’’ I said.
‘‘The military calls it ‘Force Multiplication,’ ’’ he mused. ‘‘The bombs they planted. Must have done it last night. Just to create chaos.’’
‘‘It sure worked,’’ I said.
‘‘Not a single fatality in those explosions,’’ said Volont. ‘‘All either empty buildings at the time or isolated chemicals.’’ He said it with admiration.
‘‘Nice of the fucker,’’ I said. I watched the ambulance people go up the stairs. ‘‘Fatalities up there, though.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Volont. ‘‘I think he didn’t hit the jail because he wasn’t able to determine if it was a trap or not.’’ It was like he was making notes for a lecture.
‘‘You know, I was meaning to ask you . . . just what operation were they practicing for when they killed Kellerman and Turd?’’ My first opportunity to ask.
‘‘I’ve always got bad news for you, Houseman,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to discuss that.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ I looked around. ‘‘You mind if I sit on that bench? I’m a little tired.’’
As I sat, Volont asked me what I thought was a rather strange question.
‘‘Do you know who any of those men were?’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said. ‘‘Gabe yelled at one to throw a grenade, and called him Ted. So I suppose one of them was Ted.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘Gabe, of course.’’
‘‘You heard him?’’
‘‘I talked to him.’’ I grinned. ‘‘He asked if I was fuckin’ Houseman and I told him he got the first name wrong. He sure had a loud voice for a southern accent.’’ I gestured toward the hole in my shirt. ‘‘Fucker shot me too.’’
‘‘You seem to be all right.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Good vest. Starting to ache, though.’’
I watched the bodies going by in the zipped white bags.
‘‘Which one is he?’’ I asked.
‘‘I always have bad news for you, Houseman,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Now what? You can’t tell me?’’
‘‘No.’’ He looked me right in the eye. ‘‘No. None of the bodies, none of the prisoners, is Gabe. He’s not here, not now.’’ He looked right at me. ‘‘If he ever was.’’
I kind of resented that. ‘‘He was there,’’ I said.
‘‘You only heard a voice, Houseman. You’ve only ever heard a voice.’’ He smiled a tight little smile. ‘‘You’ve never seen him.’’
I just stared at Volont. I didn’t know what to say. And in the background, I could hear a voice saying, ‘‘. . . two known dead . . .’’
Twenty-seven
WE HAD LOTS of meetings to put it all together, so the prosecuting attorneys could make some kind of case. We all met, except Volont. He’d just send advice through others, normally George. On the afternoon of the second meeting, George made it clear that he wanted to see me, and Hester, alone. We met out back in the storage garage at the jail, the one that used to be a barn.
It was hot and musty in the old building. Hester looked around her. ‘‘This better be good, George.’’
‘‘Good might be the wrong word,’’ he said. ‘‘I think I have some bad news.’’
Neither Hester nor I said anything.
He took a deep breath. ‘‘Remember the shooter that was killed in the courtroom?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘I do.’’
‘‘He was an informant for Volont.’’
‘‘No shit,’’ I said. ‘‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’’
‘‘He was one of the shooters in the park,’’ he said. ‘‘High probability.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Well, that was a little help.
Silence. Then Hester asked the crucial question. ‘‘For how long? How long was Volont working him?’’
George was quiet for a second. ‘‘From before the shooting in the park,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘Way before that.’’
‘‘You mean,’’ I said, ‘‘Volont knew they were in the park before we did?’’
‘‘That’s what I mean.’’
‘‘You think he knew who they all were?’’ asked Hester very slowly.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Then,’’ I said, ‘‘he probably knew that there were some of the involved people at the Stritch residence? Before Lamar and Bud went there? Is that what you’re saying?’’
‘‘I’m afraid so,’’ said George. ‘‘There’s a bit more. I might as well tell you now.’’
‘‘Like?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Well,’’ said George, ‘‘remember that one sort of disconnected message on the computer? The one that said ‘You better get up here,’ and we couldn’t figure out who it was supposed to go to?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘That was traced to a server in some little burg in Virginia.’’ George sighed. ‘‘Addressee unknown to us, just to the server. Turns out that the server is a covert one used by only one agent.’’
We both stared at him.
‘‘Volont,’’ said George.
‘‘You mean to tell me that they were talking to him from the GODDAMNED HOUSE!?’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t know until yesterday.’’
‘‘Which one of those assholes sent the message?’’ as
ked Hester. ‘‘Gabriel?’’
‘‘Could have been,’’ said George. ‘‘But I personally think it was Wittman.’’
Great. More to come, though. Two of the bodies from the courthouse still hadn’t been identified. We’d been trying to run prints, but neither of them had a print on file. That meant that they had never been federal employees (including armed services), had never been arrested for more than a misdemeanor . . . no more than that. Simply that they were average people.
‘‘I’ve been talking with some, oh, people,’’ said George. ‘‘We think that there’s a good chance that one of the bodies actually is Gabriel.’’
‘‘Really?’’ I’m always at least that quick.
‘‘We think that Volont knows that. But that it suits his purposes better, somehow, to have him not be dead.’’
‘‘But,’’ I said, ‘‘he was in the Army. His prints would be on file.’’
‘‘Who did you run the prints through?’’ asked George rhetorically. ‘‘What agency maintains the records?’’ He looked at me with sad eyes.
‘‘So that means he’s not one of the ‘known dead,’ then?’’ I asked.
‘‘Well, no, I guess not.’’ George looked at me curiously. ‘‘Not for certain. Why, is that important or something?’’
‘‘Oh, sort of. To me, I guess.’’ I snorted. ‘‘Just kind of a play on words that bothers me. Only now it bothers me in a different way.’’
Yeah.
Epilogue
WELL, THAT’S WHAT actually happened. The story about the ‘‘natural gas explosions rocking a small midwestern town’’ just ain’t true. Neither are the ones about the ‘‘enraged courthouse employee’’ who shot up the courthouse that day. I know. I was there.
Herman, Billy, and Nola Stritch all got federal time, and shouldn’t be out for a while. Ted did confess to doing some of the shooting in the park, but it turned out, very conveniently, that the two dead terrorists in the courthouse did all the killing that day in the woods. Ted said he only knew them by their code names of Norman and Hiram but had absolutely no idea who they really were. Hey, I believe Ted, don’t you? No matter, he got life.
Herman Stritch didn’t shoot Rumsford. We know that. The crime was cleared by saying it was an ‘‘unknown’’ assailant, and that it was ‘‘possibly inadvertent.’’ I think it was Wittman. He was in the house. We have that nailed down. Did he shoot, or did Gabe? Good question. The better question is how it could be ‘‘inadvertent,’’ especially since he ‘‘allegedly’’ shot him twice. I don’t know for sure who Wittman knows, or who he works for, but he isn’t in any prison as far as we have been able to tell.
Which leaves Gabriel, otherwise known as Jacob Henry Nieuhauser.
That name is never mentioned in any of the official reports, including mine. It’s that simple. He is referred to as an ‘‘unknown suspect.’’ That’s so the Feds’ investigation isn’t compromised. Yep. I think it’s also so Volont doesn’t have to admit that he outwitted himself. Is he dead? If he is, then Volont would have to have suppressed his fingerprint identification. The prints on both bodies were submitted to the FBI labs. Could Volont arrange that? Piece of cake. But with Volont, who knows. He could have planted that guess with the other agents, and have been sure George would tell me and Hester. I don’t know.
But if he is still alive, I’d like to meet him again sometime.
Lamar is back at work. He knows something is very, very wrong. I’ll tell him before I mail this in. I think he ‘‘needs to know.’’
If you enjoyed
Donald Harstad’s KNOWN DEAD,
you won’t want to miss any of his suspense novels!
Look for ELEVEN DAYS and THE BIG THAW
in paperback from Bantam Books at your favorite bookseller.
And turn the page for a sneak peek at his
next suspense novel featuring Deputy Sheriff Carl Houseman, coming soon.
Prologue
My name is Carl Houseman, and I’m a deputy sheriff in Nation County, Iowa. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now; long enough to be the Department’s Investigator, and senior officer, as well. Senior in every sense of the term, unfortunately. Somehow, when you pass fifty and realize a twenty-five-year-old fellow officer was born about the same time you took the oath, you start to wonder if you might not begin to feel old pretty soon. I mean, maybe in another ten years or so.
The case I’m going to tell about has to be about the most bizarre of all the cases in our files. I think you’ll see what I mean.
One
Saturday, October 7, 2000
0740
I was brushing my teeth in our upstairs bathroom when I thought I heard the phone ring. I turned off the water, and listened. Nothing. I turned the water back on, glad there hadn’t been a call, because my wife, Sue, was asleep. She is a middle-school teacher, and Saturday is about the only day she could sleep past six-thirty.
I was tapping the toothbrush on the side of the sink, and just reaching to turn off the water, when the bathroom door opened a few inches, and Sue’s hand and arm came through, holding out the portable phone. “Okay,” she said, her voice throaty with sleep, “he’s right here.” It would have been better if she’d said that into the phone, but I didn’t think it prudent to bring that up. I was going to hear about this. I took the phone, and the hand disappeared.
“Houseman . . .”
“Carl?” It was the voice of Norma, one of the newer dispatchers. Well, sure. Who else? “Yep.”
“Uh, we got a call, at, ummm . . . 0636 . . . and I sent Eight up on it. He got there, and thinks we should, uh, probably have you come up and take a look.” Her voice seemed to be about an octave higher than usual. Eight referred to Nation County Sheriff’s Car Eight, the radio call sign of Tom Borman, a newish deputy with about two years’ service. He seemed like a good sort, and pretty serious about his job.
“What’s he got?” I asked, as I walked down the hall to our bedroom, to dress. I was pretty sure Tom didn’t want me to show up in just my boxer shorts.
“The first call said there’d been an accident. That was on 911. Something about a lady in a tub. The caller wasn’t really clear, female, just wanted help in a hurry.”
“What’s he want, help lifting her?” I asked. That wasn’t a good enough reason to call me out early, and it was a hell of a long way from being sufficient reason to wake Sue. I guess I sounded a little exasperated.
“No, no. No, we got a second call after the Frieberg Ambulance got there. I sent them right away. They said” —and she seemed to be reading right off her Dispatch log—“ ‘this subject is code blue, and we think there should be a cop up here right away, it looks like a suicide.’ ”
Well, that explained the call to me. Department policy is to treat suicides as if they were homicides, at least until murder had been ruled out. Who do you call to deal with a possible homicide? The Investigator. Even if you were sure it was a suicide, the Investigator was now stuck with the report. “Right. I’ll get dressed and . . .”
“It’s three-and-a-half miles south of Frieberg, off County Road X8G, then the second gravel to . . .”
I hate to be rude, but I was trying to pull on my blue jeans and still talk on the phone. Writing the directions down was out of the question.
“Just tell me after I get in the car and headed up to Frieberg. I’ll take X8G up, okay?”
“Sure,” she said. Her voice got some crisp back into it, and I knew I’d hurt her feelings by implying criticism.
“I’m trying to put on my pants,” I said, and grinned as I said it, to lighten my voice. “Only so many hands.”
“Oh . . . sure . . . just one more thing, maybe, while I have you on the phone. I don’t think this should be on the radio.”
Having at least managed to get both legs in the jeans, I sat on the end of the bed, and said, “Sure.”
“Eight called me on the phone, and said that this is a really bad one,
but that it’s a confirmed suicide.”
“Oh?” I hate pulling on socks with one hand. I also hate junior officers making bald-faced statements like that. I mean, they’re probably right most of the time, but all you need in a possible murder case is for some defense attorney to get his hands on a logged statement like that one. “But doesn’t it say, right here, that the first officer on the scene determined this to be a suicide?” But the log couldn’t be changed. Only amended, sort of. “Log it that I say that it’s not a suicide until the ME’s office says so,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Really bad. That’s all he said.”
“Okay, kid. You call Lamar yet?” Lamar was our sheriff, and he liked to be kept well informed of tragic and disastrous happenings in the county. Mainly because he hated to go to breakfast at Phil’s Café and have somebody ask him about a case before he knew we had a case. Looked bad. I pushed my stocking feet into my tennis shoes.
“Yes, and he said to send you right up.”
“Well, let’s see if we can’t arrange that,” I said with a hissing sound as I bent over to tie my shoe laces, the phone pressed tightly between my shoulder and my ear.
“And he said to call him if you needed him to come, too.”
“Fine. I’ll call you on the radio. . . .” I pressed the “off” button on the phone and turned to put it back in the charger.
“You need any help?” came Sue’s voice from the other side of the bed. “It sure looks like it from here.”
“No.”
“I’m going to try to go back to sleep . . .”
I stood, pulled a dark gray polo shirt over my head, and slid my clip-on holster into my belt, on my right hip. I walked over to Sue, bent down, and gave her a kiss. “Good luck.”
“You, too,” she said, nearly asleep again already.
I grabbed my gun, my walkie-talkie, my ID case, billfold, and car keys from their drawer downstairs in the dining room, and was in my unmarked patrol car and reporting in to the Dispatch Center at 0749.
“What time did you call me, Comm?” I asked. Curious.
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