Nina gasped and brought her hand to her mouth the way someone might when startled during a horror movie.
Baird had an automatic in his right hand. As he jumped, he swung the gun in a high arc. It crashed against Nina’s temple just as his feet hit the floor.
The force of the blow spun her body. Nina caromed off the wall and slid to the floor.
Baird pressed his free hand against his ribs and grimaced as if the jump had hurt him, and I wondered if that was where he had been hit during our shootout.
He waved his gun at us.
I brought the Beretta up.
“Not again,” Mrs. Baird said.
She shoved at me.
“Police,” Hasselback shouted. “Don’t move.”
Collin Baird threw a wild shot in our direction and ran for the door.
I shoved Mrs. Baird away and took off after him.
I paused for a beat when I reached Nina’s side. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was twisted in an ugly grin. She had brought her hand up and was covering the wound on her head. Blood seeped between her fingers.
“Nuts,” she said.
I left her there.
I hit the screen door with my shoulder. It flew open and I dove across the lawn, landed on my shoulder, and rolled into a crouch. I brought the Beretta up with both hands and swept the muzzle over the front yard and street and surrounding houses. Collin Baird was not there.
I thought I heard running behind me and turned toward the noise. I moved quickly to Mrs. Baird’s house and began to move cautiously around it. The two sides of my brain were shouting at each other. “He’s getting away,” said one. “Go slow,” said the other.
The back yard opened up onto a wooded area. I took cover at the corner of the house. I waited. I listened. I saw and heard nothing.
I dashed across the yard into the woods and paused again.
Training and experience had quieted the shouting. I told myself, this was his ground. He grew up here. Following him into the woods would be a fatal mistake.
Rule Number One, my inner voice said.
I slowly backed out.
Sonuvabitch!
* * *
I listened to the sound of sirens approaching, sirens that almost always came too late. I didn’t want to be the one standing there with a gun in my hand when the cops arrived, so I holstered the Beretta and made my way back into the house. I found Nina sitting in a chair near the door. She was pressing a folded handkerchief to her temple. A trickle of blood ran down her hand and wrist and spotted her blue shirt and black skirt. Her eyes were wet with tears, yet she made no sound. I knelt before her.
“Let me see,” I said.
She shook her head and gestured toward the sitting area. Chief Hasselback was kneeling next to Mrs. Baird. She had doubled up her hands and was applying pressure to an area just above the woman’s breasts—standard procedure for treating a sucking chest wound. Her hands and wrists and shirt were soaked with blood.
“Stay with me, Mrs. Baird,” the chief said. “It’ll be all right. Help is on the way. Help will be here soon. Stay with me.”
I moved to the chief’s side and looked over her shoulder. Mrs. Baird’s eyes were closed, and if she was breathing, I didn’t notice.
“Stay with me,” the chief said. “Just for a few more minutes. Help is coming.”
The front door opened and paramedics filled the room. They relieved the chief. She stood and watched them work. Blood dripped off of her hands onto the floor. She didn’t seem to notice the blood until the paramedics confirmed what we already knew.
“She’s gone.”
SIXTEEN
I felt like a kite baffled by the changing winds. At any moment I could come crashing down. I tried not to let Nina know it, though.
They separated us as soon as the Jo Daviess County sheriff deputies arrived. They took her to the Midwest Medical Center, where they gave her three stitches just to the left of her eyebrow and a neurological exam to test for concussion symptoms. Fortunately, her memory and concentration, strength and sensation, vision, hearing, balance, coordination, and reflexes were just fine.
They brought me to the Public Safety Building just behind the courthouse in Galena. The chief deputy was furious that I had the audacity to bring a concealed weapon into his county. I reminded him that I had a permit to carry. He reminded me that “this is Illinois, not goddamn Minnesota.”
The questions came fast and furious, and it took a while before I was able to explain that Collin Baird was the “unidentified suspect” wanted in Hennepin County for the rape and murder of Irene Rogers and the criminal sexual assault of Anne Rehmann. By then he could have easily slipped into Iowa or Wisconsin, which would have made quick capture that much more unlikely. The deputies sent out their alerts and bulletins just the same.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Baird?” Chief Hasselback asked.
“I didn’t realize it was him until I saw the photograph,” I said. “I think that’s why he came out of hiding, because he knew his mother was showing me the photograph. Otherwise, who knows…”
“What was he doing down here?”
“The Hennepin County deputies think I might have shot him the other day, but not bad enough to knock him down. Where do you go when you’re hurt?”
“You’re a guy who likes playing with guns, is that what you’re telling me?” the chief deputy wanted to know. “Some kinda poster child for the NRA?”
I suggested a way the chief deputy could entertain himself. He told me that a few days in county jail on a weapons charge would give me plenty of time to show him how it was done. By then the assistant county attorney had arrived. He didn’t like me any better than the chief deputy, yet he was more inclined to send me home than send me to jail since I never actually fired said weapon. In the end, it was Chief Hasselback who tipped the scales in my favor. Just the same, the chief deputy confiscated my Beretta. He told me if I didn’t like it I could sue to get it back. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen, though. Cops don’t sue cops, ex or otherwise.
“Why are you busting my chops?” I asked him.
“Because we haven’t had a killing in this county in over eight years.”
Several hours passed before Nina was transported from the hospital to the Public Safety Building. I had no doubt they had already asked her the same questions they had asked me and compared the answers. They kept us apart just the same.
Calls were made to Lieutenant Pelzer. I don’t know if he vouched for me or not. I do know that he thanked the chief deputy for his efforts in identifying Collin Baird and promised cooperation since they both were now looking for the same suspect. The chief deputy seemed pleased by that.
The ACA wanted to know if Baird killed his mother by accident or on purpose. Chief Hasselback wondered what difference it made. The ACA said it was the difference between a second-degree murder charge and first-degree manslaughter. The Chief thought it was a straight-up accident.
“He was shooting at McKenzie, and Mrs. Baird stepped in the way,” she said.
I wasn’t so sure.
“In just a few minutes she gave us a lot of information that Baird didn’t want us to have,” I said. “Who knows what she might have given us had she lived?”
“Do you actually believe he murdered his own mother?” Hasselback asked.
“He wouldn’t be the first.”
The chief deputy suggested I was just saying that because I didn’t want to take responsibility for what happened. He wasn’t entirely wrong, although, damn, how was this my fault?
Eventually Nina and I were reunited. We were told we could return to our hotel. The chief deputy said he wanted us to stay in town because he might have more questions. I told him that I was driving home to Minnesota the first thing in the morning. The chief deputy said, in that case, I could spend the night in lockup. I told him if that happened I would lawyer up and then he knew what he could do with his questions. Once again Chief Hasselback cam
e between me and a bad outcome. I thanked her when the three of us were in the parking lot.
“Are you always this hard to get along with?” she asked me.
“I thought Collin Baird was just another one of Jax Abana’s victims like all the others,” I told her. “It hadn’t occurred to me that he might be involved somehow in what was happening until I saw the photograph. If it had…”
“If it had, Mrs. Baird might still be alive.”
“Something like that.”
“It really isn’t your fault.”
“Feels like it, though.”
“Good-bye, McKenzie.”
I offered to shake her hand. She pulled it back. She had washed—several times—yet there were still bloodstains beneath her fingernails. I took both of her hands in mine just the same and gave them a squeeze.
“Take care, Chief.”
“You, too.” And then, “Ms. Truhler? You did real good.”
Nina was standing on the passenger side of the Lexus.
“All I did was stay out of the way,” she said.
“Without a whimper or a curse,” Hasselback said. “You did good.”
* * *
A few minutes later, we were in the parking lot of the DeSoto House. Night had fallen, and most of the shops up and down Main Street were closed—Monday night in downtown Galena. There were plenty of streetlamps, though, and the light they cast reflected off the pale pink bandage covering Nina’s stitches.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Yes, it hurts. So does childbirth and stepping on a Lego with your bare foot.”
“We’ll get you some ice.”
“Get me a drink.”
“That, too.”
“The emergency room doctor was very kind. Very careful with the stitches. She told me when she was done that if anyone could see the scar without a magnifying glass she’d go back to medical school.”
“That’s good. How do you feel?”
“Tired. Drained. How do you feel?”
“Okay.” What else was I going to say? That even while carrying the burden of what happened at Mrs. Baird’s house I felt elated, I felt jazzed? A psychologist I dated once accused me of being an adrenaline junky. That wasn’t true—I didn’t jump out of planes or hang from mountain ledges by my fingertips. Yet Nina wasn’t too far wrong when she said, “You’re an adventurer. You do what you do for fun…” I just didn’t know how to admit to it without sounding like a jerk.
We completed the short walk to the front door of the hotel. I held it open, and Nina stepped inside the brightly lit lobby. She had been wearing the bloodstained shirt and skirt most of the day without complaint, yet the expression on the faces of the clerk and the young couple standing in front of his desk brought home how disheveled she appeared. She turned to me.
“I look like crap,” she said.
It was because of the turning that she saw them first—a man and a woman—both in suits. He wore a tie; she didn’t.
They rose up behind us from chairs flanking each side of the doorway.
“McKenzie,” the man said.
He reached into his jacket pocket.
“McKenzie,” Nina shouted.
She slipped around me and kicked him swiftly in the groin with the point of her shoe.
He cupped his genitals with both hands and fell to his knees as if he had been downed by a surface-to-air missile. The words he cried were not fit for small children.
The woman stepped backward and went into a defensive stance.
Nina pivoted to face her.
The woman dipped her hand into the open bag that hung from her shoulder.
Nina took a step forward, fists clenched.
I jumped between them and waved my hands like a referee stopping a heavyweight bout.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I chanted. I spun toward the woman and pointed at her bag. “Don’t. Don’t do it. Please don’t. It’s not necessary.”
She brought her hand out of her bag. It was empty.
Nina took another step forward. I caught her by the shoulders and held her
“Nina, it’s okay,” I said. “It’s all right. Everything is all right.”
“They were attacking us,” she said.
“No, they weren’t.”
“But, McKenzie—”
“Sweetie, we’re in a well-lit hotel lobby surrounded by witnesses and security cameras.”
Nina cocked her head so she could get a good look at the trio standing at the registration desk. If they had been disconcerted by Nina’s bloody clothes, their expressions now suggested they were all stunned to the point of paralysis.
“It’s okay,” I told them. I continued to hold Nina by her shoulders. “No problems here.”
“Speak for yourself,” the man muttered from his knees.
The young man at the desk began to move—slowly—as if he were coming out of a trance.
“It’s all right,” I said.
He drifted to his computer and began working the keyboard as if performing a familiar task would somehow return everything to normal. The young couple turned to watch him. A moment later he looked up and smiled. They smiled back.
The man remained on his knees. I offered a hand to help him up, only he waved it away.
“I’m fine just where I am for now,” he said.
“Oh, get up, you big baby,” the woman said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket. I heard Nina take a deep breath behind me. He removed a thin leather wallet, opened it, and held it up for me to see. It contained a government-issued identification card.
“Special Agent Matthew Cooper, Department of Justice,” he said.
“Oh, no,” Nina whispered to me. “What did I do?”
“You assaulted a federal officer,” I told her. I started to laugh, which she didn’t appreciate at all.
“Am I in trouble?” Nina asked.
Cooper rose slowly to his feet.
“I didn’t see anything if you didn’t see anything,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the woman said. “He’d be too embarrassed to write it up, how a woman half his size kicked his ass.”
“That’s not what she kicked,” Cooper said. He gestured with his thumb. “My partner.”
Nina turned toward her. I thought she might offer to shake hands, but she didn’t.
“Special Agent Zo’ Marin,” the woman said.
“That’s Greek,” Nina said.
“So it is.”
“Means ‘life of the sea.’”
“So it does.”
“I’m tired.”
Nina moved to the winding staircase and started to climb it. The rest of us followed.
* * *
The moment Nina entered the hotel suite, she tossed her bag on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her shirt out of her skirt. She moved to the bureau where she kept her Sangua Della Pantera. She grabbed the wine bottle by the neck, scooped up a corkscrew, and padded toward the bathroom.
“I’m going to take a bath,” she said.
She stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I went to the door and rapped gently with a knuckle.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” I asked.
“Leave me alone.”
I stepped away from the door.
“Trouble in paradise?” Marin asked.
“She’s had a long day.”
“Yeah, that’s what we heard,” Cooper said. “Like to talk to you about that, if we might.”
I directed them to the sitting area. The agents took the love seat, and I sat in the chair opposite them. The gas fireplace was between us. I thought about turning it on, yet decided not to.
“All I can offer you is root beer,” I said.
“Root beer?” asked Cooper.
“I have forty-eight bottles.”
“Oh God, not another one,” Marin said.
“You discovered the Root Beer Revelry, too?” Coope
r said. “I love that place. When this is over I’m going to have them ship a bottle of every variety they have to our field office in Chicago.”
“In the meantime…,” Marin said. “Mr. McKenzie, what do you know about Collin Baird?”
“Almost nothing. What do you know about him?”
“We know he shot his mother today,” Cooper said. “Some say he was trying to shoot you.”
“That’s what some say. Look, guys, I’m not trying to play with you. I know very little about Baird. I came here trying to get a handle on someone else—”
“David Maurell,” Marin said.
“The fact that Baird was here came as a great surprise to me,” I added.
“Fine,” Cooper said. “Let’s talk about David Maurell.”
“Let’s.” I settled back against the chair. “You first.”
The two agents glanced at each other. Marin grinned.
“He’s just like you,” she said. “Goddamned cowboy. All right. The first thing you should know, McKenzie, is that Coop and I are in the Investigations Division. We’ve been assigned to the Office of the Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction—”
Cooper interrupted to say, “The Office of the Special Inspector General is an independent entity working out of the Department of Justice whose mission is to detect and deter waste, fraud, abuse, and misconduct in DOJ programs and personnel.”
“Do you mind?” Marin asked.
“No, go ’head.”
“The amount of fraud perpetrated in Iraq following the war is almost incomprehensible,” Marin told me. “It’s anywhere between sixty and one hundred billion dollars, depending on who you’re listening to.”
“That’s billion with a B,” Cooper said.
“Half this money came from Iraq, its cash and oil reserves,” Marin said. “The rest came from Uncle Sam. The IG for Iraq Reconstruction was put in place to get a handle on it. So far we’re talking over two hundred prosecutions of one type or another. Which isn’t to say that a lot of people are going to jail. Most contractors are merely being bumped off the approved list of vendors, you know?”
“Which brings us to Maurell,” Cooper said.
“Which brings us to Collin Baird,” Marin said. “Baird was listed as the president and CEO of a company based in Laredo, Texas, called CB Enterprises, Inc. This company seemed to be legitimate. Incorporation papers proved it was three years old by the time it opened an office in Baghdad. What’s more, CBE had enough money and connections to—how shall I say this?—impress the army into awarding it an eighty-million-dollar contract under its Logistics Civil Augmentation Program. The contract required CBE to replace the tents of our soldiers with housing trailers within a calendar year. To perform this task, CBE hired a Kuwaiti-based company as a subcontractor. The subcontract required the Kuwaitis to supply two thousand, two hundred and fifty-two trailers to the army’s Camp Anaconda. However, they were able to supply only half that many by the deadline.
The Devil May Care Page 20
