Known Dead ch-2

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Known Dead ch-2 Page 17

by Donald Harstad


  ‘‘Sounds good. Extra mustard?’’

  Oh, why couldn’t state work that way?

  I just started the first sandwich when George of the Bureau came over.

  ‘‘Just had a strange sort of call, Carl.’’

  ‘‘Mmmmpf?’’ Hard to sound sharp with a mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘‘A SAC is on his way up. Be here real quick.’’

  I swallowed. ‘‘So?’’

  ‘‘So this is a heavy hitter among heavy hitters, Carl. Fellow named Volont.’’

  ‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Met him at the meeting in Oelwein.’’

  ‘‘Well, I’ve never met the man myself,’’ said George. ‘‘Just heard of him.’’

  ‘‘Yep,’’ I said. ‘‘Well, he seems to have a handle on the dope trade, although I think he believes I’m not too sharp.’’ I grinned, remembering my raincoat.

  George gave me a funny look. Just then, his cell phone rang. He answered it, got sort of a quizzical look, and handed it to me.

  ‘‘It’s for you…’’

  ‘‘Me?’’ I’d only talked on a cell phone a few times in my life, and sure wasn’t expecting to receive a call.

  ‘‘Hello?’’ I was expecting an FBI supervisor.

  ‘‘Carl?’’ asked a muffled voice, slowly and thickly.

  ‘‘Yes, this is Carl.’’

  ‘‘Houmph dses goone?’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘House thinks goanen?’’ Very slow, very deliberate, and just about impossible to understand.

  ‘‘Who is this?’’

  ‘‘Mumph Lamar, fumf dumm shiddd.’’

  ‘‘Lamar? Lamar, is that you?’’

  ‘‘Yefffs.’’

  ‘‘Jesus Christ!’’

  ‘‘Mum, mum, mum,’’ he laughed.

  ‘‘It’s Lamar,’’ I said to George. Back into the phone, I said, ‘‘Why the hell aren’t you resting?’’

  It wasn’t a long conversation, but just basic Lamar, and his wanting to know how things were. His wife came on the line a few seconds later.

  ‘‘Hello, Carl.’’

  ‘‘Hi, June.’’

  ‘‘I couldn’t stop him, and the office said they could get hold of you up there with this number.’’

  ‘‘How is he, June?’’

  ‘‘Well,’’ she said, disgusted and a little proud at the same time. ‘‘You know my old man here. Had to know just as soon as the anesthetic wore off.’’

  He was calling from his room, had just come from a surgery on his leg, the second one, and was doing just fine. Except he wasn’t really conscious yet.

  ‘‘June, hey, could you ask him something for me?’’

  ‘‘Well, I’ll try. I’m not promising anything…’’

  ‘‘Ask him who shot him, will you?’’

  ‘‘Sure,’’ she said into the phone. I could hear her talking to Lamar, asking him twice who had shot him, more loudly the second time. Then she seemed to be arguing with Lamar for a second. Then I heard his voice on the phone.

  ‘‘Zhad fummggem hurrmen.’’

  ‘‘What, Lamar? I can’t quite understand you,’’ I said apologetically.

  ‘‘THAT FUCKIN’ HERMAN!’’

  ‘‘Oh, okay, boss, got it. Thanks, thanks a lot…’’

  Roger Collier, the trained negotiator, came hurrying over. He had a problem, which he had taken to Al, who referred him to me. Hmmm.

  ‘‘Anyway,’’ said Roger, ‘‘Herman wants to talk to the media.’’

  ‘‘He does? What about?’’

  ‘‘He wants to give them his side. He says we’re gonna sneak in and murder him for defending his property, and he wants the outside world to know what’s happening before we do that.’’

  ‘‘How nice.’’ I shook my head. ‘‘I dunno…’’

  ‘‘Well, he’s progressing, so to speak. Lots of guilt building in him by now. I’d definitely say we were at the ‘dismay and disappointment’ stage.’’ Roger looked really hopeful. ‘‘Throw in that hopeless feeling he’s going to get after he talks to the media, and there’s nothing left…’’

  I looked around. ‘‘Where does he want to do the interview? We don’t really have a place, but if we can get him past the fence.. .’’

  ‘‘Oh, no,’’ said Roger. ‘‘He wants to do it in the house.’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Don’t say that, not yet. Just give it a second. This could be a break for all of us.’’

  ‘‘I don’t want a hostage.’’

  ‘‘That’d be the dumbest thing he could do,’’ said Roger.

  ‘‘He ain’t been overly bright so far,’’ I answered. ‘‘What makes you think he’s gonna start now?’’

  ‘‘So you want me to tell him we won’t allow it?’’

  Damn. I had no idea what to do. I hate that. Well, when all else fails, be an administrator.

  ‘‘You’re recommending this… as our negotiator?’’

  He looked a little surprised. ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, all right.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘I just don’t want to have a news team in there. Cameraman and reporter. Lights. That’s a little too much, don’t you think?’’

  ‘‘Oh, he doesn’t want TV,’’ said Roger. ‘‘He wants newspaper.’’

  ‘‘Newspaper?’’ I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘‘He doesn’t trust TV. Says the Feds alter the signal, put in subliminal messages.’’ Roger shrugged. ‘‘Some people are like that.’’

  I shook my head. ‘‘Okay.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘This isn’t a manifesto sort of thing is it? I meant, not just a bunch of bullshit from a crazy?’’

  Roger grinned. ‘‘No guarantees.’’

  ‘‘We can explain to him that it’s the decision of the press as to what they print?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. We might not want to do that, it might scare him off. But they could do it, and give him a lot better reasons than we could.’’ Roger shrugged. ‘‘You make the call.’’

  ‘‘What do you think, Roger? Will this soften him up?’’

  ‘‘Let me just say this… he’s scared. He’s really screwed the pooch on this, and he knows it. All we have to do is just wait for it all to sink in, and for him to realize that he’s just digging a deeper hole for himself.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘We just don’t want to let him dig too long, we want to have him reach that little conclusion as soon as possible. We don’t want to be here forever, or it gets to be a real game.’’

  ‘‘But, I mean, it’s harmless, isn’t it? But something he wants to do?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Well, he sure wants to do it.’’

  ‘‘Cool,’’ I said. ‘‘Then let’s let him.’’

  ‘‘Any conditions? I mean, at some point, he’s going to be very, very ripe. If we get him to that point, and then prolong it, we lose the moment. So how about a time limit?’’

  ‘‘For the interview?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. That would be good.’’

  ‘‘Sure,’’ I said. ‘‘An hour good for you?’’

  ‘‘Fine. You have any questions I can help with?’’

  ‘‘What’s to ask? As far as I can tell, the only thing we have to do is to get an intrepid soul to go in and talk with him.’’ I thought again. ‘‘Does he want pictures?’’

  ‘‘He didn’t really say,’’ said Roger.

  ‘‘Well, shit, Roger. Go ask him.’’

  About fifteen minutes later, Al, Roger, Hester, George, and I were all talking with Nancy Mitchell and Philip Rumsford of the Des Moines Register. They had been, as usual, rather surprised that we actually wanted to talk to them.

  ‘‘Now wait a minute,’’ said Mitchell. ‘‘We don’t take anything in we don’t normally take. Like bugs.’’

  ‘‘No, no,’’ I said. ‘‘We aren’t asking that you do anything like that.’’

  ‘‘He just wants to talk with print media, and you’re just sendin
g us in?’’

  ‘‘That’s right. We just want to give him a bit of what he wants, and see if it’ll put him in a better mood to come out. Peacefully.’’ I saw her writing that down, and hoped she got it right. ‘‘Underline ‘peacefully,’ would you?’’

  Nancy Mitchell was not susceptible to charm. At least, not the charm of a cop at a crime scene who she suspected was trying to use her.

  ‘‘We’re going to need ground rules here,’’ she said. ‘‘I want to understand this thing just a bit better before I go in there.’’

  ‘‘Sure.’’ I reached back to the table and got two cans of ice-cold pop. ‘‘Here, drink these and I’ll tell you exactly what I want.’’

  My charm she could hold off. On a terribly hot, humid day, however, cold pop had an irresistible charm of its own. We all sat under a tree, and took notes of what each other said. Slowly becoming more relaxed. Sipping cold pop, and munching on our sandwiches. Yeah, sandwiches. I’d grabbed a fourth.

  ‘‘What I want is this,’’ I said. ‘‘You go in, and you do your story any way you want. Print whatever you decide to. But,’’ I said, taking a bite of sandwich, ‘‘tewo uss fisrnd.’’ I swallowed. ‘‘I mean, tell us first. What he’s said.’’

  ‘‘Well…’’

  ‘‘How can that be a problem?’’

  ‘‘It isn’t really,’’ said Nancy. She took a long drink of her pop. ‘‘Just in general, or do you want a blow-by-blow?’’

  ‘‘If he’s in a manifesto mood,’’ I said, ‘‘just say that. But any details of what he thinks about this situation, who he blames, that sort of thing…’’

  ‘‘I can handle that,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Okay. And if you get into the house, and I think you will, I want a description of who and what’s inside.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ She took another swig of pop. ‘‘Like, what kind of stuff?’’

  ‘‘Oh, like if there are any booby traps, how many people, if they’re all armed. That sort of thing.’’

  ‘‘Hey,’’ she said, ‘‘we’re not ‘Force Recon’ here.’’

  ‘‘Force Recon? What are you, an ex-marine?’’

  She actually laughed at that. ‘‘No. I had a boyfriend who was.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘Well, that’s not what we’re asking.’’ I grinned at her. ‘‘Just so you don’t think you have to paint your face green. Just information that’ll keep anybody from getting killed. Is that out of the question?’’

  She hesitated.

  ‘‘We really want him to realize that we’re not going to get bored and go away. He’s really messed up here, and he’s going to have to answer for it. No question about that.’’ I looked her straight in the eye. ‘‘I just don’t want to have to start shooting again.’’

  She still hesitated. ‘‘I understand that. But I’m not a negotiator.’’

  ‘‘Sure. I know that. Look, do you just want me to send someone else?’’ I asked. My trump card.

  ‘‘Like, who did you have in mind?’’ she asked. ‘‘Him, for instance?’’ She pointed back toward the press area, or ‘‘corral’’ as the cops called it. There were several press types, dressed for the occasion mostly in blue jeans, talking on cell phones, typing into laptops, or writing notes. Busy-looking. The print media people had a more relaxed air, while the TV folks were tense. A matter of deadlines, I’d discovered.

  ‘‘Which one?’’ I asked. Just out of curiosity.

  ‘‘The tall one with the beard and the laptop, sitting on the tailgate of the pickup.’’

  I saw the one she meant. He was the one I’d noticed at Kellerman’s funeral. ‘‘What about him?’’

  ‘‘He’s the reporter for The Freeman Speaks. Extra-conservative rag out of some small town near Decorah. Prints it in his garage.’’

  ‘‘What’s his name?’’

  She laughed again. ‘‘Get it yourself. And his social security number. You’re the cops.’’

  ‘‘Okay, good point. Anyway, no, not him, I guess.’’

  ‘‘You know, I’m surprised he didn’t ask for him,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Might not know he’s here,’’ I said. ‘‘Don’t tell him.’’

  Her eyes sparkled. She knew she had me. ‘‘I get to go, then?’’

  I grinned. ‘‘And I thought this was my idea.’’

  We offered both her and Phil ballistic vests, but they both declined. As much, I think, from a little distrust that we might have bugged them, somehow. Oh, well. They would have been ungodly hot anyway. I asked Al about that, just in case, and he said that he thought as long as they had refused, we had no liability. Right. The tension was building just a little bit, in them as well as us. Phil Rumsford was constantly squeezing the bulb of a small brush he’d used to clean his lens for the tenth time. ‘‘Whisssh, whisssh…’’

  It was getting hotter, as we waited for Roger to confirm permission for the news team to enter. The midafternoon sun was very intense. Everybody was sweating. Roger came over from the communications tent.

  ‘‘Uh, we have a little problem…’’

  Both Nancy and Phil seemed to deflate a bit.

  ‘‘What?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘He only wants one person in. Doesn’t feel safe watching two.’’

  ‘‘What? That’s bullshit!’’ said Al. I agreed.

  ‘‘That’s what he says.’’ Roger shrugged. He looked pretty harried, and I knew how hot it was in the communications tent. He had to be pretty good not to just hang up on Herman.

  I looked at Phil and Nancy. ‘‘If that’s what he wants, you still game?’’

  They looked at each other. ‘‘Can we talk it over for a minute?’’ asked Nancy.

  ‘‘Sure.’’

  While they walked about ten paces to our left, I looked at Hester and George. ‘‘What’s this tell us?’’

  ‘‘Either not too many in there or they’re really paranoid,’’ said George.

  ‘‘Both,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Or,’’ she added, ‘‘maybe they don’t have enough restraints for more than one hostage?’’

  I think that had occurred to more than one of us.

  ‘‘Should we let one go in?’’ I asked no one in particular.

  ‘‘You think there was safety in numbers?’’ asked George.

  ‘‘Well, no, not that. But, I mean, do you think he’s got a sinister motive for this little request, or do you think he’s just playing mind games, trying to show control?’’

  ‘‘I’d vote for control,’’ said Hester.

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Al. ‘‘But he sure can’t intend harm to them. They’re his voice to the outside world.’’

  ‘‘So?’’ I asked. ‘‘We let ’em go in?’’

  ‘‘I say we do,’’ said Hester, and got a withering glance from Al.

  I thought it over. We’d already decided to send two. We needed Herman in a cooperative mood. We needed to get the son of a bitch talking, is what we needed. First to them, then to us.

  ‘‘I’ll let the press decide,’’ I said. ‘‘If they want to, they go. Otherwise, we try something else.’’

  Nancy and Phil came back to the group.

  ‘‘We’ll still do it,’’ said Nancy.

  ‘‘With just one of you?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Yes.’’ Phil smiled weakly. ‘‘Me. We need pics, and she’s not much good with a camera.’’ He looked at me. ‘‘My idea, but I’m no hero.’’

  ‘‘You’ll do until we can find one,’’ I said. ‘‘You still sure about not wearing a vest?’’

  ‘‘No vest. If he wanted to shoot somebody, it sure wouldn’t be a member of the press.’’

  That was true. The dumbest thing he could do was irritate the press. Especially after inviting them in. And killing a reporter would have to be just about as irritating as you could get. Phil would be safe. Uncomfortable, sure. But safe. I was sure of that, but I could see that he was still nervous. I grinned a
t him. ‘‘Want us to tie a rope on you, so we can haul you out if he wants to keep you?’’

  ‘‘No, that’s okay.’’ He was busily adjusting his camera bag, checking his equipment for the tenth time.

  ‘‘Okay. Look, nobody knows this, but we have a TAC team in the outbuildings.’’

  Rumsford’s head jerked upright.

  ‘‘That’s just what I don’t want you to do when you walk in,’’ I said. ‘‘Remember, anybody you see in the barn, or the shed, or around there,’’ I said, gesturing in an arc around the side of the farm, ‘‘is a TAC team guy. Don’t even look at them.’’

  ‘‘Right,’’ he said.

  ‘‘And, look, if he doesn’t want you in the house, don’t suggest it, all right?’’ I was serious. ‘‘Let him do the asking.’’

  ‘‘Yep,’’ said Phil. He adjusted his fisherman’s hat. ‘‘Ready or not…’’

  We started walking toward the perimeter fence and the lane. We immediately attracted the press people, who came hurrying up, especially when they saw who was with us. They were stopped some fifty feet short of the fence by two troopers. We continued.

  ‘‘What’s going on?’’ yelled one of the TV people.

  ‘‘He wants to talk to us,’’ Nancy yelled back, unable to keep a smug tone out of her voice.

  ‘‘Scoop city,’’ said Hester.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ said Phil weakly. ‘‘Scoop city.’’

  The prearranged protocol was for Phil to stand in the lane at the fence line at 1430, exactly, and Mrs. Herman Stritch was to open the door of the house, and if everything looked okay to her, she would motion Phil on toward the house. I escorted him to the right place, and then stepped back a couple of paces. I looked pointedly at my watch. 1429. In a second, Mrs. Stritch was in the doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a faded green blouse, with binoculars in her hand. She raised them to her eyes and scrutinized Phil for a long moment. Then she gave me the once-over. It was hard not to make a gesture, but I restrained myself. Using binoculars at that range let her check for possible weapons before she allowed Phil inside the perceived threat zone. Sound practice. I wondered where she’d learned that. Her graying hair looked matted down with sweat. It must have been pretty warm in the house. Good. The less comfortable, the better. Finally, she motioned him forward.

  It was almost two hundred feet to the house, and it must have seemed like two thousand to Phil. I noticed he looked just a bit more apprehensive when he passed the shed where Herman had been concealed when he shot the officers. I guess I was, too.

 

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