‘‘Shit,’’ hissed Hester. But she obviously understood. She reached over and turned off the computer monitor.
‘‘Yeah,’’ I whispered, ‘‘but they can see the light under the door.’’ I knew that for a fact since that was frequently the way dispatchers and officers could tell that I’d left the light on.
Just to make matters worse, there was a little static on my walkie-talkie, and then Sally’s voice…
‘‘Don’t y’all do anything I wouldn’t.’’
Well, by the time the night-shift people had had their coffee, discussed everything from ball scores to murders, and finished a couple of accident reports, we had spent the better part of two unproductive hours in the evidence room, in the dark. Hester was asleep in the corner. It could have been the dark. It might also have been the lack of air.
When I was sure that the night troops had left the building, I called Sally on the walkie-talkie. No answer. I tried again. Nothing. Hester woke up when I turned the lights on.
‘‘What’s the problem?’’
‘‘I can’t get Sally,’’ I said.
She looked at her watch. ‘‘Holy shit.’’
‘‘Yeah. Four hours, give or take.’’
‘‘How long was I asleep?’’
No matter how uninvolved the relationship, you never want to tell a woman that you didn’t know when she nodded off. ‘‘Oh, only about thirty minutes or so.’’ I had no idea.
‘‘Sorry.’’
‘‘Not as sorry as Sally’s gonna be if she went home…’’
‘‘You suppose,’’ asked Hester, ‘‘that burglars feel tired like this?’’
I grinned. ‘‘Well, I know at least one who does. Have to start callin’ you the Sleepin’ Bandit.’’
I called on the walkie-talkie again.
‘‘Go ahead…’’
‘‘Three’s no longer ten-six,’’ I said. Ten-six being the code for ‘‘busy.’’
There was no answer, but about ten seconds later there was the soft ratchety sound of a key in the padlock, and the door opened.
‘‘You guys okay?’’
‘‘Where you been? I called two times…’’
‘‘We’re fine.’’
‘‘I was in the john when you called. I’m sorry, but I don’t correspond from the john…’’
‘‘We’re fine,’’ said Hester for the second time.
‘‘Well, you get done?’’
‘‘With the first one,’’ I said.
‘‘Did you know,’’ asked Sally, ‘‘that George and the lab agents were back after you went in the room?’’
‘‘What!’’
‘‘Oh, yeah. God, I thought I was gonna die,’’ she said.
‘‘When?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Not more than thirty minutes after you’d gotten in there. It was all George could do to keep ’em out in the kitchen.’’ She held her hand to her chest. ‘‘I thought I was gonna have an anxiety attack. I didn’t know whether or not to try to tell you or what!’’
‘‘I am so glad,’’ said Hester, ‘‘that you didn’t tell us.’’ She started to move past me. ‘‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think a rest-room call would be in order…’’
‘‘Is George still around?’’ I asked Sally.
‘‘He should be in his car, on the way home.’’
‘‘Get him, and see if you can get the number for his cell phone. ..’’
‘‘Over the radio?’’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘‘Wouldn’t it be better if I had him call here?’’
Well, that’s why she was the one we always called on.
Hester and I both talked to George. He just about fell out of the car when we told him about the message.
‘‘This is good,’’ he said. ‘‘This is oh my God good. Who sent it?’’
I read him the e-mail address.
‘‘Let me handle this one,’’ he said. ‘‘I do this really well.’’
‘‘Fine with us,’’ said Hester.
‘‘I’ll know as soon as I can get to the office,’’ he said.
‘‘Kind of makes you feel a little better about treason, doesn’t it?’’ Hester asked.
He paused a beat. ‘‘I never want to do that again, thank you.’’
‘‘Well, look on the bright side, George,’’ I said. ‘‘If word about this ever gets out, you’ll never have to.’’
Hester and I spent the remainder of the evening attempting to sort and print everything we could, with help from Sally, who made two copies of the documents we considered important, interesting, or just plain neat. We also wondered.
‘‘Who in the devil could this Bravo6 be anyway?’’
‘‘Anybody,’’ answered Hester as she picked up a stack of sorted papers.
‘‘Well, yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Sure. But somebody who knew Herman, who knew generally what was going on, who could communicate with him, and who knew that Rumsford was going to go in at about two thirty-one.’’
‘‘Just a second,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Not ‘who knew he was going to go in.’ Nobody knew that except us folks. And Nancy, but she was with us all the time, wasn’t she?’’
‘‘As far as I remember.’’
‘‘Yes. What you need to say is that they ‘knew he was going in.’ Not future tense. Present tense.’’ Hester paused, and idly straightened a stack of paper. ‘‘In fact, since he didn’t go in,’’ she said, ‘‘but was killed as he stood outside on the driveway, somebody not only could see him but knew what the plan was…’’
The tower was back up, and I was printing out whatever I could, as fast as I could get them on the screen. There were several messages on the 24th from Bravo6. Two on the 23rd. No outgoing messages. This is what we had, in chronological order.
The first was at 1255 hours on the 23rd. Just after we had gotten Lamar and Bud out of there. It read:
MESSAGE RECEIVED. WILL LET HIM KNOW.
The second was at 1419 on the 23rd.
HE’LL CONTACT YOU HERE ON THE WEB IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. I’LL BE IN TRANSIT. WILL CALL YOU HERE AS SOON AS I GET NEAR YOU.
The third at 1950.
I SEE HE’S THERE. I’M IN POSITION. I COUNT 24 COPS IN UNIFORM, EIGHT IN PLAIN CLOTHES. I DON’T RECOGNIZE ANY OF OUR FRIENDS. NO BIRDS AS FAR AS I CAN TELL.
The fourth at 0228 on the 24th. About the time Melissa had come out.
WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?
The fifth at 0241:
CAN YOU ANSWER ME?????
The sixth at 0309:
SHE’S IN A TENT WITH THE TOP COPS. I CAN’T HEAR THEM BUT SHE’S BEEN IN THERE FOR A WHILE.
The seventh at 1220:
THE BOYS FROM THE ZOG ARE HERE. ONE BIRD. LOOKS ALMOST WHITE FROM HERE. YOU THINK UN???????
And, of course, the one telling them to kill Rumsford.
The one about Melissa being in a tent with us kind of bothered me. I said as much.
‘‘You should feel flattered, you ‘top cop,’ ’’ said Sally.
‘‘Yeah.’’ I put the messages down. ‘‘Was this guy there, or was he watching on TV? Were there any live feeds going on, especially when Rumsford was killed?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Sally, ‘‘I don’t think so. Everybody here was watching for you all on TV all the time. They had clips on the regular news, but no special or live broadcasts.’’
‘‘Well, ‘the boys from the ZOG are here’ sounds to me like he’s on-site,’’ said Hester.
‘‘What’s ZOG?’’ asked Sally.
‘‘Zionist Occupation Government,’’ I said. ‘‘Extremeright-wing term for the U.S. government.’’
‘‘Zionist?’’
‘‘They like to say that the United States is run by Jews,’’ I said. ‘‘It seems to appeal to the bogeyman crowd.’’
Hester leaned over and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘‘They should really worry when it’s run by Norwegians.’’
‘‘What about the UN?’’
‘‘That,’’ said Hester, ‘‘is another favorite scare story. They think the UN is somehow going to take over the United States. White helicopters are UN birds, while black helicopters are ZOG birds.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘The News Channel 6 chopper up at the scene was white with light blue trim.’’
‘‘It doesn’t take much,’’ I said to Sally. ‘‘All the black choppers they see are usually U.S. Army stuff, dark green, at a distance and against the light background of the sky. They just look black.’’
‘‘Well, if you wanted to sneak around, why would you paint your chopper black?’’ asked Sally.
‘‘You got it,’’ I said.
We had one more message, one that we weren’t able to figure out.
YOU BETTER GET UP HERE.
Nothing more than that. But it was sent at 1239, after the reinforcements were in the house. ‘‘Calling for some more company?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Maybe.’’ I looked at the sheet. ‘‘All we have to do is find out who ‘creeper@kitbag. com’ is.’’ I suspected it was pretty close to us, and a ‘‘friend of the family.’’
It was early in the morning before we got all the data. We put everything back the way it had been, and I locked the considerable stack of our paper in my own evidence locker. It was after 0100, and it was time to go home.
Friday, July 26th, I got up about 0700, and made coffee. Then I called the office and asked about Lamar. It looked like they had been able to save that leg. I was impressed. I had one slice of toast, and I was at the office at 0800 sharp. So were George, Hester, and the two lab agents. The lab guys were very nice, and thanked us for letting them store their evidence in our room. No problem. They were on their way to the Cedar Rapids airport by 0820. By 0825, George, Hester, and I had cups of coffee in the investigator’s office, and a huge stack of paper to go through.
‘‘Shouldn’t we,’’ said George, ‘‘be a little more ordered about this?’’
‘‘No,’’ I said. ‘‘I want the stuff that got Rumsford killed first
… all of it.’’
So that’s where we began.
‘‘Who’s the e-mail address to, George?’’ asked Hester.
He came through with last night’s promise. In a way. ‘‘It’s to a fellow who calls himself Adam A. Freeman, with an address that’s a P.O. Box in Harmony, MN.’’ George looked smug. ‘‘Obviously not his real name.’’
‘‘Obviously,’’ said Hester. ‘‘So who is he?’’
‘‘Just a bit harder,’’ said George. He grinned. ‘‘But I have friends. All you have to do is dial up that e-mail address, and my friends can tell you where the call is routed in about two seconds.’’
We were pleased for George too.
‘‘So?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Gregory Francis Borcherding, RR, Preston, MN.’’ He grinned and pulled out a little slip of paper. ‘‘I’ve got an SSN, a DOB, the whole nine yards…’’
‘‘I think,’’ said Hester, ‘‘that that’s pronounced ‘bork her ding.’ Just in case you two ever meet.’’
‘‘Not ‘borsher ding’?’’ asked George.
‘‘Nope.’’
He made a note on the slip of paper.
‘‘So,’’ said Hester, ‘‘what’s he do, and what’s he got to do with all this?’’
George didn’t know. That was all right with us, because the FBI hardly ever ‘‘knows’’ anybody until they’re ‘‘introduced’’ by the locals. Hester and I both knew a really sharp deputy in Preston. We placed a call.
‘‘Whoever he is,’’ said George as we waited, ‘‘he had to know Rumsford was going into the house.’’ He thought for a second. ‘‘Did any of the networks have a live feed going when it happened?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Hester. ‘‘We sort of took them by surprise. Remember?’’
‘‘And we had the phone line locked up,’’ I said. ‘‘By the phone company, no less.’’
‘‘You know,’’ said Hester, ‘‘as much as they use the Net, I’ll bet they have a dedicated line for that.’’
‘‘I don’t suppose we could call the lab agents?’’ I asked facetiously.
That got a dirty look from both Hester and George. It looked like that could develop into a sore point.
The intercom buzzed. It was for me, Jack Kline, a deputy sheriff for Fillmore County, MN.
‘‘Hey, Houseman, how the hell you been?’’
‘‘Shitty, thanks.’’
‘‘Yeah, I hear all about you guys down there. Busy.’’
‘‘Too busy. Hey, you know a dude up there name of Gregory Francis Borcherding?’’
‘‘Oh, that asshole… yeah, what, he bothering you people down there?’’
‘‘Kind of. What’s he do for a living?’’
‘‘Damned if I know. He runs a little right-wing rag for a hobby, though. Real idiot.’’
I talked with Kline for a few more seconds. After I hung up, I looked at George and Hester. We’d been on the speaker phone.
‘‘Wasn’t he the one Nancy Mitchell pointed out to us up at the farm?’’ asked George.
‘‘And he was at Kellerman’s funeral too,’’ I said.
‘‘Didn’t he have a laptop up at the farm?’’
‘‘Sure did,’’ I said. ‘‘I can almost see it.’’
‘‘So, with a cell phone and a modem…’’
‘‘That’s right, George. He could communicate directly over the computer, without us knowing there was anybody on the telephone.’’ I shook my head. ‘‘Technology triumphs again.’’
‘‘Only if Stritch has a dedicated line,’’ said Hester.
We put in the call that would tell us.
‘‘But why,’’ I asked, ‘‘would Herman do what Borcherding told him to do? Especially when it came to killing a man. And why would he say something stupid, like ‘he’s got a bomb,’ for Christ’s sake?’’
‘‘Well,’’ said George, with unusual enthusiasm. ‘‘Well. If he’s got a dedicated line to a modem, I say we just go up and pick up Borcherding’s ass and ask him!’’
‘‘It might be easier than that,’’ said Hester, staring out the window. ‘‘I think that’s him out there with the press right now.’’
Sure enough. He was at the far end of the parking lot, in a little cluster of, maybe, six reporters who were having coffee and doughnuts. Damn. It was Friday, and we were going to be moving Herman, Bill, and Nola to the courthouse for their preliminary hearings. Normally we wouldn’t have had to do that, but they had seen a magistrate on the day they were brought in, and he’d arranged for a District Court judge to review his bail amounts. The hearing was set for 1000.
‘‘Why aren’t they all waiting at the courthouse?’’ I asked.
‘‘Better photo ops as they come down the jail steps,’’ said Hester, taking a swallow of coffee and continuing to look out the window. ‘‘Our man has a camera around his neck. With,’’ she continued slowly, ‘‘a pretty long lens.’’
George, naturally, rethought his position.
‘‘Well,’’ he said hesitantly, ‘‘we might want to be a bit more circumspect here.’’
‘‘Maybe for more reasons than you’d think,’’ said Hester. ‘‘If we go out and just scarf him up right now, your bosses are gonna wonder just how on God’s green earth we knew it was him.’’
‘‘Good point,’’ said George. Quickly.
‘‘Well,’’ I said, gently mocking George, ‘‘we might just come up with a reason to suspect him of something without having to use the e-mail stuff.’’
‘‘Not likely,’’ said George.
‘‘I didn’t say it’d be quick,’’ I answered. ‘‘Anyway, I want to see whom he reports to.’’
‘‘He owns his own paper,’’ said George.
‘‘I said ‘to,’ not ‘for.’ He was relaying a message to Herman at one point. For my money that was a message from the ‘masked man’ Hester and I saw running aw
ay…’’
‘‘We could watch him forever,’’ said Hester, still not turning toward us, ‘‘and we’d never know that.’’
‘‘Not us,’’ I said. ‘‘Can you see if Nancy Mitchell’s out there?’’
‘‘She’s not,’’ said Hester. ‘‘She’d be at the courthouse anyway. She does words, not pictures.’’
‘‘Ah.’’
The phone call to the clerk’s office took only a few seconds. Then Nancy was on the line, and curious as to why we wanted to see her, to say the least. I told her to say it was in regards to Rumsford, in her capacity as a witness.
‘‘It’ll be later this afternoon, after the hearings and all that,’’ she said.
It was time for another favor. Which she knew, of course.
‘‘Look, make it in the next five minutes, and I’ll see to it that you get to talk with one of them as they go through the building.’’ She agreed, readily, but without noticeable surprise. She was getting used to the preferential treatment.
George, as usual, was a bit nervous. ‘‘I don’t know that we should be dealing with this woman…’’
‘‘Oh, George,’’ said Hester, sounding exasperated, ‘‘the FBI probably wouldn’t. Those of us without resources, however, have to punt once in a while.’’
‘‘Once in a while?’’
‘‘Frequently,’’ I said. ‘‘Very frequently.’’
As it turned out, George was sufficiently bothered by the whole business that he decided to be taken off the kicking team. While Hester and I met with Nancy in the booking office, George stayed in the back room, poring over the papers from last night.
Nancy was wearing olive slacks, a white blouse with short sleeves, and a gray vest. She looked a little warm already, and it was supposed to be in the middle nineties until Sunday.
‘‘So,’’ she said, bustling into the room, and smiling at both of us, ‘‘when do I get to see ’em?’’
Known Dead ch-2 Page 23
