‘‘One of them,’’ I said. ‘‘And not for at least an hour.’’ I indicated an old wooden office chair. ‘‘Just have a seat. They have to walk right by you.’’
She sat, and Hester and I did the same. All three of us in the same heavy old wooden chairs. We’d gotten them from the courthouse when they remodeled the courtroom. We liked to say we had a matched set of thirty-seven. We were clustered around a heavy old wooden table. Guess from where. Only two of those, one for the prosecution, one for the defense.
‘‘So what can I do for you?’’ she asked.
‘‘We’ve got a problem,’’ said Hester. ‘‘You’re going to have to be our scout for a little while, with a guy…’’
‘‘Who is probably not my type,’’ said Nancy.
‘‘Probably not,’’ said Hester. ‘‘At least, I hope not.’’
‘‘I think you know him,’’ I said. ‘‘The man who runs the right-wing paper up north?’’
‘‘Borcherding? Oh, not Borcherding! No way!’’
‘‘Jesus, dear,’’ said Hester. ‘‘You don’t have to sleep with him.’’
‘‘The hell,’’ said Nancy. ‘‘That son of a bitch thinks he’s God’s gift to women… always tries to talk his way into your pants, grabs a feel whenever he thinks nobody’ll notice… and he’s a creepy asshole to boot.’’
We didn’t say anything.
‘‘He’s a real nutzoid, always trying to come on to you with some bullshit about taking over the country, about killing the Zionists.. .’’ She began to slow. ‘‘Wouldn’t put it past him to get somebody.. . killed…’’
Silence. We just looked at her.
‘‘You’re kidding,’’ she whispered.
I shook my head.
‘‘How could he be involved?’’
‘‘That’s where it begins to get a little more than Confidential,’’ I said. ‘‘Up past Restricted, and all the way to Secret.’’
‘‘Is there a story in this?’’ she asked.
‘‘Oh, absolutely,’’ I said. ‘‘Probably one of the bigger ones.’’
‘‘Exclusively?’’
‘‘That,’’ said Hester, ‘‘remains to be seen.’’
‘‘Right. But if I do what I have to do with Borcherding? Other than screw him?’’
‘‘Probably.’’ Hester grinned.
Nancy unbuttoned her vest. ‘‘It’s getting a little warm in here,’’ she said. She pulled out a small tape recorder from the pocket, and showed it to us, making sure we could see it wasn’t turned on. ‘‘Can I tape this?’’
‘‘We’ll just give you access to ours later,’’ I said.
She gave me a questioning look.
‘‘The alarm clock radio on the cabinet,’’ said Hester, who knew all about it. ‘‘Picks up everything in the room.’’
‘‘And the video camera,’’ I said, gesturing at the little box in the corner of the ceiling that was smaller than half a cigarette pack, ‘‘catches most of the action.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘You could take notes,’’ said Hester, ‘‘but we don’t want them leaving the room.’’
‘‘Right.’’ She eased back in her chair. ‘‘If you want me to get close to this geekhead, I assume you have a good reason.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said.
‘‘Well, fill me in…’’
‘‘What we want,’’ I said, ‘‘is to know who he hangs around with. Who he talks to. That sort of thing.’’
‘‘Oh, no,’’ she said. ‘‘That’s a Freedom of the Press issue, I’m sorry.’’
I glanced at Hester; she nodded.
I reached into a drawer under the desk and took out a black marker. I unfolded a copy of the crucial Bravo6 e-mail, and crossed off the FROM line. I pushed it over to Nancy. ‘‘Look at this…’’
She did, and her eyes narrowed, and her face got noticeably pale for a second.
‘‘Your basic kill order, in the flesh,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Who sent this?’’ asked Nancy.
Neither Hester nor I said a word.
‘‘You crossed that off…’’ She hesitated. ‘‘You’re sure?’’
We still said nothing.
‘‘You are, aren’t you?’’ She stared at the sheet. ‘‘You know, and that’s why you want…’’
She looked at the sheet again. ‘‘But,’’ she said, her voice getting louder, ‘‘that motherfucker is just outside in the parking lot!’’
‘‘Slow down,’’ I said. ‘‘We know he is.’’
‘‘Then go get his ass!’’
‘‘Not yet,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Calm down. That’s where you come in.’’
Nancy took a deep breath, then another. ‘‘Okay, so why not? Why’s he still loose? Why not get him now?’’
‘‘The way we got the message,’’ I said, ‘‘might give us a little admissibility problem.’’ Not true, of course. At least, not in the strict sense of criminal procedures. The admissibility came from not wanting to admit what we’d done to the FBI. But Nancy sure didn’t have to know that. At least, not to help us get the information from another source.
Nancy looked at both of us in turn. ‘‘You’re kidding…’’
‘‘Had to be done,’’ said Hester. ‘‘No other way to get timely data.’’
‘‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’’ said Nancy, ‘‘because they got Phil. I don’t want anybody getting off here.’’
I thought it was pretty clearly implied that, if whoever shot Phil got off, Nancy’s paper would kill us. That was fair enough.
‘‘Now,’’ I said, ‘‘we have less than an hour here, so let’s get down to it…’’
After refreshing her memory a little, which certainly didn’t take much, we asked Nancy what Phil could have said or done that would give the impression that he had a bomb. At first she couldn’t think of anything, but then she remembered Phil’s bottled mineral water. He always drank it, when he could get it, and liked it cold. He had a habit of wrapping it in two of those beer can insulators, and just sticking the neck of the bottle through the little hole in the ‘‘bottom’’ of the upper insulator. He had obtained his insulators from an implement dealer during a photo session, so the two insulators were black, with a yellow rectangle with black printing on the side. In effect, a black cylinder about ten inches long, as big around as a beer can, with a small, white cap on one end.
‘‘He left it at my car,’’ said Nancy. ‘‘When we were going to go in together, he realized he didn’t have it. One of your reserve guys went to the car and got it for him.’’
No shit.
‘‘Borcherding was set up near the car,’’ said Nancy.
‘‘I know,’’ I said. ‘‘You pointed him out, sort of.’’
‘‘He could have seen that. When the cop brought it to him. Phil probably just stuck it in his bag. He wouldn’t have tried to hide it or anything.’’ She thought a second. ‘‘He had a cell phone modem thingy on his laptop.’’
‘‘Borcherding? Are you sure?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Yeah. I told Phil that I’d have to get one like that.’’
‘‘So Borcherding probably wasn’t really inventing the part about the ‘bomb,’ then, was he?’’
‘‘Probably not, Carl.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Probably not.’’ She looked up. ‘‘That fucker.’’ She thought again for a few seconds. ‘‘You’re absolutely sure it was him?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘‘We know the message came straight from his e-mail address, and could have been sent only by somebody at the scene.’’ I hesitated for a second. ‘‘None of the networks had a live feed going.’’
‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘No, they never went live until after Phil was shot. I know that.’’
Hmm. Well, by that time our dispatch center would have been so busy they probably turned the TV off.
‘‘We don’t have any reason to believe he gave h
is laptop to anybody else,’’ said Hester. ‘‘His password had to be used to log on to the server. If he’d loaned it to somebody else, they’d have used their password, most likely. And his seems to be one of those little local companies…’’
‘‘He runs his own server,’’ said Nancy. ‘‘He brags about it.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘He’s one of those people who think they can get in your pants by telling you all the techno drivel they have in their entire head. Supposed to make us horny, or something.’’ She snorted. ‘‘Likely.’’
‘‘Really?’’ That surprised me.
‘‘Oh, yeah. They think it’s erotic.’’
‘‘No, no,’’ I said, grinning. ‘‘Just surprised he has his own server. What do they call it?’’ I asked.
‘‘Oh, shit,’’ she said, ‘‘I don’t remember that. God. But something like the common man net, or some such thing. Maybe free white net, or common free?’’
‘‘Thanks,’’ said Hester. ‘‘We’ll check that out.’’ She pushed her chair back, making a screeching sound on the old hardwood flooring. ‘‘In the meantime, how do you intend to go about getting your information? You can’t be too obvious or quick…’’
‘‘Hell, I know that.’’
‘‘I mean,’’ said Hester, ‘‘I know it’s a little soon, but I’d like to know what you intend…’’
We went over what we wanted, again. We expanded the list, not to give her more work, but more leeway. We were very clear that she was under no obligation to obtain all the information. Just suggestions and hints. We’d take the rest.
‘‘Right,’’ said Nancy. ‘‘Look, I just want to thank you for letting me have something to do with getting this bastard…’’
I made sure she was still sitting there when the two reserve officers came through with Nola Stritch. Our guys had given Nola a bulletproof vest to wear, which looked a little silly on her. It was for someone much larger, was white, and had the long tails on it so you could tuck it into your uniform pants and not have it pull your shirt out when you moved. Kind of looked more like a bulletproof apron, as a matter of fact. I pretended to be a bit upset when Nancy introduced herself, so Nola gave a little statement to the press.
‘‘It’s pretty bad,’’ said Nola, ‘‘when you can’t even trust the press anymore.’’ She started to walk toward the door.
‘‘What do you mean?’’ asked Nancy.
‘‘You know just what I mean,’’ hissed Nola. ‘‘You’re all in the pay of the Jews and the One World Government. You know that. Don’t try to deny it, you are. You know you are.’’ With that off her chest, she turned and just about dragged the officers out the door. It always amazes me when I hear someone I think is intelligent start ranting like that. This time was no exception.
When the door closed, Nancy sighed. ‘‘Well, so much for the sympathetic approach.’’ She grinned. ‘‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’’ she said, heading for the door. ‘‘Just give me a couple of days. I’ll be in touch.’’ And she was gone.
Hester and I exchanged looks.
‘‘I hope we’ve done the right thing here.’’
‘‘Don’t worry, Carl. You worry too much. You’re beginning to sound like George.’’ Hester smiled. ‘‘Speaking of whom… we’d better let him know what’s happening.’’
True. Because when it came right down to it, George had access to the resources that we only wished we had.
When we got to the back room, I greeted George with ‘‘George, you little Zionist, how the hell are you?’’
He looked up. ‘‘I knew it. Now you’re gonna want a ride in my black chopper.’’ He pushed his papers back across the desk. ‘‘So how’d it go?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said, sitting down near a stack of computer paper. ‘‘All right, I guess.’’ I picked up the first sheet. ‘‘She knew him, though. Didn’t like him.’’
‘‘She’s going to keep her eyes open for us,’’ said Hester. ‘‘We’ll see.’’
‘‘Well, while you were gone, I came up with something that may be very serious.’’
What George had found was a series of messages to an address in Idaho, and returns from the same place.
‘‘This man Stritch has some very interesting connections.’’ George indicated a handwritten list he had made. ‘‘Several of these names of organizations that are mentioned here are the same ones I heard at a very sensitive briefing about three months ago.’’
The FBI, it transpired, was working three of the mentioned groups regarding illegal weapons, Ponzi scams, bank fraud, a possible series of bombings where only very small devices were used, and planning things such as bank robberies, armored car holdups, etc. None of the planned things had happened. All of which told me that the FBI had people inside more than one group.
‘‘Small bombs?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Really small,’’ said George. ‘‘Like they blow up mailboxes.’’
‘‘They getting these folks confused with teenagers?’’ I asked.
‘‘Oh, no,’’ said George. ‘‘Not at all. The little bombs are planted as proof that the mechanism works, for one thing. Very sophisticated, they tell me. But, more important,’’ he said, in a worried tone, ‘‘it proves that the strike teams they sent out actually reached their target.’’
Food for thought.
‘‘What kind of targets?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Oh, investigators’ ‘in’ boxes in Sheriff’s Departments,’’ said George, deadpan.
I admit it, I looked at my ‘‘in’’ box. Broke him up.
Actually, as he explained when he’d recovered, what they did was get either close to or into government property and set off these little devices. Not only federal but state and local property as well. They’d started off with places like isolated forest and park ranger stations, and had expanded to include police stations, office buildings, a couple of post offices, a Coast Guard installation, and others.
‘‘Were these connected to the Oklahoma City bombing?’’ I asked.
‘‘No. Not at all. Nothing like that. So far, at least,’’ he said. ‘‘I haven’t heard of anybody even being slightly injured.’’
‘‘Just for the effect?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Seemed to work in a few cases,’’ said George. ‘‘Several victims were really intimidated. But that’s not what they have in mind.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘According to my sources.’’
George’s sources, in this case, were from Washington, D.C., and were pretty damned accurate. What these people were doing was honing their skills. More than fifty incidents, in all sorts of locations. Practicing. But for what?
‘‘If anybody at the conference knew, they sure didn’t tell us,’’ said George.
Hmmm.
‘‘And Herman has been corresponding with the bombers?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘At least with their parent organizations,’’ said George, with the addition of the ‘‘federal hedge.’’ ‘‘Inasmuch as there is any true organization, of course.’’
‘‘Well, sure,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Inasmuch as…’’
‘‘Well, they’re pretty loose,’’ said George.
‘‘You wish,’’ she said.
‘‘Anyhow,’’ I interjected, ‘‘what’s old Herman been saying to these people?’’
Oh, yes. Herman. George leafed through the messages. ‘‘Basically,’’ he said, looking up, ‘‘he offered to provide a training area for them, and they accepted.’’
You could have heard a jaw drop.
After a moment, I asked George if, or when, a date had been set.
‘‘I believe so,’’ he said. The last message had been on June 3rd, and stated that they would be glad to take advantage of the training area, and that two to four selected local men could also be included to participate and observe the training. Further contact would be in person.
‘‘The message was accepted for, but not by, a fellow named Gabriel
.’’ He waited, but just for a moment. ‘‘That would be Gabriel, you know, for which Gabe is short,’’ he announced.
‘‘We know,’’ said Hester. ‘‘I think we’ve met.’’
‘‘Our favorite colonel,’’ I said, remembering the tall man at the edge of the cornfield. ‘‘Well, somebody better tell DEA. None of this is dope-related, and never has been.’’
‘‘Maybe now,’’ said Hester, smiling, ‘‘we can have our whole case back.’’
Right.
Nineteen
We had a little problem. Since we’d gotten all our information in a somewhat irregular manner, we might have trouble telling George’s superiors about any of it. Especially when they found out what was in the computer, and they probably knew already. I mean, if I can tell, they can tell much faster. And in more depth. But if colonel Gabriel was for real, and he certainly appeared to be at the cornfield, we certainly couldn’t do this one ourselves. Well, maybe not past a certain point anyway. It was that point we were now trying to establish.
We decided to go to work on Herman, Nola, and Bill Stritch in earnest. They were the key, not only as to who did the shooting in the woods but also as to who did the shooting at the farmhouse. I was especially encouraged as it appeared to me that none of the Stritch family had shot anybody in the woods. That might enable them to talk with us without fear of being discovered as a shooter. We could always bargain away a co-conspirator charge in exchange for the name of a shooter. Just in case, though, we requested ballistic tests on all the 5.56 mm guns seized from the Stritch family. Just in case we came up with anything, like ejector marks on spent shell casings.
It was much more complex than that, though, because of the implication of the whole family in the death of Bud and the wounding of Lamar. And they were still in court making their appearances. We had to wait. What did we do?
There was almost nobody in the restaurant when we got there. Great. Just after we’d been served, several people, men and women, all in their late forties to mid-sixties, came in and were seated all around us. They seemed pretty well dressed for a Friday noon crowd. They began talking about the ‘‘damned Feds,’’ the ‘‘damned judges,’’ and the ‘‘conspiracies’’ of various sorts. Obviously, a support group from the Stritch appearances. Obviously a little biased as well. Thing was, I didn’t know any of them. I normally would have known at least one or two people in a group that size and age, if they were local.
Known Dead ch-2 Page 24
