Uncommon Grounds

by Sandra Balzo

  I had to do something. I told her about my first conversation with Pavlik about Ed Groschek. I didn’t tell her about my midnight foray into the world of espionage, marksmanship and stupidity. I didn’t want to jeopardize a federal investigation or my own freedom, and I wouldn’t put it past Pavlik to mess with the second if I messed with the first.

  “Would it be so horrible for David to be buried somewhere else?” I asked Sarah. “After all, it looks like he was a murderer.”

  The sounds from the other end of the phone made it clear that it would be. I promised her I would do my best and hung up.

  Pavlik notwithstanding, the first thing I had wanted to do today was to confirm my suspicions about Ed Groschek being involved in Patricia’s death. Unfortunately, it was Friday and the dental office was closed, so talking to Tony Bruno about exactly when and where he had seen Ed would have to wait until Monday. I’d seen Pavlik’s deputies pass by our windows earlier en route to Tony’s darkened office, so I figured they had been stymied on that front, too.

  So what did I do now? I didn’t know, so I occupied myself with alternately serving coffee and drinking enough of it to keep me awake. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night again.

  At about 11:00, Mary came in waving my tax papers. “Okay, they’re done. Sign and send these in. Keep this set for your records. And if you ever wait this long again, I’ll let you swing in the wind.”

  Her voice dropped. “Can you believe it? First Patricia, then David? Who would have thought it?”

  Not me, that’s for sure.

  “And all over that jerk Roger?” She lowered her voice even further when she saw Caron. “Honestly, the man can’t keep it in his pants?”

  I didn’t want to think about what was in Roger’s pants, but Mary saved me from answering by asking three more questions in quick succession, ending with an “I’m late—gotta run?” before rushing out the door. I hadn’t had a chance to utter a single word.

  Whether it was because of all the coffee I served or all the coffee I drank, by noon I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. Fresh air seemed to be in order, so I asked Caron to mind the store and walked toward Town Hall.

  Gary was getting into a squad car in the parking lot. “I’m going over to Harpers’—want to ride along?”

  I said sure and hopped in. I could walk back from the house if I needed to. I’d done it before. “Going to see the kids?”

  Gary turned red. “Taking Sarah the phone number for Pa-tricia’s mother.”

  I guess calling her with the number wasn’t an option. “Maybe you should treat her to lunch as long as you’re there.”

  Gary gave me a sidelong look, and then grinned. “Okay, it’s just an excuse. So?”

  I settled back into the seat happily. “So, nothing. I think it’s great. Sarah’s great.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t start getting ideas.”

  “Who, me?” I shut up though. Gary and Sarah both struck me as the skittish type and I sure didn’t want to spook them. We were passing Christ Christian and I occupied myself with this week’s laundry list of activities on their signboard.

  That’s when it struck me: Christ Christian’s Men’s Bible Study met on Thursday night—last night—and Langdon had said that David was in charge. Could the Men’s Bible Study be a cover for the group at Poplar Creek?

  That sure would explain the 11:00 p.m. caravan. Church from 7:30 to 8:30. Bible Study following, probably from 9:00 until 10:30 or so. By the time you organized who was riding with who, got the name badges and the guns...Yup, it would all add up.

  I looked over at Gary as he pulled into the Harper driveway and turned off the ignition. “I saw Pavlik on the news about the First National robbery,” I said. “They’ve linked it to an anti-government group?” Pavlik couldn’t fault me for that perfectly innocent question, could he?

  Gary sighed and went to get out of the car. “Pastorini’s not saying much. I probably pushed him too far when I asked him about the money.”

  “What money? From the last robbery?” I was starting to use The Mary the Librarian Method of Conversation and Interrogation. “Wasn’t it destroyed in the explosion?”

  “Paper usually blows all over in an explosion. It doesn’t just vaporize.”

  Good point, I thought, getting out of the car, too. “So what do you think happened to it?”

  Gary slammed the car door. “What do I think? I think there was an accomplice they’re not telling us about. I think he or she has the money and is still out there someplace.”

  Or maybe there was a whole churchful of accomplices. Gary started for the front door. “Hey listen,” I called to his back, “I think I’ll leave you to your lunch and walk back. Tell Sarah I said hello.”

  Gary grinned. “You’re transparent, Maggy, you know that?”

  “Actually, I think of myself as ‘opaque’—lends just a touch of mystery. Have a good lunch.” I waved goodbye and headed back down the driveway.

  As I walked, I wondered whether we would ever know who had been at the creek last night or who Groschek’s accomplice might be. Rudy? Langdon? Way? Roger? Would Pavlik and his “Feds” find out?

  I wasn’t sure I could live among these people without knowing for sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was Saturday night when Pavlik next appeared at my door. I’d just stepped out of the shower after a run when he rang my bell. Feeling fairly mellow thanks to the run, I threw on a pair of sweats and opened the door.

  He was looking official in his gray car, gray suit and gray eyes. I peered past him towards the street. “What, no Harley?”

  He sniffed. “What, no coffee?”

  I waved him into the room, discreetly kicking my discarded running clothes under the couch. “Just sweat. We were out running.”

  “You and Frank?” He laughed and sat down, reaching over to pat the dog and then pulling back. “Whoa. I hope you smell better than he does.”

  I plopped down in the chair across from Pavlik. “I took the first shower, he’s waiting for the water to heat up again. So what have you found out? Is there a connection between David and the militia?”

  Pavlik held up his hands. “I thought you were going to keep quiet about that.”

  I looked around the room. “Unless Frank is going to squeal, I think we’re safe talking here.”

  Pavlik didn’t answer. “Listen,” I said, “I have to talk to someone about this or explode. Given your little rules, like it or not, that someone has to be you.” Or else why the heck are you here?

  “I do need to ask you some questions.”

  Ah. I had a hunch he meant to ask me those questions and then escape quickly before I could get any answers myself. I had some experience in that field.

  “Okay,” I said agreeably, “but let me get something to drink first. I’m dying of thirst. Can I bring you something?” I stood and ticked off the options on my fingers. It was a short list. “Coke, Jolt, Diet Coke and Mountain Dew.”

  “Interesting selection.”

  “If it doesn’t have caffeine, I don’t own it. So what’ll it be?”

  Pavlik chose Coke and I went into the kitchen to get it and a can of Diet Coke for myself. As I crossed from the refrigerator to the cupboard to find glasses, a tennis ball came bouncing through, followed by a sheepdog moving at warp speed.

  Pavlik was obliging Frank in his favorite game, “chase the slimy tennis ball.” Frank ran headfirst into the cabinet. I gave up on the glasses and returned to the living room, almost getting flattened by him on the return trip.

  “Wouldn’t you just like to take him home with you?” I asked, handing Pavlik his Coke.

  He tossed Frank his ball and wiped his hands off on a handkerchief. “Nah. I don’t think Muffin would handle it very well.”

  I laughed. “Your pit bull is named Muffin?”

  “Yeah, well, my daughter named her.”

  Now here was new information. “You have a daughter? How old?”

>   Pavlik pulled out his wallet. “She’s ten.” He showed me a picture of a serious dark-haired girl with big gray eyes.

  “She has your eyes.” I didn’t ask what she had inherited from her mother. Or where her mother was. Then again, I didn’t have to. I already knew it all from the Internet.

  He tucked the picture away and returned the wallet to his back pocket. “Tracey lives with her mother most of the time, even though we have joint placement. I don’t exactly keep regular hours.”

  “Maybe it’s best that she’s in one place. She’s so little.” It was tough for a kid to keep track of two sets of friends, two sets of clothes, two sets of toys and, often, two sets of parents.

  “She has a much more stable life with Susan than I could give her. I don’t even have weekends free most times. I’d just be shipping her off to babysitters.”

  “Do they live in Chicago?”

  “No, Susan got a job in Milwaukee. That’s why I moved up here. I couldn’t ask her not to take the job and I couldn’t let them move two hours away. So I came, too.”

  So the Chicago address for Susan had been outdated, too. I felt a twinge. “That was a big sacrifice for you, wasn’t it? I mean leaving the Chicago police force to come here?”

  “I thought so at the time, but it was probably the best decision of my life. I didn’t realize until I got away, what my job was doing to me. Not a night went by when there weren’t multiple murders, drug deals going down, gang fights, kids getting shot in the street. I just thought that was the way life was. Until I came here.”

  “Where we have militias,” I said wryly.

  “Believe me, we had that and more down there. Which brings me to my question.” He set down his Coke. “We caught a break. Groschek was a computer hacker. He communicated with other members by e-mail. He trashed the messages, but some were still in his cache file. We have a list of screen names we’re sifting through.”

  He pulled a sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Does this one mean anything to you?”

  I looked at the paper: ngdseyed.

  “Just a bunch of letters,” I said, passing it back to him. “Can’t you trace it through the Internet provider? I read about some kid they tracked down through AOL, because he was making on-line threats.”

  Pavlik set the list on the table. “Groschek was using a remailer. Remailers are—”

  “I’ve heard of them,” I said, remembering my Internet adventure with Sarah. “But I thought you said you caught a break.”

  “It turns out that Groschek also enjoyed creating new computer viruses.”

  “That’s good?”

  “In a way, because it fits the profile. It seems you may have been right about him tampering with the espresso machine after all.”

  I didn’t get it. “What does creating viruses have to do with hotwiring espresso machines?”

  “Different crimes are committed by different kinds of criminals. Some are very personal crimes. You’ve heard, probably, that if someone is stabbed in the head and face, we look for someone they know.”

  I nodded.

  “A bomber is on the other end of the spectrum. Bombing is a long-distance crime. He sets it and leaves. The damage is done when he’s gone. Same thing with the computer viruses and, in this case, rewiring the espresso machine.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it. Pavlik wasn’t done. “But, that doesn’t mean David Harper wasn’t involved. In fact, I’m sure he was, after talking to your friend Pete. I just don’t know how deeply.”

  Speaking of who might be involved in what, I filled him in on my Bible Study theory.

  He smiled and his eyes lit blue. “Not bad, but don’t go getting paranoid. Even if people at Christ Christian are involved, most of them are probably harmless. This is just a lark for them. But any movement attracts loners who are looking for a place to belong. Somewhere to be important. Those are the people who can go off.”

  “Like that guy who killed those people at the abortion clinic,” I said slowly. “The legitimate pro-lifers condemned the killings.”

  We sat for a second. Finally, Pavlik set down his Coke can and got up. “Well, thanks for the caffeine. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything else.”

  I wondered why he was being so obliging. Frank and I dogged him to the door. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” See? I could be nice, too.

  Pavlik opened the door to leave. “So don’t worry about anything. Just keep your mouth shut and don’t do any more nosing around. These groups are like bees. Leave them alone and they’ll likely leave you alone. Let the Feds get to the bottom of this.”

  I watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car.

  Had I just been finessed? Thursday night, Pavlik said the Feds were involved and threatened me with “protective custody” if I got in the way. Then today, he took great pains to assure me the militia—if it existed at all in Brookhills—was harmless.

  Then he warned me not to mess with them.

  I unlocked the front door I had just locked behind Pavlik and let Frank out for his evening constitutional. I was thinking about Henry and his constitutional. And the militia and their constitutionally-inspired constitutional.

  I wandered into the living room. What in the world was going on in Brookhills? I absently picked up the Coke can Pavlik had been drinking from and the damp paper beneath it.

  As I started to crumple up the paper, I realized it was the screen name Pavlik had shown me. I tossed the can into the recycling bin in the kitchen and sat down at the desk with the paper. Summoning a Word document on my computer, I typed:

  ngdseyed

  I sat back and stared at it.

  It was starting to seem familiar somehow, though I had no idea why. Maybe I really had seen it before, or it was reminding me subliminally of some other word. Or I’d just been staring at it for ten minutes.

  I typed it again, putting a space between each letter.

  ngdseyed

  Saturday night and this is what I had been reduced to, I thought. Word puzzles. Maybe after this, I could crochet something.

  Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Let’s try sounding it out:

  “n-geds-eyed”

  “n-geds”

  No, how about “gods,” that would make more sense with this group.

  “nogged sighed”

  “n-Gods-eyed”

  “In Gods eyed.”

  “On God’s eyed...”

  I sat back in my chair. On God’s side. Of course. Everybody thought God was on his or her side. Even the bad guys.

  But where did deciphering the e-mail address get me? I still didn’t know who it belonged to. But I was certain now that I had heard or seen “On God’s Side” very recently. Maybe it really was an e-mail address I’d sent to without even realizing.

  I opened my e-mail program and hit “Write” for a blank e-mail. If I’d ever sent anything to ngdseyed, I could type in the first letters and my program would automatically complete the rest, right?

  I typed “n” and got my nephew Nathaniel’s e-mail address. I added “g” and got...nothing.

  Dang. Maybe it was case sensitive. I’d try all caps. I held down the “Shift” key and hit “Return” to go to the next line.

  The e-mail disappeared.

  In its place was a box that read: “Your message has been sent.”

  “Nooooo...”Ijumped out of the chair, staring in horror at the screen. Outside, Frank picked up on my wail and started to howl in chorus. I ran to the door to let him in.

  “Oh, my God,” I told him, as he pushed past me to get to his water dish, “you wouldn’t believe what I just did.”

  He turned to look at me, gave a toss of his fur and went to get his drink.

  I returned to the computer. What had I done? And how had I done it? I’d switched to all caps and then hit the return key to get to the next line. The combination of the two apparently had sent the e-mail. Or had it?

  I needed to check my
mailbox, but I managed to accidentally hit “Stock Quote,” “Doppler Radar” and “People.com” before I finally clicked “Sent Mail” dead on.

  And there it was:

  Sent

  Date: April 13

  Subject: No subject specified

  E-mail Address: NGDSEYED

  Damn, damn, damn. Could I recall the sent message somehow? Eureka, there was an “Unsend” button. I clicked on it and was rewarded with a “You can not unsend Internet mail.”

  So why did they have a frickin’ “Unsend” button? Talk about raising ones hopes and then—

  “Mail!”

  I jumped about a foot and looked at my computer screen. Sure enough. Mail.

  I reached out for the mouse, and then pulled back like the thing was going to bite me. What was I afraid of? It was probably a message from Eric or maybe Sarah or, most likely, a Viagra supplier or porn-site. Any one of them would look mighty good to me right now, because—except for Eric, Sarah and the omniscient spammers—no one else had my new e-mail address, except...

  I double-clicked, and there it was:

  New Message

  Date: April 13

  Subject: No subject specified

  E-mail Address: NGDSEYED

  It was from one of them.

  “Well, so what?” I said out loud, and Frank came running from his water dish. He put his big wet muzzle on my knee, and for once I was grateful for the combination of water, drool and dog hair. “After all, they don’t know who I am, any more than I know who they are.”

  Frank tilted his head up at me and smiled. Taking strength from his quiet courage, I double-clicked the e-mail to open it.

  The message was simple:

  “Who is this?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As should come as no surprise, I didn’t sleep well that night. When I woke up groggy, the clock said 9:30.

  There was a 10:30 service at Christ Christian. Instead of hiding in my house for the rest of my life, tempting as that had seemed at 2:00 a.m., I was going to church to confirm something and to talk to Langdon.

  I invited Sarah to come with me for both cover and protection, but she had a date for brunch with Gary. Between Sarah and Gary, and Caron and Bernie, love was in the air in Brookhills. Along with bullets.