by P A Duncan
“This is important, L.D. Was she alone?”
“Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Ask Sharon.”
“J.T., man, she’s asleep.”
Carroll heard Sharon’s annoyed voice. “Not anymore. What the fuck does he want?”
“Was Siobhan alone when she was here?” Lamar asked his wife.
“Yes, for God’s sake.”
“I heard,” Carroll said. “Did you see any strangers around, anyone following her?”
He heard Lamar ask Sharon, who responded, “What? Jesus, no. We’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Tell him to fuck off and hang up.”
“I heard again,” Carroll said. “Sorry I woke you, man, but if she stops by again, tell her to be careful.”
“Whatever.” Duval hung up.
Too early to call MaryAnn. Her ditzy roommate would answer anyway, and no way he’d give her the message. He’d call later and spin it like MaryAnn was on a secret mission for him. Even though he knew Siobhan hadn’t had time to return to Boston, he called the charity anyway. Hearing her voice on the outgoing message gave him an erection.
“Siobhan, don’t come back to Kingman. Elijah is there. Be careful because I think someone is watching you. Please, be careful. I wish…”
He was on the verge of tears and had to compose himself. He hung up. Before he left for the next motel, he called back again and again to hear her voice while he masturbated.
“Stupid S.O.B.,” Lamar Duval muttered. “Wait, didn’t Siobhan leave her hotel number here?”
“Screw him,” Sharon said. “Serves him right.”
“I don’t know how to call him back. Should I call her?”
“Lamar?”
“What?”
“Shut up and go to sleep.”
14
Murder of the Innocent
Alexei emerged from the burned house where the tracer’s signal had led them and saw Mai poking around in a smoldering pickup.
“What did you find?” Mai asked when he joined her.
“Two bodies in bed. A man and a woman. Shot in the head. Partially burned. What’s here?”
“Burned clothing in the cab, a melted gas can.”
“I put the tracer on Elijah’s jacket. If the jacket’s part of the burned clothing, that’s why it stopped transmitting. I wonder why a fire department didn’t respond.”
Mai looked around. “I don’t see any other houses close enough to have seen or heard the propane tank explode. The explosion itself plus the snowfall overnight probably damped the fire and muffled the sound of the propane tank exploding. What do you think happened?” Mai asked.
“The remaining paint on the truck matches one I saw at the bar where I thrashed Elijah. He either forced his way in, or this was part of his network. He and Carroll shot the people inside and burned the house to cover their trail.”
“You can’t know Carroll was here.”
“I don’t think he and Elijah are too far apart.”
“Jay wouldn’t head-shoot people in their sleep.”
“How do you know?”
Mai walked away.
“From the size of the bullet holes, the people inside were shot with a forty-five,” Alexei called to her. “What Carroll carries.”
She stopped, turned back. “Alexei, he didn’t do this. When people burn, the brain gasifies and expands, blowing a hole in the cranium.”
“They were burned from the waist down. Their heads were intact. Entry holes in the forehead, the size of a forty-five bullet.”
“Why couldn’t it have been Elijah?”
“He gets other people to kill for him.”
“Well, you would know.”
He suppressed a flare of anger and removed the blackened latex gloves, stowing them in his pocket. “Remember who you are. Think like a covert operative instead of… Carroll’s friend.”
“Speaking as a covert operative and a top profiler, he didn’t do this. He wants to punish the government, not innocent people.”
“What is it if he bombs a building but murder of the innocent? I need you to be a cold op right now. Get emotion out of this.”
“Let’s get a forensics team here,” she said and walked away again.
They stayed, unspeaking, until a Directorate forensics team from the Los Angeles station arrived five hours later. Mai and Alexei drove back to Kingman to prowl its streets again. They even drove to where Carroll had taken Mai to look for the alleged detention camps. Alexei poked at the remains of a long-dead campfire but found nothing to show Carroll had been there.
Back to their hotel for sleep, silence stayed between them. By noon the following day, they had a call from the team with preliminary findings. They sat side-by-side, not touching, to listen together.
“No fingerprints or DNA except for the dead people,” a technician said. “Footprints in the snow, other than yours. Someone in boots and someone barefooted. We recovered enough of a boot in the truck to determine it matches the boot prints.” He recited the shoe size.
“Too small for Carroll,” Mai murmured.
“Gasoline was the accelerant, and tire tracks leaving the house match the factory tires for a sedan motor vehicle records show the dead people owned.” He gave them the make, model, and color. The technician continued, “The bullets were from a forty-five. We found one embedded in the mattress and untouched by the fire. Rifling indicates a 1911. A common weapon around here.”
“You must be disappointed,” Mai said when the technician rang off. When Alexei didn’t reply, she added, “This is a dead end. After your encounter, Elijah probably told Carroll to stay away from here.”
“I agree. We should re-trace our own tracks, stop at more gun shows, check to see if Parker has returned,” Alexei said.
15
Alibis and Attributions
Wichita, Kansas
Mai drove east on a trip that took them to Pensacola, and they stopped at gun shows and gun shops along the way. They decided to head back to Oklahoma to see if Gerald Parker had returned.
Alexei took over driving in Louisiana as Mai sank into desperation. In a motel outside of Enid, Oklahoma, Analysis called to tell them two days before Gerald Parker had paid $30,000 in cash for a small house outside Wichita, Kansas. He’d also obtained a new phone number.
“Cash for a house?” Alexei asked.
Mai looked at him. “I paid cash for our house.”
“Yes, but you more than have the means to do that. We know Parker doesn’t. And average people don’t pay cash for houses because of this thing called a mortgage.”
“Don’t go all proletariat on me. I know what a mortgage is. Maybe Elijah is bankrolling Parker, too.”
“To ensure he’ll help Carroll when the time comes? Makes sense.”
“I’ll call Parker. With him back in country, maybe Jay will visit.”
That lifted her mood, but Parker didn’t answer her call. Early the next morning, they drove to the small town of Augusta near Wichita and cruised past the pale blue, clapboard house. Before Alexei could comment, Mai exited the Suburban and went to the front door. She knocked, got no reply, and resumed her seat in the SUV.
“Not home, but he’s trusting,” she said.
“How so?”
“He left a note on the door for the electric company, telling them he’s at a gun show in Topeka and to go in.”
Alexei looked around the quiet street, the type of place where everyone left their doors unlocked.
“You didn’t go in,” he said, surprised she’d passed up a B&E.
She shrugged and said nothing.
Alexei said, “Check the Gun Show Calendar. I’ll head for Topeka.”
That night he lay in bed and studied the water stains on the motel room’s ceiling. Mai searched on her laptop.
An hour before dawn, he woke from a doze and saw her asleep, arms folded on the table, head atop them. She didn’t wake when he carried her to bed. He let her sleep until noon, and she woke an
gry. He didn’t let himself react. When the self-imposed deadline arrived, the argument would be epic. He wanted to save energy for that.
This is what we’ve become, he thought, what this mission has done to us. It was, however, the life they’d both chosen.
Topeka, Kansas
Despite his longer legs, Alexei jogged to catch Mai at the entrance to the Topeka gun show. The crowd was decent for mid-afternoon, but they spotted Gerald Parker standing behind a table. He was thinner, his face haggard. The table held several good rifles, surplus all-weather suits, reloaded ammo, and vials of ammonium nitrate—for stump removal said a hand-lettered sign.
Alexei commented on the quality of the rifles, adding, “Part of the Addams robbery?”
Mai checked the vendor list. “Addams is here,” she said. “Pretty ballsy to sell his stolen goods under his nose. Wouldn’t Parker need a license to sell firearms?”
“Under the table deals go on at every gun show in the country, but given how well Patriot City could counterfeit official paperwork, Parker may have fake papers for the guns. All it takes is a serial number and paperwork for a similar piece. Same thing with the federal firearm license. Some places don’t check that.”
“Okay, we need to part ways. Siobhan Dochartaigh doesn’t travel with a tall Ukrainian.”
He took her hand, thumb stroking. “Break a leg, Siobhan,” he murmured and left.
Parker stared off into space, not noticing Mai’s approach. When he did acknowledge that she stood across from him, panic followed by dismay crossed his face.
“Hi, Jerry,” Mai said. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
“Uh, fine.”
“How’s your family?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Asking out of politeness. Are they with you?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
“Please give Mrs. Parker my regards.”
“Yeah, sure. You looking for something?”
“Jay. I was hoping he was with you.”
Parker looked everywhere except at her, and a shaky hand wiped sweat from his upper lip.
“Jay?” he echoed, the pitch of his voice lifting. “Haven’t seen him in weeks. My family’s coming home, and Jay’s on his own.” He squinted at her. “Why are you looking for him?”
“We had a row back in December, and I’m trying to make it up.” Time, Mai thought, to push buttons. “He told me he can’t see me until after April, but I need to see him before then.”
Parker’s lips paled to gray. “He knows best.”
“This thing he’s planned, he can’t do it.”
Parker flinched as if she’d struck him. The sweat on his face gleamed in the fluorescents.
“Are you scared Elijah is here?” Mai asked.
“How… How do you know Prophet?”
“Jay introduced us. Where is Jay?”
The only person better at reading body language was Alexei, but Mai could see fear made Parker want to say something.
“Tell me, and it goes no further,” Mai said.
Parker opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “Jay’s on his own, but, you know, he’s got the right idea. I told him to go for it.”
Terrell was right. Parker was leaving Carroll to hold the bag. Parker’s family would be his alibi.
One more try. “Jerry, tell me where he’s going to be in April.”
Parker took out a crumbled handkerchief and mopped his face. “I don’t know, and if Jay didn’t tell you…”
“I’m talking about Jay’s life.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s got what it takes.”
“To do what?”
“What we all agreed needs to be done. If you care about him, leave him to it.”
Mai stepped toward him, stopped only by the table. “And you, you bastard, you’ll be nowhere to be found, right?”
That took him back, changed his bluster to confusion. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I want to find Jay.”
“I ain’t his keeper, and I’ve got work to do. If you’re not buying, don’t waste my time.”
“Answer this, and I’m gone. Have you heard from him?”
“He told my ex he was going to my brother’s.”
Hope quivered inside her. “When was that?”
“Couple of days ago.”
Albert Parker’s farm was maybe a fifteen-hour drive from here.
“If you talk to Jay, tell him I need to see him. Tell him to call my number in Boston and tell me where I can meet him.”
“Sure,” Parker said, but he looked away from her again.
Mai hunted for Alexei. They could be in Wisconsin by tomorrow morning. She walked by him as he looked over the merchandise at an Eastern European militaria booth, and he followed her from the hall. Beside the Suburban, Mai said, “Jay may be on his way to Wisconsin.”
“To the brother’s place? How sure?”
“Hard to say. He said Jay told his ex he was headed there. Alexei, it’s the only lead we have. We can be at that farm tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Mai frowned. “That easy?”
“It is the only lead.”
“You’re giving me every moment of my time.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“In Arizona, I expected you to insist we go home.”
He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I’m full of surprises, aren’t I? We’ve got five days left. Let’s get moving.”
16
Full Circle
Rural Wisconsin
Patches of snow shimmered in the moonlight as Alexei drove toward Albert Parker’s farm. Road construction had lengthened the trip, and they reached the turn-off to Parker’s property after nine at night. Alexei doused the Suburban’s lights and stopped in the shadow of some trees. He had a direct view of the house. A few lights shined from the windows, beacons in the dark.
Mai trained the night vision binoculars on the vehicles parked beside the farmhouse. “One is a pickup, maybe like Carroll’s. I can’t make out the license plate.” Mai lowered the binoculars. “I guess I go knock on the front door.”
“A stranger knocking on the door of a paranoid, likely armed farmer. What’s wrong with that picture?”
“If Jay is here, we need to get him.” Mai unlatched her seat belt. “I’ll drive. You need to get out.”
“I’m not freezing my ass off.”
“Jay can’t see me with another man.”
“Mai, I’m not standing in the cold.”
“Alexei, you’re from the U.S.S.R.”
“I defected to a temperate climate for a reason. I’ll cover myself in the back.”
“And if I get him in the truck?”
“Ya budu lezhat’ ochen’ nepodvizhno.” I’ll lie very still.
He unfastened his own seat belt and climbed into the far back of the vehicle, lay down, and covered himself with a sleeping bag.
Mai backed up a quarter-mile, turned the lights back on, and headed up the driveway.
“Alexei, it is Jay’s truck, but I don’t see a license plate,” Mai said. She stopped the SUV, shifted into park, and shut off the engine. “I’ll be right back. Keep your head down in case someone is looking out the window.”
She was out of the SUV before he could say, “Be careful.”
The anticipatory thudding of Mai’s heart surprised her. She gave a half-guilty glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t remember the last time Alexei had made her heart pound. If she turned around now, they’d go home, alert the authorities, and get on with their lives.
But that would mean she’d given up.
When she mounted the porch steps, a man’s silhouette passed by the curtained window. She saw no sign of a weapon and headed to the front door.
In the middle of knocking, someone shouted, “Who is it?”
“Mr. Parker? I’m Siobhan Dochartaigh. I know your brother.”
The porch light came on, and the door op
ened. Albert Parker was in his forties, with a neat, trimmed full beard that melded into his receding hairline. He looked professorial, not anti-governmental.
He looked her over but didn’t open the screen door.
“Never heard my brother mention you,” he said.
“It’s a friend of John Carroll’s I am. When I visited Jay last year, we stayed with your brother and his wife.”
“Oh, yeah, he did mention that. What do you want?”
“I’ve been trying to find Jay. I see his—”
“How’d you find this place?”
“Jay told me about how he’d enjoyed working here and described how to find it. I see his truck here. May I speak to him?”
“You could. If he was here.”
“The truck…?”
“We traded for an old, eighty-three Sunbird I had, but that was back in January.”
“I saw your brother the other day, and he told me his ex-wife said Jay was headed here.”
“That dumb bitch. Never gets dates right, plus she’s a topnotch liar. What’d Jay do? Knock you up?”
“No, it’s nothing to do with babies,” Mai said, remembering in America that phrase didn’t mean going to see someone. “Jay and I had a disagreement. I’m trying to patch it.”
“You’re standing around in the cold for Jay Carroll? That’s a first.”
Mai quelled the urge to sucker-punch him through the screen. “When did you say he was here?”
“Late January.”
Not long after they’d forsaken watching the farm when they’d started this excursion, what she’d feared the whole trip.
“Hey, you’re the IRA chick he met at a gun show, right?”
As serious as Carroll professed to be about security, he wasn’t above bragging about whom he dated. Quite possibly a masculine thing, she thought. “I met him at a gun show, yes. Was he all right?”
“Down about something, but that’s the way he is. You said you guys had a fight. That’s probably why.”
