Known Dead (10 page)

There are leads, and then there are leads. We needed to talk in private, so we left the trailer and stood outside in the long grass by a small metal garden shed. I was half afraid he’d ask me to step inside it.

‘‘They been working that area for a while, man.’’ He was very quiet, and hard to understand. ‘‘Howler told me. He said it was Army-Navy SEALS. You know, the ones in the cammo stuff, with their faces painted, they can kill anybody before they know they’re dead?’’

‘‘Howler told you that?’’ I asked.

‘‘Yeah, man, he seen ’em. Twice.’’

‘‘If Howler saw ’em, how could they be so sneaky?’’

‘‘He did, man, he really did. He seen ’em in the woods.’’ He looked around again. He was really nervous. Outrageous as it was, he believed it. ‘‘He knows all about that shit.’’

‘‘Where is Howler these days?’’

‘‘I don’t know, man, but if he’s hidin’, you’ll never find him. They got him scared, man, they really do.’’

Hey. An Army-Navy SEAL would scare just about anybody.

I started looking for Howler. First person I contacted was Beth Harper, Turd’s surviving girlfriend. She told me that Howler had moved in with Nan, the girl Hester and I had seen at Beth’s place. I next called the Freiberg police, and they told me the same thing. Hardly seemed to be hiding. I got to Nan’s place about half an hour later. Howler answered the door. Artfully concealed.

His first question was ‘‘How’d you find me?’’

We talked for almost an hour. It turned out that he actually had seen three men, in cammo clothing, on the road near the area where the marijuana patch had been. Armed with rifles, he said, that appeared to be M-16s. M-16s used 5.56 mm ammo, one of the types found at the scene. Hats, boots, and web gear. That’s what he said.

‘‘Any idea who they might have been?’’ I didn’t want to hit him with the SEAL stuff, as it might give up my source.

‘‘Navy SEALS. Had to be.’’

‘‘Why’s that?’’

‘‘They were in a blue jeep, man. You know. Blue. Navy.’’

‘‘Navy jeeps,’’ I said, ‘‘are gray.’’

He paused a few seconds. ‘‘You sure about that?’’

‘‘Yep.’’

‘‘You think they were Air Force, then?’’

We concentrated on the date. He wasn’t certain, but he thought it was on the 17th of June. Two days prior to the shootings.

‘‘What were you doing up there anyway?’’ My reserve question.

After a couple of minutes hemming and hawing, it developed that he’d dropped Turd off to tend the patch. Of such stuff are co-conspirators made.

‘‘For Johnny Marks?’’

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, but don’t tell Johnny. And, anyway, he wasn’t sure I’d be able to find Marks as quickly as I’d been able to ‘‘find’’ him.

I asked if he’d told Johnny about the cammo troops. Yes. And Turd? Yes.

‘‘That’s why he had the shotgun,’’ he said. ‘‘But I don’t think he really believed me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone up there.’’

Aha.

‘‘Did you ever think they were cops? When you saw them.’’

Actually, no, he hadn’t. Howler apparently was one to go with his first impressions.

‘‘What,’’ I asked, ‘‘did you think a SEAL team was doing in a state park in Iowa?’’

Training. That’s what he said. Along with ‘‘Hey, who knows what the Feds are doin’.’’

We had that in common anyway.

On Sunday, the 7th, with all the state and federal cops off, I had nobody to talk with about the investigation. I wanted to talk to Johnny Marks again, but I wanted to have his probation officer with me when I did. He was off, of course, and wasn’t answering his home phone. I really had nothing else to do, so I went back to the scene of the crime. I told Lamar where I was going to be.

There was a light rain, and everything in the woods was shiny in a gray sort of way. It was very hot, very humid, of course, and I had to wear my infamous rubberized raincoat just to protect my recorder, walkie-talkie, gun, notepad, and to keep my reading glasses dry. Trouble was, I was so hot under that damned thing, it was probably as wet inside as outside the rain gear. I had two cans of bug spray with me and sprayed under the coat frequently. Didn’t help the moisture, but I didn’t get eaten by mosquitoes.

I got to the area where the killings had taken place and hunkered down under a big tree, where I could see most of the area. I just looked around, trying to place myself in the position of both officers, just before they saw Turd. The vegetation was a little different, having grown a bit, and the grass was no longer matted down in places. I could see the problem they would have had in acquiring the little doper in the first place. I looked toward where the shooters had been. They could have come to their positions at any time, and if they had been quiet, they would have remained undetected until they stood up. That made me wonder. I got up, and took a long walk over to where they had been lying in wait. Sure enough. They couldn’t have seen the cops get in position either. The more I looked, the more it struck me that neither group would have been able to see Turd very long before he was nearly on them. That meant either that the shooters were lying in wait for a very long time or that they had been creeping through the woods and gone to ground as soon as they saw Turd coming up the path. I went to where I was pretty sure the first shooter had been, near the path, and squatted down. From that position, he wouldn’t have seen Turd until he was nearly stepped on by him. I stood up. Yep. If I had been the shooter, and I was going to wait for Turd, I would have gone to the point the cops had picked out. Best place there was. The more I thought about it, the more it became apparent to me that the shooters were probably in transit toward where our people were, when they saw Turd. That they probably never knew our two officers were even there. Or—and the thought made my blood run cold—they’d been sneaking up on our men and Turd had blown their trap. Jesus. That was it! By God, I was sure of it.

I went back to where our guys had set their surveillance point. I looked around, to see where the best view of them could have been had. If they’d been careful, nowhere I could see from. And they would have been careful, knowing they’d been seen the previous day. So . . .

Well, if you couldn’t see ’em where they’d been set up, you’d have to pick them up somewhere on their ingress route. Follow the logical track. Intercept them where you thought they’d be. Sounded good, but if I was stalking our guys, that would be a little chancy. If you lose sight for a time . . .

There’s a thing they use in antisubmarine warfare called a datum. If a ship is torpedoed, and can report that fact, that’s what they call a ‘‘flaming datum.’’ The most recent possible information. Whatever you’re going to use to attack the sub heads toward that ‘‘flaming datum,’’ and the longer it takes for it to get there, the wider the possible area where the sub can be. They figure the maximum speed of the sub, assume it has fled, and draw a circle with that radius around the datum point. Now, the same sort of thing would be at work here, I thought, except there would be a direction of travel to go with the datum. If the shooters had acquired our guys at a particular point, seen what direction they were heading, estimated their progress . . .

Then they would have gone to that point, and that was where they had been seen by Turd. Or very close to it.
They were in transit when they were discovered.
Going toward where they thought our guys would be . . . and they would have probably assumed they were going to the patch . . .

I went over to where the shooter had been, and looked back, figuring that the second shooter, being on my left, would have come from the same place. Between my left, or 270 degrees, and my rear, or 180 degrees, was where I’d come from, because I was ahead of the man at 270. Given that, I turned around, reestimated the degrees, cut it in half, and looked up.

I was just about looking straight at the point where we’d found the MREs.

I really wanted to call Hester. But she was on days off, and she needed a break as much as I did. Aside from my excitement, there was no real reason to bother her until the next day. But until I saw her again, I thought I was going to explode. I didn’t want to tell Lamar right away, because I wanted to be absolutely sure.

Hester was back up at 0930 on Monday, the 8th. I really wanted to run out into the parking lot to meet her. Instead, I walked. She was lugging about fifty pounds of paper, the summaries of all the interviews all the state agents had conducted since the shooting. We were going to go over them together.

‘‘Give you a hand?’’

She looked at me sort of suspiciously. ‘‘Sure.’’

I took one of the two shopping bags she’d stuffed the reports in. ‘‘Hey, these really are heavy!’’

‘‘Isn’t that why you offered . . . ?’’

‘‘Yeah, but, listen to this. I’ve got some news. I went back to the scene and when I was there . . .’’

‘‘Hey!’’ she said. ‘‘Slow down. You sound like a ten-year-old.’’

I absently held the door for her, and she just as absently walked through it.

‘‘Yeah, but this is so cool.’’

We lugged the paper through the reception area and sat down in the investigator’s office.

‘‘Now,’’ she said, dusting off her hands, ‘‘tell me.’’

She got it right away. The datum bit, the whole thing.

‘‘You mean, they were trying to get to our guys before our guys got to the patch?’’

‘‘Right!’’

‘‘So what about Turd?’’

‘‘What about him?’’

‘‘Well, where does he fit in?’’

‘‘He doesn’t! That’s just it. They didn’t have any idea Turd was anywhere around. They couldn’t have, because they’d left the perch and come down to go after our people before Turd even got there.’’

‘‘You mean, to protect the patch?’’

‘‘Right.’’

‘‘From our guys?’’

‘‘Right!’’

She thought for a second. ‘‘Well, I think you’ve got the movements right. But we’ve got a little problem with the motives.’’

‘‘How so?’’

‘‘Well,’’ she said, her brow furrowed, ‘‘if they’re protecting the patch, they’d have to have ownership, right?’’

‘‘Probably.’’ I was hesitating, because I was afraid I knew where she was going.

‘‘So, if they own the patch, or at least guard it, they’ve gotta know about Turd, because he’s the gardener.’’ She looked up. ‘‘Right?’’

Uh-oh. ‘‘Right,’’ I said.

‘‘So why did they kill Turd? Why not just grab him or something, to keep him quiet? Hell, why not just tell him to stay home?’’

Well, I sure as hell didn’t have an answer. ‘‘But you agree with the movements?’’

‘‘Oh, yeah. No doubt you’re right about that.’’

‘‘Well, then,’’ I said, ‘‘maybe they just . . .’’ I hung on that one.

‘‘Just what?’’

‘‘Oh, hell, Hester, I don’t know . . . maybe they just fucked up?’’

She grinned, and so did I.

‘‘I don’t think so,’’ she said. ‘‘But we’re on the track now. We are. I can feel it.’’

I leaned back in my chair, clasping my hands behind my head. ‘‘Know what I’m afraid of?’’

‘‘Probably, but tell me . . .’’

‘‘The narc folks have our answer.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ She took off her sports jacket, revealing a white sleeveless blouse and a reddish-brown holster for her 9 mm.

‘‘New holster?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ she said, turning to the side to give a better view. ‘‘Not every man would have noticed . . .’’ She gave me a stern look. ‘‘Would you have noticed on a guy?’’

‘‘Sure would,’’ I said, honestly.

She grinned as she sat back down. ‘‘You’re right, you would.’’

‘‘Hand-tooled?’’ I asked.

Her eyebrows flickered up, then down. ‘‘You’ll never know, Houseman. You’ll just never know.’’

We called Johnny Marks’s probation officer. He said he’d get back to us as soon as he talked with him.

Before we got into the reports, we tried DEA and DNE, to let them know what we’d deduced, and see if they could unravel the snarl for us. Nobody with any information on the case was ‘‘available.’’ Probably wouldn’t be for three or four days. Might be able to give us a call later, but not to meet.

Hester, who was speaking to the agent on the phone, said something about vacations, and shook her head.

‘‘No luck?’’

‘‘No, and now I’m wondering what the hell’s up with them.’’

‘‘Hey,’’ I said, ‘‘when you were undercover for the narcs, did you fuck with the locals like this?’’

‘‘Oh, sure,’’ she said, almost absently. ‘‘All the time.’’ She looked up. ‘‘It’s an arrogance thing, I guess. But it’s catching. Sometimes you didn’t return a call for a couple of days, just to let them know how little they counted.’’

‘‘Oh.’’

‘‘It’s just a thing.’’

‘‘Maybe,’’ I said, ‘‘they should recruit from the ranks of the experienced investigators instead of the new folks. Maybe then they wouldn’t tend to do that.’’

‘‘You’re probably right,’’ she said.

We went back to reading interviews.

Two hours later, Marks’s PO called back. He wasn’t able to locate Marks anywhere. Did we have any ideas where he was? Well, I mean, he was obviously ducking everybody because he was scared. I told him that. Exactly who it was that was scaring him was sort of up for grabs.

‘‘It ain’t us,’’ I said. ‘‘It’s somebody he thinks is gonna do him harm.’’

He wanted to know if we had any suggestions. I told him where to find Howler.

I hung up and looked at Hester. ‘‘Well, Marks is among the ‘disappeared.’ ’’

‘‘Yeah, I got that.’’

‘‘How bad we have to talk to him, you think?’’

Not bad enough, it turned out. We
had
to get through the typed interviews. Not counting lunch and supper, it took us five more hours to get done with those, and we didn’t know a single useful thing more than we had when we started.

We should have looked for Johnny Marks.