Zero Day (12 page)

“Strange world you operate in.”

“No disagreement on that.”

All around them the good folks of Drake were shooting curious glances in their direction. Two suits in particular were taking a special interest. As was a table of four beefy guys outfitted in corduroy pants and short-sleeved shirts that showed off their burly arms. One had on a Havoline cap. Another wore a dusty cowboy hat with a sharp crease on the right side. A third quietly drank his beer and studied the air in front of him. The fourth, smaller than the rest, but still weighing in at about two-ten, watched Puller and Cole via a large mirror on the wall.

Cole moved her gaze to look at the cash. “The police station is only—”

“Three minutes from here, like everything else.”

“Actually it’s about eight.”

“Can I get the stuff?”

“Can I trust you?”

“I can’t make that decision for you.”

“So maybe I can.” She put some dollars down to pay for her share of the meal.

“I think my cash covered them both with a tip,” said Puller.

“I don’t like owing people.” She rose. “Let’s go.”

Puller left his money right where it was and followed her out as the town of Drake continued to stare.

T
HEY WALKED
down the street. The few people there stared at Puller and his blue jacket with the gold CID lettering. It didn’t faze him. He was used to being the outsider. He only showed up in towns like this when something bad had happened. Nerves were tight. People were often dead by violent means. A stranger snooping around just added to the misery, the suspicion. Puller could deal with all that, but he also knew there was at least one killer out there, probably more. And something told him they were still here. Maybe a mere three-minute walk away from here, like everything else. Except the police station.

Cole nodded to some of the passersby, and said hello to one old woman using a walker to slowly amble along. The woman said in an admonishing tone, “Young lady, you haven’t been to church in a while.”

“Yes, Mrs. Baffle. I’ll do better.”

“I’ll pray for you, Sam.”

“Thank you. I could use it, I’m sure.”

As the woman shuffled on Puller said, “Small town?”

“With all its thorns and rose petals,” she replied.

They walked some more.

Cole said, “At least we know whoever killed the Reynoldses wasn’t after his military stuff. Or else they would have taken the laptop and briefcase with them. Maybe that rules out the spy angle.”

Puller shook his head. “You can download a laptop’s hard drive onto a flash drive. So you don’t have to take the hardware. Did you happen to see if anything was in the briefcase?”

She feigned astonishment. “My God, Puller, and me not having an SCI or an SAP? I wouldn’t think of it. I could be charged with treason.”

“Okay, I deserved that. But did you see anything?”

“It was locked with a combo code. I didn’t want to break into it, so it’s in pristine condition.”

Keeping his gaze straight ahead he said, “Someone’s on our seven. Last three blocks. Twenty meters back.”

Cole kept her gaze straight too. “Could be they’re going in the same direction we are. What do they look like?”

“Older man in a suit. Twenty-something big guy in a cutoff shirt with a tat sleeve down the right arm.”

“Walking together?”

“Appear to be. They were in the restaurant eyeballing us the whole time, but from different tables.”

“Follow me.”

Cole cut to her left and started to cross the street. She let a car pass and took a look in both directions, ostensibly to check for more traffic. She proceeded on and Puller followed. She turned right and kept going in the same direction they had been heading, but on the opposite side of the street.

“Know them?” asked Puller.

“The man in the suit is Bill Strauss.”

“And what does Bill Strauss do?”

“He’s an exec with Trent Exploration. Like the number two guy after Roger.”

“And the beef in the cutoff?”

“His son, Dickie.”

“Dickie?”

“I didn’t name him.”

“And what does Dickie do? Something with Trent Exploration?”

“Not that I know of. He was in the Army for a while.”

“Know where?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“What now?”

“Well, we’re about to find out what they want.”

“Why?”

“They’re catching up to us,” Puller said.

From habit, Puller turned slightly and let his right arm dangle loosely. He lowered his chin, turned his head forty-five degrees to the left, and deployed his peripheral vision. He walked on the balls of his feet, dispersing his weight evenly so he could strike out in any direction with a balanced effectiveness. He wasn’t concerned about the older man. Bill Strauss was in his fifties, flabby, and Puller’s hearing told him the guy was wheezy just from a brisk walk.

Dickie the tat boy was a different story, but Puller wasn’t all that concerned about him either. He was late twenties, an inch over six feet, scaled about two-sixty. Puller noted that he’d gotten fat after leaving the Army, but he’d kept the infantry brush cut and some of the muscle.

“Sergeant Cole?” said Strauss.

They turned, waited.

Strauss and his son walked up to them.

“Hello, Mr. Strauss, what can I do for you?” she asked.

Strauss was about thirty pounds overweight and a sliver under six feet. He wore a Canali pinstripe with a loosened solid blue tie and white dress shirt. His hair was mostly white and longer than his son’s. His face was overly wrinkled, especially around the mouth. His voice was husky and edging toward ravaged. Puller noted the red-and-white pack of Marlboros sticking from his breast coat pocket and the nicotine fingers.

Lung cancer cometh, Mr. Wheezy
.

His son’s face was filled out, the cheeks reddened from too much sun. His pecs bulged from too many bench presses, but he’d grown light in the quads, hammies, and the all-important calves from neglecting his lower body. Puller seriously doubted the man could run the Army two-mile in the allotted time. His tat sleeve also caught Puller’s attention.

Strauss said, “I heard about the bodies being found. Molly Bitner worked at my office.”

“That we know.”

“It’s just awful. I can’t believe she was killed. She was a very nice woman.”

“I’m sure she was. Did you know her well?”

“Well, just from the office. She was one of a bunch of gals who worked there, but we never had any issues with her.”

Puller said, “And would you expect to have had issues with her?”

Strauss shifted his gaze to Puller. “I understand you’re with the Army. An investigator?”

Puller nodded but said nothing.

Strauss eyed Cole again. “If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you handling the case?”

“I am. It’s a collaborative investigation, Mr. Strauss. One of the victims was in the military. That’s why Agent Puller is here. It’s standard procedure.”

“I see. Of course. I was just wondering.”

“Did she seem normal over the last few days?” asked Puller. “Anything seem to be bothering her?”

Strauss shrugged. “Again, I didn’t have a lot of contact with her. I have my personal secretary and Molly worked out in the main office area.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“Doing whatever was needed around the office, I suppose. We have an office manager, Mrs. Johnson, who could probably answer your inquiries. She would have had more contact with Molly than I would.”

Puller was listening but no longer watching the older man now. His gaze was on the son. Dickie was eyeing his work boots, big hands stuffed in his worn corduroys.

“Heard you were in the Army,” Puller said.

Dickie nodded but didn’t look up.

“What division?”

“First Infantry.”

“Mechanized man. Fort Riley or Germany?”

“Riley. Never been to Germany.”

“How long were you in?”

“One stint.”

“Didn’t like the Army?”

“Army didn’t much like me.”

“BCD or a DD?”

Strauss broke in. “Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. If we can help in any way, Sergeant Cole.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure we’ll be by your office to talk.”

“Certainly. Let’s go, son.”

As they walked off, Puller said, “Know the man well?”

“One of Drake’s leading citizens. And one of the wealthiest.”

“Right. Number two guy. So in the same league with Trent?”

“The Trents are in a league by themselves. Strauss is just one of his peons. But a very well-compensated peon. His house is smaller than Trent’s but gargantuan by Drake standards.”

“Strauss from Drake?”

“No, he moved here with his family over twenty years ago. He was from the East Coast, at least I think.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what brought him here?”

“Work. He was a business guy and in the energy field. Drake may not look like much, but we do have energy in the form of coal and gas. He started working for Trent and the business really took off. Now what was that DD stuff you mentioned?”

Puller said, “A BCD means Big Chicken Dinner. That stands for a bad conduct discharge. A DD is worse, a dishonorable discharge. Since Dickie’s still walking around free, I’m guessing it wasn’t a DD. They kicked him out for a reason that didn’t involve a court-martial. That’s what he meant when he said the Army didn’t much like him.”

Cole gazed in the direction of the Strausses. “I never knew that.”

“The only reason it might be relevant is that lots of BCDs are tied to drug use that the Army just doesn’t want to screw around with. So they choose kicking guys out instead of prosecuting them.”

“And maybe that ties to the meth lab we found?”

“You noticed it, right?” asked Puller.

She nodded. “Dickie’s tat sleeve is identical to Eric Treadwell’s.”

P
ULLER SNAGGED THE LAPTOP
and briefcase from the Drake Sheriff’s Office’s evidence room. He had to fill out the necessary paperwork to maintain proper chain of custody.

As they walked out Cole yawned and stretched.

He said, “You should head home and get some sack time. I promise not to call and wake you up.”

She smiled. “I appreciate that.”

“The tat sleeve? Is that a gang deal? Or do people around here just like that particular arm design?”

“I suppose I’ve seen it on Dickie before but never really focused on it. I can ask around.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You really going to be there at 0600?”

“I’ll give you a break, I’ll make it 0630.”

“Oh, I found a doc to do the posts.”

“Who is he?”

“Walter Kellerman. He’s first-rate. Even wrote a textbook on forensic pathology.”

“When is he going to do the posts?”

“Starting tomorrow afternoon. At his office in Drake around two. You want to be there?”

“Yes.” He turned to head back to the motel.

“Hey, Puller, why do I think you’re not really going to bed yet?”

He glanced back. “You need me, you’ve got my number.”

“So I can call and wake you up?”

“Anytime.”

Puller fast-walked back to Annie’s Motel. Cole had been spot-on. He wasn’t going to bed yet. He checked the little traps he always put in his room to make sure no one had been there. Annie’s Motel did not offer maid or room service. One had to police his own space and find his own grub, which suited Puller just fine. He found nothing amiss.

He was on the road within five minutes, his destination the designated DHS drop site. He could kill two birds with one stone with this maneuver. He made a call and arranged for the agent stationed there to meet him. It took fifty minutes on the curvy roads. Normally the drop site was for evidence storage when a CID agent was in the field with no access to secure facilities. It took two agents to log in or log out any evidence, for obvious reasons.

When he got to the site Puller and the agent on duty packaged the laptop and briefcase in special boxes to be sent to the Army’s criminal lab in Atlanta. Puller did not have the technical expertise to break the passcodes and access the laptop. And though he possessed both TS and SCI clearances, he probably didn’t have the specific authorizations to look at what might be on there anyway. Because the laptop and briefcase potentially contained national security information, a commercial shipper could not be used. A special military courier was being summoned to accompany the sealed boxes down on a morning flight out of Charleston, West Virginia. They would be in Atlanta later that day. Puller could have taken the stuff down to Georgia himself, which he’d actually done in the past, but he thought it was more important to remain at the scene.

In the Army you always covered your ass. Thus he’d gotten approval for this plan from his SAC, who had covered
his
ass by getting necessary approvals all the way up to the one-star level. How the one-star covered her butt Puller didn’t know and didn’t really care.

On his drive back to Drake, Puller phoned USACIL in Atlanta and spoke with a supervisor he knew there who was working late on a rush case. She was a DA civilian named Kristen Craig. They had worked on many cases together, though they’d only met a few times in person. He gave her a thumbnail of what was coming.

“Kristen, I know you guys are cleared for most stuff. But you’ll need to be read into this by DIA. And the stuff has to go in your secret safe. I marked everything appropriately.”

“Got it, Puller. Thanks for the heads-up.”

The CIL had multiple branches depending on what evidence was being processed. Latent prints, firearms and tool marks, drug chemistry, DNA, serology, paint, cars, digital evidence and computers, and the list went on and on.

“And, Kristen, it’s a complicated crime scene. I’ll be sending down a batch of different things across most branches. So be prepared. I’ll try to be as specific as I can on the accompanying docs, but I’ll probably need to clarify things by email or phone. And I think the Army is real anxious on this one.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t call on us for tech support. How many agents you have with you?”

“It’s just me.”

“You’re joking?”

“Just me, Kristen.”

He could hear her take a deep breath. “Hey, Puller?”

“Yeah?”

“What you just told me is starting to make sense based on what happened here today.”

“What happened?”

“We got a call from the Secretary of the Army’s office.”

Puller kept one hand tightly on the wheel while the other pressed the phone to his ear. “SecArm?”

“Yep. That’s not an everyday thing.”

“I know. What did they want?”

“To be kept in the loop on everything. And then we got another call.”

“You’re a popular place. Who from?”

“FBI. The Director’s office. Same thing. Be kept in the loop. Just thought you should know.”

Puller mulled this. His SAC had said there were many eyes on this, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. Maybe the answer did lie
with Colonel Reynolds and whatever he was doing at DIA. But then why was the FBI involved?

“Thanks, Kristen.”

“Hey, how’s your father?”

“Hanging in there.”

No one ever asked him about his brother.

He closed the phone and drove on.

He got back to the motel and carried his rucksack in with him. The trunk on his Malibu had a special alarm and a few surprises that were definitely not put there by the manufacturer. But Puller had also felt
he
was the best security for important items, and thus they always came in with him.

He slept with one M11 under his pillow. The other one was perched in his right hand. The only deference to safety had been no round in the chamber. He would have to wake, rack the slide, acquire his target, and fire. And not miss. He would do all of that in three seconds and trust that it would be fast enough.

He needed to go to sleep. And in ten seconds, just as the Army had taught him, he did.