Zero Day (22 page)

P
ULLER KILLED HIS HEADLIGHTS
and slid his M11 out.

The lights were on in the motel office. A pickup truck was parked out front. He had planned to check on Louisa’s cat. But someone else was in there now.

He crept forward, keeping his weight balanced and his gaze swiveling. It might be nothing, but after nearly being blown up Puller was taking nothing for granted. The bomber obviously knew he was staying here. Maybe he was back for another try.

He reached the truck and made sure it was empty. He opened the passenger door, checked the glove box, and read off the name on the registration.

Cletus Cousins
.

The name meant nothing to him.

He left the truck and moved to the little porch in front of the office and peered in the window. The man was short, in his twenties, and carrying a large cardboard box.

Puller tried the doorknob. Not locked. He opened it, his gun pointed at the man’s head.

The young man dropped the box.

“Please, God, don’t shoot. Please.”

His head was shaven. He had a flabby gut, a trim goatee, and looked ready to crap in his dirty jeans.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Puller.

The man was shaking so badly, Puller finally lowered his gun a notch. He flipped out his creds. “Army investigator,” said Puller.
“I’m not going to shoot you unless you give me good reason. What are you doing here?”

“My granny told me to come.”

“Who’s your granny? Not Louisa. She said she didn’t have any family in the area.”

“She don’t. But my granny is her best friend.”

“What’s your name?”

“Wally Cousins. My granny is Nelly Cousins. We been in Drake our whole lives. Everybody knows us.”

“Truck registration says Cletus Cousins.”

“That’s my daddy. My truck’s in the shop, so’s I took his.”

“Okay, Wally, one more time, why are you here and what are you taking?”

The young man pointed at the box on the floor. It had fallen open and its contents had spilled out. Puller could see some clothes, a Bible, some books, a few framed photographs, and some knitting needles and balls of colored yarn.

“To get this stuff,” he said.

“Why? Are you taking it to Louisa at the hospital?”

The young man looked confused. “No, sir.”

“What then?”

“Taking it to my granny.”

“So you’re taking Louisa’s belongings to your grandma. And that’s not stealing why?”

The young man’s eyes widened. “Well, she ain’t gonna use it no more. She’s dead.”

Puller blinked. “Dead? Louisa’s dead? When?”

“Yes, sir. Died about three hours ago. And Louisa told my granny she could have this stuff when she passed. Like I said, they were good friends. About the same age and all.”

Puller eyed the box again and then lifted his gaze to Cousins. “You don’t wait very long around here, do you? Before you start scavenging the body?”

“Don’t you know, mister?”

“Know what?”

“Lotta folks around here ain’t got nothing. They find out you
dead and ain’t got no relations, your stuff’s gone before you know it. Why you think so many empty houses around here all trashed? So when Ms. Louisa passed on, Granny told me to get myself over here and get this stuff Louisa said she could have before it was gone.”

Puller lowered his pistol. “How did your granny know Louisa died?”

“She called the hospital.”

“Someone else I know called the hospital. They wouldn’t tell her anything.”

“My aunt is a nurse there. She told Granny.”

“I thought she was doing better.”

“I guess she was. My aunt said she looked better. But then the machines started going off. She just stopped breathing. My aunt said that happens sometimes with old folks. They just get clear tuckered out. Tired of living, I guess.”

Puller examined the box more closely and saw that there was nothing of value. He eyed one of the photos. It was of two women in their mid-twenties wearing poodle skirts, tight blouses, and pink heels with hairdos so big they looked like a bee’s nest on steroids. He flipped it over and looked at the date written in pen on the back.

November 1955
.

“One of these ladies your granny?”

Wally nodded. “Yes, sir. She’s the dark-haired one.” He pointed to the young blonde woman on the left. She had a mischievous smile and looked ready to take on the world. “And Ms. Louisa is right there. They sure look different now. Especially Ms. Louisa, of course.”

“Yeah.” Puller looked around. “You taking the cat?”

“Naw. Granny got three dogs. They’d eat that dang thing up.” He eyed the gun. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

Wally picked up the box.

“Tell your granny I’m sorry about her friend.”

“I will. What’s your name?”

“Puller.”

“I’ll tell her, Mr. Puller.”

A few moments later Puller heard the truck start up and roll slowly out of the motel parking lot. He eyed the room and then heard the meow. He walked past the counter and into the back bedroom. The cat was on the unmade bed lying on its back. Puller checked the food, water, and litter tray. The cat hadn’t eaten or drunk much. Maybe it was waiting for Louisa to come back. If so, it would probably be dead soon too. It looked about as old in cat years as Louisa had been in human ones.

He sat on the bed and gazed around. From 1955 and a poodle skirt with the world lying before her to this crappy existence decades later. People taking your stuff before you were even in the ground.

I thought I’d saved her. Couldn’t do it. Just like my guys back in Afghanistan. Couldn’t save them either. Way it went. Beyond your control. But the Army taught you to control everything. Yourself. Your opponent. What all the training didn’t tell you was that the most important things, the ones that actually decided life and death, were almost completely outside your control
.

He rubbed the cat’s belly, rose, and left.

He popped his trunk, took out the tape, and strung it across the entrance to the motel office after securely locking the door.

The yellow tape was visible from a long way away. Its message was clear:

Do Not Enter
.

Next, he eyed the door to his room. His gaze drifted to the spot in front of the door. He looked for wires, a new piece of wood, saw none. He hefted a large rock from the flowerbed encircling the parking lot and tossed it at a spot in front of the door. As it flew through the air he ducked down behind his car. The rock hit and nothing happened. He picked up another rock and aimed it at the door handle. It struck the spot solidly.

Again, nothing.

He pulled from his rucksack a long telescoping pole with grips on the end that could be fixed at virtually any angle. He placed his
room key in the grips and played out the pole. He looked around. The place was empty. He seemed to be the only one staying here right now.

He inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and using the pole pushed open the door.

No explosion. No fireball.

He put the pole away, locked his car, and went inside his room. He stood there for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness here.

Everything looked just where he had put it. He checked his little booby-traps to tell him if someone had been here. None were tripped.

He closed and locked the door. Sat on the bed. He added up his growing list of failures.

He had failed to see the trip wire in time.

He had failed to save Louisa.

He checked his watch. Pondered whether to make the call.

Cole would probably already be in bed by now. And what exactly did he have to tell her?

He lay back on the bed. His M11 would rest in his hand all night.

His cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and inwardly groaned.

“Hello, sir.”

“Damnedest thing, Gunny,” said his father. The old man would alternate referring to Puller as his XO, gunnery sergeant, or sometimes simply “you asshole PFC.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“No orders from high command and a Saturday night with nothing to do. What say we get together and bang some shots back? We can catch a ride to Hong Kong on a military transport heading out. Know some places. Good times. Lovely ladies.”

Puller untied his jump boots and kicked them off. “I’m on duty, sir.”

“Not if I say you’re not, soldier.”

“Special orders, sir. Straight from HC.”

“Why don’t I know about it?” his father said in a clenched tone.

“Bypassed local chain of command. I didn’t ask why, General. It’s the Army. I just follow lawfully given orders, sir.”

“I’ll make some calls. This bullshit has to stop. They try to run around me one more time they’ll regret it.”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

“Hell to pay.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good time in Hong Kong.”

“You hang tight, Gunny. I’ll be back in touch.”

“Roger that, sir.”

His father clicked off and Puller wondered if they had stopped giving the man his nighttime meds yet. When medicated he usually was sound asleep by this time, but he’d now called his son twice late at night. He’d have to check on that.

He stripped down to his skivvies and lay back on the bed.

Every time he had a conversation like this with his father, it seemed to tear a little piece of his reality away. There might come a time when his father called and Puller would actually believe everything the man said. That he was back in the Army, heading up his own corps, that Puller was his XO, or his gunny, or one of his hundred thousand asshole PFCs.

One day. But not tonight.

He turned out the light and closed his eyes.

He needed to sleep, so he did.

But it was a light sleep. Three seconds to wake, aim, and fire at the enemy.

Bombs, bullets, sudden death.

It was as though he’d never left Afghanistan.

B
Y
0600 P
ULLER WAS UP
, showered, shaved, and dressed.

He sat outside on the porch in front of the office and drank a cup of his percolator coffee. No one had broken through the yellow tape he’d strung after Wally Cousins had left.

Eight o’clock at the Crib was eggs, ham, and grits with more coffee. Cole was back in uniform, her femininity buried under polyester, police gear, and regulation black shoes.

“Louisa died yesterday,” Puller said.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” replied Cole, her fork poised halfway to her mouth.

He told her about Wally Cousins’s visit to the motel. Cole confirmed that Cousins’s grandmother and Louisa were longtime friends.

“I called the hospital this morning and said I was her grandson,” he said. “They told me that she died in her sleep.”

“Not a bad way to go, I guess.”

Better than a boulder crushing your car with you in it
, thought Puller.

“She has no family left here,” he said. What’ll happen to her body? Funeral? And what about her motel?”

“I’ll make some calls. We’ll take care of it, Puller. Drake isn’t what it once was, but we still have good folks here that care, who take care of their own.”

“Okay.” He took a sip of coffee. “Do folks really have to move that fast around here when someone dies?”

She shrugged. “I won’t tell you Cousins was wrong. When folks have nothing they do strange things.”

“Like that neighborhood you showed me, next to the concrete dome?”

“I admit some of those folks go scavenging around the area. And sometimes they take things from people who are still alive and kicking. We call that burglary or robbery or grand larceny and they have to pay the price.”

“Jail?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Puller took a bite of eggs. He’d called his SAC back at Quantico and brought him up to speed on all the latest developments. When he’d mentioned the bombing attempt Don White had said, “You’ve obviously gotten someone excited.”

“Yes, sir,” Puller had said. But he didn’t ask for additional assets. If the SAC wanted to send them, he would. Puller was not going to beg.

He had also arranged to be on a commercial flight out of Charleston later that day. He had to make inquiries at the Pentagon about the late Colonel Matthew Reynolds and he also needed to visit the man’s house in Fairfax City. Puller
had
hinted that another CID agent back in Virginia could see to this detail as well as he could, but the SAC made it clear that Puller was the entire show right now, at least as far as the U.S. Army was concerned.

“How long will you be gone to D.C.?” she asked.

“Not sure. Depends on what I find out. But not longer than a couple of days.”

“Any word from your fancy lab in Atlanta?”

“Nothing on the briefcase and laptop. They just got the other items. They’re good, but they need some time. I’ll check in with them today and fill you in on what if anything they’ve found out.”

“How about that soil testing company in Ohio?”

“They open at zero-nine. So at zero-nine I plan to hit my speed dial.”

“They may not tell you much without a court order.”

“Maybe not. But we can get a court order.”

Cole said nothing. She just drank her coffee and looked around at the other patrons of the Crib.

Puller studied her. “You never answered my question about Randy and the death threats.”

“I guess you didn’t have to be a world-class detective to figure that one.”

“Parents killed by Trent. Probably how Randy sees it. He lashes out at the SOB. So he sent the earlier threats. You investigated and found out the source. You dealt with it and don’t want to talk about it further.”

“That’s a pretty good read.”

“Okay, now here’s the question. Is he the source of these new threats?”

“Don’t think so.”

“But you’re not absolutely sure?”

“I’ve been a cop long enough to know that anybody can be violent if given the right motivation.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

She shook her head. “Puller, that is not your investigation. You are here for one reason only.”

“How do you know it’s not connected to what happened to the Reynoldses? And that is my turf.”

“How could it be?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we investigate stuff. Will you let me talk to him?”

“I’ll think about it. But I don’t even know where he is right now.”

“How does he support himself? Other than the money your parents left?”

“He works odd jobs.”

“Does Roger think Randy’s behind the new threats? Is that why he called you directly?”

“Probably,” she admitted.

“When does Trent get back into town?”

“I don’t know. I don’t keep the man’s calendar.”

“I think this morning would be a good time to go to the office where Molly Bitner worked and ask some questions.”

“You really think there’s a connection between them and the Reynoldses? I mean aside from them maybe seeing something.”

“That’s what we have to find out. But for the record, I don’t really believe in coincidences.”

They both turned to the plate glass window as a pale silver Mercedes SL600 pulled up in front of the Crib. The top was down and the occupants were clearly revealed.

“Speak of the devil,” said Puller. “That’s your sister driving and your brother riding shotgun.”