A Long December (35 page)

“How cold’s it supposed to get tonight?”

“Oh, I dunno,” said Lamar. “Probably in the twenties, like last night. Hell, you been in colder places than that. Just dress warm.”

This was Lamar’s idea of a good time.

George and Hester weren’t too excited about the idea, but I thought it was because we’d be spending a night in the cold, not the actual assignment. Sally, on the other hand, thought it would be great fun.

“If we set up in the barn,” I said to Hester, “we’ll be out of the wind. Maybe a couple of us in one of the sheds? How about me and George in the biggest shed, and you and Sally in the barn, then.”

“What kinds of night-vision equipment do you have here?” asked George.

“About a dozen flashlights,” I answered. “That’s all that works, anyway.”

We’d mail-ordered a surplus Soviet night scope several years back. It was a first-generation outfit we thought was called a TBC-4, but we weren’t sure of the Cyrillic characters. The department joke maintained that the letters stood for “To Be Charged.” At any rate, it came with one rechargeable battery that had been left in the charger for so many years it had drained to a five-minute “memory,” rendering it useless outside the office. Nobody in the States manufactured a battery that would fit the thing. It had been a bargain, though.

“We can use the time,” said Hester, “to chat about the cases. Sit in the dark and tell scary stories about supervisors, paperwork, and court. How about we all meet back here in half an hour. If I’m going to this slumber party, I want to get my warmest stuff.”

That was an excellent idea.

We left singly, spaced a few minutes apart, so we wouldn’t tip off the media.

I hit the house like a herd of buffalo. I kissed Sue as I passed her on the way up the stairs.

“What’s going on? I thought the case was over.”

“It is,” I said from the top of the stairs “This is a wrap-up stakeout. We gotta be out all night, but all the action is way far away.”

I heard Sue coming up the steps as I fished out my thermal underwear and thermal socks.

“You must be going to be outside,” she said.

“Well, part of the time. And if somebody tries to get away, it’ll be a good idea to be wearing warm clothes.” I sat down on the bed to put my socks on over the thermal long johns.

“I thought nothing was supposed to happen,” she said, pulling my Gore-Tex boots out of the closet.

“You always gotta be ready,” I said as she handed me the boots. “Thanks.”

“Sure. You need anything else?”

“Well, if I can remember where I put that big thermos, I’d like to fill it with hot soup. Just a couple of cans of minestrone will do. Could you put,” I said, lacing the boots, “maybe a couple of cans in the mike? Make sure they boil, and I’ll look for the thermos when I get downstairs…”

As she left, I slipped my thermal knit undershirt on over my head, then a short-sleeved sweatshirt, and my green woolly-pully sweater. Perfect. I clipped my gun and holster to my right hip and put two extra magazines in my back pocket. Handcuffs in the other back pocket. Badge case and ID in the left front. Always on that side, since if you stuck your gun in somebody’s face, you really didn’t want to have to put the thing down to get your badge out of the right-hand pocket. My Canadian Army parka was in the trunk of my car, equipped with Gore-Tex gloves, a woolen muffler, and a stocking cap. My rifle, an AR-15, was there, too, along with three extra magazines. Now for the important stuff…I headed downstairs to the kitchen.

I thought I remembered where I put the big thermos. I bent down to open the lower cupboard door.

“What are you looking for?” said Sue, over the hum of the microwave.

“The thermos…”

“I’ve got it right here,” she said. She was washing it out at the sink.

“Oh. Okay. Good. We got any crackers?”

We did. A whole box. A new pack of string cheese, a small bag of pretzels, and six half-liter bottles of water, and I was ready to go.

I gave Sue a kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She took a step back and looked me up and down. “Carl goes to camp,” she said.

“Well, yeah. Sort of.”

She handed me the thermos of soup. “Stay warm,” she said, and kissed me again.

I opened the overhead garage door, to have enough room to stash my stuff in the trunk, and almost stepped on KNUG’s very own Judy Mercer.

“Going somewhere?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Damn. We’d promised to tell her when things started to go, and here she was.

“Mind if we,” she said, indicating her cameraman, who was stepping around the back of their four-wheel-drive with his camera at his shoulder, “tag along?”

“Actually, yes,” I said. “Kill the camera.”

He did.

“Just like you were afraid of,” I said, leaning in my trunk and packing my food carefully around the spare tire. “The focus has moved elsewhere. We’re a backwater again. We’re gonna be staking out a place where, if anybody gets through the FBI, then they might show up.”

“Shit.”

“Tell me,” I said. “Anyway, the best I can do for you is going to depend on whether you can get away without the rest of the media seeing you.”

“No problem,” she said. “Shoot.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal…” and I told her to go to Battenberg and sit someplace where she could watch the north end of the town. I told her that she’d probably hear any commotion starting up on the scanner and be able to get into position to do her story long before the other media were alerted.

“Just where do I go? When it starts to hit the fan?”

“If,” I said. “If. Not when. But I don’t know, so I can’t tell you. You’ll get aware in a hurry, though, on the off-chance it does heat up. Lots of cop traffic will either come in from the north, or go out from the south. And we ought to light up your scanner.” I thought that was vague enough.

“You gotta do better than that!”

“You already got an exclusive on the dude in Coralville,” I reminded her. “Talk to that lady in the apartment as soon as you can.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really!?”

“Yep. You ought to have your groundwork pretty well done before any other reporter even gets started on that end of it. It was a good break.”

I shut the trunk. “Now, listen really close to this…if I catch you following me, you’ll have four flat tires, a free trip to the Linn County Jail, and a federal felony in your pocket. No question about it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No. For real. I’m absolutely serious.”

“You can’t arrest us for a federal offense,” said her cameraman. “I know that much.”

“Too true,” I said. “But the federal agent with me sure as hell can, and will.”

Just to make sure, I took a back road out of Maitland, turned on a Class B, minimum-maintenance road, and came back to town from the opposite direction. I pulled up in the driveway of Sally’s place and beeped the horn.

She came out looking like two winter boots underneath a laundry pile. She was carrying a large red cooler stacked high with blankets, a parka, a large box of crackers and a Girl Scout backpack.

I opened my door and got out. “Need a hand? “I called to her across the roof of my car.

“No, I got it!”

“You sure? “It didn’t look like it to me.

“This is the twenty-first century, Houseman,” she said.

Consequently, I was still on the driver’s side when she walked right into the side of the car, and I heard a faint, “Jesus Christ, Houseman, give me a hand!”

I did. Her stuff took up the whole backseat.

“Got enough? “I asked, wondering if the back door would shut.

“It could get really cold. I’ve got hot coffee, and water, and sandwiches, and pop, and string cheese, and pretzels, and trail mix, and tea…”

“There aren’t any rest rooms out there,” I said.

“You and George will be in the shed anyway,” she said primly, while sliding into the front seat and closing the door.

There was to be no radio traffic unless absolutely necessary, in order to prevent the media scanners from picking us up and giving a hint that there was something afoot. Sally and I met George and Hester at the motel. They were already seated in Hester’s car as I drove into the parking lot. George gave a thumbs up, and I just kept on driving right back out and headed south. They followed us.

“Where we gonna park these cars?” said Sally, still trying to get her seatbelt fastened. It was completely out of sight under the left edge of her heavy winter coat.

“I thought we’d park in the yard at the Heinman boys’ place,” I said, reaching down and lifting the edge of her coat so she could find the buckle.

“Oh, cool. The crime scene in daylight.” She clicked the belt in place. “Thanks.”

“Yep.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “How far is that from the barn we’re going to be stuck in?”

“About three-quarters of a mile,” I said.

We drove in silence for a moment.

“You’re just gonna have to help me carry some stuff, that’s all.”

I laughed. “Oh, I will. Especially since you’ll be taking the shotgun.” We carried our shotguns in a case that ran along the lower front edge of the seat.

“What the hell do I need that for?”

“If I knew,” I said, “I’d tell. Always take as much firepower as you can reasonably carry,” I said. “You know that.”

“How about I take as much as you can reasonably carry?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Sooner or later, you’re gonna want a sandwich,” she said. “Think about it.”

We got to the Heinman boys’ farm about fifteen minutes later. We pulled both cars into the lane, and all got out as Jacob came to the door.

“Jacob! How’s it goin’?”

“Fair. You need somethin’?”

“Yep,” I said. “We need to park these two cars here, if it’s all right with you.”

He scrutinized us very closely. “Looks like you’re goin’ squirrel huntin’.”

I just explained that we were going to be watching the old Dodd place, and we needed to keep our cars out of sight of anyone who might be going there. Jacob directed us around the back of the barn. He seemed glad to be of assistance.

“Think you’ll catch the people who did it? “he asked.

In the spirit of cooperation, I said, “We already got one of ‘em, Jacob. I think we’ll have everybody pretty soon.”

“Mind if I tell Norris?” he asked me.

“No, not a bit. Just keep it under your hats for a day or two, though.”

The bemused Heinman brothers watched us loading up all our gear.

Sally gave George and Hester a run-down on all the great stuff in her cooler while I loaded up as much gear that had straps as I could. That meant my AR-15, the shotgun, my ammo bag, my camera bag, and Sally’s Girl Scout backpack over one arm.

“We better start moving,” I said, “or I’m gonna poop out just standing here.”

“Right,” said George. He slipped a full-fledged super pack with frame over his shoulders, and carefully adjusted a tube that emerged from the bottom of the pack and ran up over his left shoulder.

“What’s that?” I asked, beating Sally by an instant.

“What? Oh, this tube? This is what they call a ‘hydration pack.’ Carries lots of stuff, and has a water bag attached at the bottom.”

“Okay,” said Hester. “So what’s with the pickax there?”

There really was a strange looking tool dangling from a loop on the side of the pack.

“That’s an ice ax,” said George.

“There’s no ice,” I said. “There’s not even snow.”

“That’s okay,” said Hester. “He can use it to break up the ice in the pack when his hydration system freezes up.”

“Ah, but look,” said George.
“Voilà!”
He reached into the backseat of Hester’s car and produced a black box, about a foot square and about half that thick. “Meet Mr. Heater,” he said, grinning. Sure enough, that’s what the label said. Mr. Heater.

“Runs on a one-pound bottle, puts out 9,000 BTUs for six hours on one. I’ve even got a spare bottle in my pack.”

“What the hell,” said Sally. “I’m sticking with George tonight.”

“Me, too,” said Hester. “Carl, you can stay in the shed if you want.”

“Where,” I asked George, “do you
get
that stuff?”

“I shop around,” he said. “This was only a hundred bucks. Want to see what all I’ve got in my pack?”

“There’s gonna be plenty of time after we get there,” I said. “We’ve got a way to go.”

Hester produced her own duffel bag. “I don’t have a shotgun. Department’s a little short right now, and we keep ‘em in the office and draw one out when we think we’re going to need one.”

“I don’t, either,” said George.

“I’m disappointed, George,” I said. “I was sorta hoping you’d have a small cannon with wheels.”

We set off down the road, with George and me carrying most of the packs and blankets, and Hester and Sally toting the rest along with the cooler between them. When we got back up onto the roadway, Sally said, “Is that dark spot…?”

“Yep. That was where the body was,” I said.

“Boy,” said George. “This is sure a lonely spot to die.”

“Well,” I said, “Rudy really didn’t have much time to think about that.”

“Do you and Hester think you’ve got the right man?”

“If you mean Skripkin,” I said, “yeah, I think so. But I really want that Hassan or that Alvarez, or whoever he is. That sonofabitch is the trigger man.” I adjusted my load, nearly dropping the shotgun off my shoulder. “Skripkin’s only a co-conspirator. That, and a lying sonofabitch, to boot. We’d really like some solid physical evidence.”

The law says that you cannot convict an individual based solely on the testimony of a co-conspirator. It’s a very good rule, when you think about it. But it also means that you have to have something else linking the suspect to the act. Like a large amount of physical evidence, for example. I didn’t think other testimonial evidence, such as that available from Jacob Heinman, would be enough in a strongly contested case.

Along with that, Skripkin’s lying continued to haunt me. I knew he was telling mostly the truth about the murder, but there were little holes in his account that a decent defense attorney would be able to drive a truck through.

“Like what kind of evidence?” George asked, more to make conversation than out of real interest.