“What was the weather like there this morning?”
“The weather?” Julie asked, obviously puzzled as to why I had called to ask that question.
“Yes. Bryan’s satellite television went out for a few minutes twice this morning. It was out for five minutes at ten forty-five, then for three minutes at eleven ten.”
“I don’t know … I was in my office. I know it was raining; Danielle went out for coffee and took my umbrella.”
“OK, we-”
Julie interrupted me, knowing exactly where I was heading. “I’ll get a subpoena and get the satellite companies to give me any information on disruptions this morning. Maybe it’s isolated to a specific area.”
“That’s why Bryan told me about it.”
“I’ll get right on it,” she said. “It will give me something to do.”
I could hear the stress in her voice, and I felt for her. I also felt for me. But I especially felt for Bryan. “Julie, you OK?” I asked.
“Yes, other than the fact that my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
“I know the feeling. Did you get a chance to look through those Appeals Court cases?”
I could hear the sudden anger in her voice. I had always been struck by her ability to change moods on a dime; some people found it intimidating, but I was not one of them. “Did I get a chance?” she asked. “No, I went miniature golfing instead. Of course I got a chance.”
“Sorry. Unless you have a better idea, I’m focusing in on Carlton versus the town of Brayton, NY. Emmit and I are there now.”
“The fracking case. That’s the one I would go with as well.”
“Good. I need to know what impact Brennan not joining the court would have been expected to have on that case.”
“You think that could have something to do with Brennan’s murder?”
“In real life? No. But it could serve our purpose.”
She promised to dig more into the case immediately, and then asked, “How’s Bryan holding up?”
“Seems OK,” I said. “He’s tougher than I would have thought.”
“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” she said.
We got to Alex’s Country Diner at around one thirty, at what should have been near the end of the lunch hour rush. There were three cars in the parking lot; my guess was that Alex’s Country Diner hadn’t seen an actual rush in a very long time.
There were only ten tables in the place, and two were occupied, plus another three people were eating at the counter. In terms of employees, there was a woman behind the counter, and another at the cash register. Each was in her thirties; they could have been sisters.
It turned out that Alex Hutchinson was the cashier, and when we identified ourselves she nodded as if she was expecting us. She called out to her colleague to cover the register, and we went to a booth near the back.
“I’ve got nothing to tell you now that I didn’t tell you last time,” she said.
“This is the first time we’ve spoken to you,” I said.
“Don’t you guys talk to each other? Two other officers questioned me the other day.”
“They were local; we’re New Jersey State,” Emmit said.
She laughed a very likable laugh, one that said she couldn’t have been less intimidated by us. “New Jersey? What is it you think I did in New Jersey?”
“Actually, this works better if we ask the questions, so let’s start over,” I said. “Did you supply the other officers with your whereabouts when the explosion took place?”
“I told them I was at home, reading a story to my kids. The kids that Carlton is trying to poison.”
“You seem angry at him.”
“Duhhhh,” was her way of telling me I made a stupid statement. I almost laughed myself, because she was right, and called me on it.
“But not angry enough to blow up his guesthouse?” I asked.
“If I thought blowing up his guesthouse would protect my family, I’d blow up his guesthouse. But it won’t, so I didn’t.”
“Maybe you thought it would scare him into keeping the land pure.”
She laughed, quickly and derisively. “The only thing that scares the Richard Carltons of the world is not having a lot of money. What scares me is not being able to keep my family healthy.”
“Just so I understand, you’re not opposed to violence, as long as the cause is just?”
“What they’re trying to do is violence, and the worst kind. It’s murder for money.”
I liked her a lot, and in the moment identified with her. I was having some family protection issues myself.
I changed the subject. “What do you know about Judge Danny Brennan?”
“The basketball player who got murdered?”
“That’s the one.”
“My husband played against him in college, and he got stabbed to death, I think it was in his garage. And he became a judge. That exhausts my knowledge of him.”
“Do you have any thoughts about how he might have ruled in the case your town is involved in?”
“Not a clue, and I had no idea he’d be involved in our case. But if he would have been on our side, then Carlton’s the killer. Go get him.”
I turned to Emmit. “Might as well.”
Before we left I gave Alex my card, and said, “Please make me your first call if there’s anything you think I should know. Anything at all. I’m here to help, and to put the people that are doing this away.”
She nodded and said, “I will.” I believed her, and I thought she believed me. It seemed like Alex Hutchinson only said things if she meant them.
On the way out, Emmit smiled and said, “I don’t think it would be a good idea to get on her bad side.”
“You got that right.”
While we were at the diner, I had gotten a message from Deb Guthrie, asking me to call her back. I did so as soon as we got into the car.
“You’re up against somebody that’s good,” she said.
“How so?”
“We traced your brother’s e-mail back to the IP address. It’s in Afghanistan.”
“That’s crazy, Deb. There’s no way he’s in Afghanistan.”
“I didn’t say he was. It’s a trick that’s used. Not to make it too complicated, they route the traffic through servers set up for the purpose of concealment. He’s probably using multiple servers in different countries; the next e-mail your brother sends could come up with an IP address in some other country.”
“So no way to crack it?”
“Not likely,” she said. “But your brother could find it out himself; there are websites he could go to. He’d get the address before it’s routed.”
“He doesn’t have web access, only e-mails.”
“Like I said, you’re up against somebody that’s good.”
There really wasn’t much for Chris Gallagher to do.
He had accomplished his initial goal, which was to send Lucas Somers out in search of Steven’s exoneration. He had no idea what Somers would come up with, but he had no intention of extending the deadline.
After seven days, if the goal had not been achieved, Lucas Somers’s brother would die. Gallagher didn’t see that as revenge; he saw it as justice, as a form of equality. He wouldn’t be happy about it; he’d much prefer to have Somers succeed. But nor would he feel any particular remorse. He had seen plenty of innocent people sacrificed for a mission; it was simply a fact of life.
If Somers failed, an outcome probably more likely than not, Gallagher would have to come up with another way to defend Steven in death. But he had confidence that he’d figure out something, and wouldn’t worry about it until events dictated it.
Which left him with some time on his hands, a situation that Gallagher was neither used to nor comfortable
