“What did he say about his family?”
“That they’re all dead and he’s the last of his line. Like in that book about the Mohicans, you know? He seemed to think this was important in the grand scheme of things, that there weren’t nobody left but him. I’m not making fun of him, mind, though he did get on my nerves a bit. But family’s important, so I could see why he felt bad about it.”
“What happened to his family?”
“Cops.”
“Cops?”
“That’s what he said, cops killed them. No, actually he said ‘the damn justice system of the United States of America’ killed them, that’s what he said.” Cornell’s voice faded for a moment as he said to someone there with him, “Shut the door, will you? It’s freezing in here.”
“You’re cold?” Patrick couldn’t remember what cold felt like.
“June in the mountains. Anyway, I told Bobby to find a nice girl and have some sons, and then the whole bloodline thing won’t bother him so much. He just laughed.”
“What about Lucas? Did he mention his family?”
“He’s only got a sister. He said he called her and she didn’t answer, but she’s in the service, too, so she might have been transferred. They never seemed to be too tight anyway.”
“Did either one of them mention the Federal Reserve Bank?”
“Nothing about no bank, no.” He seemed firm on that, but then he had seemed firm on everything so far.
“Did they pay you for the guns? Or were they a gift?”
Silence. Then, “Guns?”
“Two M4 carbines?”
More silence before he said, “They stole them.”
“They stole the guns from you?”
“They were part of my private collection, like, not for sale.
When I woke up yesterday morning, Lucas and Bobby were gone, and so were the guns.” “They never asked you for them.” “Nope.” Patrick didn’t believe him. Apparently the Tennessee police captain didn’t either, because Cornell’s voice continued, muted, as if he had turned away from the receiver. “I didn’t tell you, Johnson, because I didn’t want to get the guy in trouble. He’s my friend. We took enemy fire together.”
Patrick heard the Tennessee cop asking: “In
Patrick’s benefit. “I think it was that Bobby. He and I got on okay, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know him. I don’t know what he’d do or not do.”
“Cornell,” Patrick put in. “Hmm?” “Any other guns-missing? Besides the two M4 carbines?” No hesitation this time. “Nope.” “What about the RDX?” Another pause, but when he spoke, he had none of the prior sheepish tones. “Say what, now?” “The plastic explosives. Did Lucas or Bobby get those from you, too?”
“I don’t have no plastic explosives, I don’t know nothing about no plastic explosives, and I don’t want to know about no plastic explosives. That shit’s wicked. Some of it exploded at our base in Germany. Lucas took some shrapnel, and another guy got his hand blown off. They say it’s so safe, but not if the guy with the detonator don’t know what he’s doing.”
“You don’t know where Lucas would get some?”
“Lucas wouldn’t fool around with that stuff either. He’d wanted to go Special Forces, underwater demolition, until that injury. And he knew the guy that lost his left hand, too. Combat engineer.”
Patrick straightened his spine, stretching the vertebrae. Cornell sounded positive again, truthful. “Where is he now? This combat engineer?”
“He’s not in the army, I can tell you that. They shipped him out on permanent disability.” “Where does he live?” “Hell, I don’t know. Michigan? Montana? I heard he went to work for a civilian contractor-demolition work-and got blown up his second week. You can’t tell me it wasn’t on purpose. It broke his heart to leave the army. He was weird that way.”
“He’s dead? You sure?” “I heard that from someone. I forget who, though.” “What was his name?” “I don’t think I ever knew that. He was just the guy who got his hand blown off, you know what I mean?” “Did Lucas know anyone else who worked with explosives?” “Not that I know of. But it’s a big army.” “Yeah.” Patrick could not think of anything else to ask. No doubt a million questions would occur to him as soon as he hung up, but he couldn’t help that. He thanked Cornell, asked to speak to the police captain again, and thanked him as well.
“I believe him,” Captain Johnson said. “For the most part. I think he’s fudging a bit on the two guns-he might have given those to Lucas, for old times’ sake-but whatever you asked about plastic explosives, he told you the truth. I’ve known Cornell a long time. He don’t lie too often and he’s transparent as hell when he does.”
“Thanks for the help. We appreciate it.” “Good luck up there, Detective.” “Thanks.” Frank Patrick sighed. “We’re going to need it.”
23
1:25 P.M.
Theresa sat with her knees to her chin, hugging her damaged ribs, and watched her captor. His actions had been quick and brisk before, but now he moved with a sense of real urgency. She wondered if he’d been stalling all this time, waiting for the two o’clock shipment while convincing everyone else that he neither knew nor cared about it. Why?
He conversed with his partner, both of them tucked out of the snipers’ line of fire, in front of the teller cages on the southwest side of the lobby. They seemed to be arguing.
Bobby had the detonator, Lucas had said. Bobby wanted to blow up the building. Maybe that was all Bobby wanted, because he certainly didn’t seem interested in the large amount of cash due to arrive at 2: 00 P.M. He wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave
Lucas murmured for a few minutes. Bobby interrupted, and Theresa heard him say, “-not the way it was supposed to go. My opinion counts, too-” before they lowered their voices once more.
Did the explosives have a timer? Perhaps Lucas planned to cut things too close for Bobby’s comfort?
“Are you okay?” Jessica Ludlow whispered to her.
“I guess.”
“I can’t believe he really killed Cherise.”
“Who was she?” Theresa asked. “What did she do here?”
Jessica shifted her little boy, now gnawing on a Pop-Tart; apparently his mother had found a way to extract his snacks and his cough medicine from her oversize purse. A juice box with a tiny white straw sat on the floor between them. Theresa felt like asking if she had a spare. “Cherise was a savings-bond teller. She was really nice, sort of took me under her wing when I first came here.”
“You worked together?”
“In the same department. I’m a secretary, not a teller, but Cherise and me would eat lunch together every day. I didn’t know anyone else here, and I’d talk her ear off. I talk a lot.”
“Did your husband join you?”
Jessica stroked her child’s hair, the skin on her fingers roughened and peeling slightly-she probably needed to go easier on the bleach while scrubbing her floors. “He usually worked through lunch. Or he had to go out with other bank examiners or executives in order to get acquainted with them. He was so busy, trying to learn everyone’s names and titles and, you know, sort of get on their good side right away.”
“I see.” Perhaps Mark Ludlow had been conscientiously trying to get a handle on his new job. Perhaps he had been a snob. “Had Cherise worked here long?”
“Yeah, about ten years.”
“Eleven,” Brad added. He sat with his back against the cool marble. All three conversed without moving their gaze from the two robbers, watching for any sign of agitation. But Lucas and Bobby did not seem to care if they
