“And she thinks” said Volont, “or at least wants us to, that she’s got something of value to trade for it.” He sipped his coffee. “That’s what I got from the request for protection, at least. Or, maybe just dramatic games. But if she really thinks she’s got something we want, we gotta figure out just what that might be. Then we see if it’s worth it.”
“Think she knows who’s behind the thing?” I asked.
“We should be so lucky. In my experience,” said Volont, “they always want to ‘trade up,’ so to speak. You got to be real careful.”
“How long has she known Rudy Cueva, or whoever he really is?” asked Gwen.
“About six months,” said Hester. She glanced at me. “Isn’t that what she said?”
“Yeah. The way she put it, they started living together pretty close to the day they met,” I said.
“Ah,” said Volont, “love at first sight.”
“Sounds like,” said Hester.
“She said he wasn’t into dope,” I said. “I guess she should have said ‘not anymore.’ But she was really firm about that, the no-dope stuff. She offered to let us search her apartment. She had to know it was pretty clean to take that chance.”
“Not to worry,” said Volont. “We don’t trade lip for dope information on this case. We need warm bodies, we need the source of the ricin, we need to know who wasted her boyfriend, or the deal’s off.”
“If we can pop her as a material witness before a deal is cut, can we…” I said, thinking aloud.
“Well, now,” said Volont, “let’s think about that. Because she’s implied she’s more than a material witness. She implies that she could be an accessory. That’s a long way from probable cause, even with the totality of the circumstances. I talked with Harriet this morning about this. We can still hold her under your ‘material witness’ ATL, assuming we can find her, but as soon as serious negotiations start between the attorneys, we shouldn’t question her. Even with a Miranda warning. Her attorney will have to be involved all the way at that point, as soon as an agreement on the immunity is tentatively reached. Glad you said something.”
I was glad I had, too. I went into the kitchen and called the office, and asked Sally if there had been any response to the ATL. Nothing.
“Is that all?” She sounded a little harried.
“Busy?”
“Like a cat burying poo-poo,” she said. “We’ve got the media clogging up the parking lot, Lamar is really pissed, and we have two prisoners who have to go to court this morning. Go away, Houseman.”
As I got back into the dining room, Hester was saying, “Just who is this attorney, anyway?”
“Not sure yet,” said Gwen, stirring her coffee. “We’re checking.”
The way she said that was just so cool. It just reeked of staff scurrying about while she stirred that coffee.
“I wasn’t expecting an attorney from Madison,” said Hester. “Our only connection so far was the wedding in the Twin Cities.”
“Speaking of which,” said Gwen, “I scanned in those photos last night, e-mailed them to some people. They’re working on those, too, now. Multiagency. Recognition software gets better every day.”
“You know,” said Volont, “we sort of owe that Gonzales, the one they call Orejas. We’d be a few days behind the curve if he hadn’t gotten sick and croaked.”
“That’s true,” said Gwen. “Hawse said as much last night.”
“Speaking of,” Volont asked her, “Did God’s other son say if he’d be back today?”
She grinned. “He said he would. After he talked with some people.”
“We’re talking about Agent Hawse, I presume? “asked Hester.
“My favorite super agent,” said Volont. “Yeah. That’s who.”
“Is he going to be a problem for anybody? “asked Hester. “We should know that now, before it gets important.”
Volont shook his head. “Nope. He won’t be here that long. He’ll just drop in long enough to encourage us, and then he’ll hightail it back to D.C., to report in person to the really important people. The boy is just hell-bent to be an assistant director. Like they say in Texas, ‘He’s all hat and no cattle.’ Just one of life’s little irritants.”
“Okay,” I said. “Just as long as he frees up the resources.”
“Oh, he’ll do that,” promised Volont. “Really. He’s very good about that.” He stood. “Time to go to work.”
When we got to the sheriff’s department, the first thing I did was call Ben at the plant. He was up to his armpits in health inspections, but he took the call.
“We need to know who loaded trucks with Gonzales over the last few days he worked,” I said.
He sighed. “Okay. You coming down here today?”
“I hope to, but I’ll probably need the information sooner than that.”
“The information you can have in five minutes,” he said. “But my boss Mr. Goldstein wants to talk with you. If you aren’t too busy.”
“Tell him I’ll be there if I possibly can,” I said. “He must be having fits.”
“Yes,” said Ben.
There was something about the tone of his voice that prompted me to say, “Hey, don’t let him start digging on his own, now. We don’t need that.”
“You’re psychic?”
“Not by a long shot. But Mr. Goldstein isn’t exactly the kind to sit on his hands,” I said. “But he’s gotta rely on us.”
Ben had been right. We were just getting everybody settled at desks in the main reception area when Sally buzzed us. She had the information on the loading crew. It had been just about five minutes. There were eight male subjects, not counting the late Gonzales. We started running the names and Social Security numbers the secretary gave us, and came up with two bona fide people and six complete unknowns. Not the normal sort of unknown we normally got, which just meant that they had no police records. These six were just not anywhere to be found in any records, except at the plant. Two of them had the same Social Security number, but all were different from the Cueva and Gonzales matched set. That may not have meant much, as Gwen Thurgood was of the opinion that average forgers tended to print them in a recognizable sequence.
“To do more than one of each number is very sloppy. Lots of them are sloppy, though. But we might have a connection.”
Swell.
Just to make my morning complete, lowa DCI Special Agent Art Meyerman came striding through the open door. He sat down on the edge of the first desk, normally used by our secretary, and announced, “Well, this is real bullshit.”
“What is?” I asked.
“All this media stuff. They follow you guys around like flies,” he said.
“It’s because we’re sweet, Art,” said George. “Didn’t get to talk to you last night. How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” snapped Art. “If you ask me, this whole thing is a wild-goose chase, just like that anthrax thing in the mail.”
“About a half dozen people died there,” said George. “And we’ll be lucky if we don’t have a dozen dead here before we’re done.”
“Oh, sure. I know. But, look out there. There must be five or six stations out there now, and look at that big rig coming up the hill…”
We all looked. I’d never seen one of the big microwave trucks the major networks used for direct broadcasts. Well, not up close. As it reached the intersection at the bottom of the department driveway, it turned left, and we could read the printing on the side.
“CNN,” said Hester. “We better not screw up now.” She was only half kidding.
“I never start to worry,” said Gwen, “until the crew from Monday Night Football shows up.”
We all moved back from the window and back to our desks.
“You got time to type up a report for me? “Art asked Gwen.
“Pardon me?”
Art spoke more slowly. “I said, ‘you got time to type up a report for me.’ I have to make some phone
