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. “Voila!” 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
