Zero Day

  “Important?”

  “Wouldn’t waste your time otherwise. Anything on your end?”

  “Got the court order faxed.” She slid out several sheets of paper. “And I got the results of the soil testing.”

  Puller put his fork down and eyed the paper. “And?”

  “And I’m not a scientist.”

  “Let me have a look.”

  She slid the report across.

  As he picked it up she said, “The first two pages are legal mumbo-jumbo basically covering their ass if their report is wrong or they did a test incorrectly, or the results ever end up in court they are one hundred percent not liable.”

  “That’s comforting,” muttered Puller.

  He flipped to the third page and settled in to read. After a minute he said, “I’m not a scientist either, but while I see terms like apatite, rutile, marcasite, galena, sphalerite, and other stuff I’ve never heard of, I also see uranium, which I definitely recognize.”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a wad. There’s coal in fifty-three of the fifty-five counties in West Virginia, and pretty much where you find coal, you find uranium. But the levels of radioactivity are low. People breathe in uranium particles all the time and do just fine. And the level of the parts per million on the uranium shown on that report means it’s naturally occurring.”

  “You’re sure about that? You said you weren’t a scientist.”

  “As sure as I am that coal is more a rock than a mineral. Since it’s formed from organic remains it technically doesn’t qualify as a true mineral. It’s actually made up of other minerals.”

  “Everyone in West Virginia knows this stuff?”

  “Well, not everyone, but a lot of folks do. What can you expect from a state whose official mineral is a lump of bituminous coal?”

  He sifted through the pages. “Do we even know where these soil samples came from?”

  “That’s the hell of it; we don’t. It could be from anywhere. The report doesn’t specify. I guess they assumed Reynolds would know where he’d taken the sample.”

  “Well, presumably it’s somewhere from around Drake, because I don’t think Reynolds ventured much outside of here.”

  Cole played with a packet of sugar, bending it back and forth until it broke and sent the white crystals cascading down. She swept them onto her coffee cup saucer. “Do you think Reynolds was working on something that didn’t involve Drake? Maybe these samples are from D.C.”

  “I don’t think so, particularly after what I found out up there.”

  “So why don’t you hurry your butt up and finish eating so we can leave here and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Okay, but we need to stop by the police station. I have to fax that soil report to a couple of places.”

  They paid their bill and climbed into her cruiser parked outside. She drove to the police station and Puller faxed off the report to Joe Mason in D.C. and Kristen Craig at USACIL in Georgia.

  Back in the cruiser Cole turned to him. She was wearing her uniform, and her gun belt made this maneuver more difficult than it should have been, but she seemed determined to face him.

  “So spill it, Puller, and don’t leave one thing out.”

  “You have any security clearances?”

  “I already told you that I don’t, unless you count the little certificate I got when I was a state trooper, and I doubt that would impress you federal types.”

  “Duly noted. Now I know that going in, and what I’m about to say is probably classified and my ass could get fried for telling you.”

  “Duly noted. And they won’t find out from me.”

  He gazed out the window. “Dickie Strauss and his big friend were in the Crib watching us.”

  “Along with half the town of Drake,” added Cole.

  “We still need to run down his tat connection with Treadwell.”

  “Yes, we do. But right now all you need to do is talk.”

  “Start driving. I’d rather be on the move when I tell you what I’m about to. And head east.”

  “Why?”

  “Because after hearing it, you might want to keep going until you hit the ocean.”

  CHAPTER

  59

  IT TOOK PULLER about an hour, but he brought Cole up to speed on most of what he’d learned while he was in D.C. He did tell her about DHS’s interest, but he did not tell her that Drake was being used, essentially, as bait for a possible terrorist cell operating in the area. He didn’t tell her because Cole would be duty-bound to raise the alarm in her locality. Then it would all be over for Mason and his trying to nail the guys communicating in coded Dari.

  Still, Puller had been tempted to do just that.

  “Would have been nice to know this stuff a long time ago,” complained Cole. “They always play these sorts of games up there?”

  “It’s not a game to them. It’s a fence straddle and they’re not sure who to trust.”

  “I’d last five seconds up there. I don’t play well with others.”

  “You might surprise yourself.”

  “No, I might shoot somebody. So where to?”

  “Crime scene. Got an idea I thought of on the plane ride back.”

  Lan Monroe was just coming out of the Halversons’ residence as they pulled up. An evidence kit was banging against his short leg. He threw up his free hand and smiled as they climbed out of the car.

  “Welcome back, Puller,” he said. “Glad to see D.C. didn’t eat you alive.”

  Puller looked at Cole and said in a low voice, “You always this discreet with info?”

  She looked uncomfortable and said to Monroe, “You finished up in there?”

  “Yeah. It’s all ready to be released.”

  She nodded and watched him load his gear in his vehicle.

  Puller observed the police car parked out in front. He recognized the deputy named Dwayne. As he continued to watch, Dwayne flicked a cigarette butt through the open car window.

  “They’re not supposed to smoke on duty but Dwayne is trying hard to quit and he’s a real bastard without his nicotine pop. I know that better than most—”

  She stopped talking because Puller had abruptly walked off.

  “Hey,” she called out and followed him.

  Puller passed between the Halversons’ home and the house next to it. He stopped and eyed the deck built onto the back of the neighbor’s house. It was made of pressure-treated lumber long since grayed from the sun and elements. He looked from the deck to the nearby woods facing it.

  Cole caught up to him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Having an epiphany.”

  “Is this the idea you had on the plane?”

  “No, this is the idea I had five seconds ago.”

  He eyed the thick glass ashtray that rested on one railing of the deck. It was filled with butts. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Who lives in that house?”

  “Old couple by the name of Dougett. George and Rhonda, if I remember correctly. I talked to them before when we were canvassing the neighborhood.”

  “Who’s the smoker?”

  “He is. When I interviewed them I found out his wife won’t let him do it in the house, hence that ashtray on the deck. So what’s the big deal about the guy being a smoker? You on a one-person bandwagon to reclaim the souls of all us poor dumb cigarette addicts?”

  “No. It’s that the ashtray is on a deck that overlooks the woods.” He pointed between the two spots.

  Cole looked at where he was pointing. “What are you getting at?”

  “How old is Dougett? The guy, I mean.”

  “Late seventies. Bad shape. Overweight, pasty, got some kidney problems, or so he told me when I talked to them. He was TMI on his health issues in general. I guess it’s an old person thing. Not enough to fill up their lives otherwise.”

  “So that means he’s up at night trying to pee and nothing is coming out. He gets frustrated, can?
??t sleep, comes out here for a smoke because it’s too hot during the day to do it.”

  “Probably. But he also told me he sits in his car during the day with the engine running and the AC on so he can light up. But so what?”

  “Are they home now?”

  “Car’s in the driveway. They only have the one.”

  “Then let’s put my idea to the test.”

  CHAPTER

  60

  PULLER CLEARED THE STEPS up to the Dougetts’ front door two at a time with Cole in his wake. He knocked. Four seconds later the door opened and George Dougett stood before them. He was barely five-five and his bloated figure, pale features, wobbly knees, and bent spine bespoke numerous health problems and lots of pain. He looked like he could drop dead at any moment, and probably on occasion wanted to.

  “Sergeant Cole,” he said. “Back for more questions?”

  He sounded almost gleeful. Puller figured the man’s life was otherwise pretty dull. Even a murder investigation was probably preferable to doing nothing except sitting in your car smoking and waiting for your life to be over.

  “I’m John Puller, Army CID, Mr. Dougett. You mind if I ask you a few questions?” Puller flipped out his cred pack for the man, who seemed even more thrilled by this.

  “Hell yes, you can.” His voice was sound run over gravel until it got all clogged. He gave an enormous cough that nearly lifted him off his feet.

  “Damn allergies, excuse me.” He blew his nose into a fat wad of tissues held in one puffy red hand and ushered them into his house.

  They followed him down a short hall to a small den paneled with sheets of plywood wood stained dark. The furnishings were forty years old and looked every bit of it. The shag carpet had permanently lost its shag and the shine on the furniture had disappeared probably twenty years ago. They settled into chairs and Dougett said, “I was in the Army. Oh, that was many moons ago, of course. Korea. Wonderful country. But very cold. I was glad to get back here.”

  “I’m sure,” said Puller.

  “You taking care of yourself, Mr. Dougett?” asked Cole.

  He smiled resignedly. “I’m old and fat and I smoke. Other than that I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” He peered over at Puller. “Damn, you’re a fine specimen of a man, son. See you coming at me on the battlefield, I might just surrender then and there.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Puller, who was thinking of how he wanted to play this out. “I noticed you smoke on the rear deck.”

  “Yeah, the missus doesn’t like the smell in the house.”

  “Where is your wife?” asked Cole.

  “Still in bed. Arthritis gets her something fierce in the morning. Rolls out around noon, just in time for lunch. Don’t ever grow old, that’s my message to you two.”

  “Well, the alternative isn’t too appealing,” said Puller. He counted back in his head. “Sunday night. Did you see anything unusual? Hear anything? Like a gunshot?”

  “Hearing’s not great, son. And Sunday night I was hugging the porcelain. Something the wife made for dinner didn’t agree with me. Happens more often than not these days. I didn’t go outside. Told the lady here that when she come and asked on Monday. And the missus was asleep in bed. Guess my throwing up all night and having the runs from hell didn’t affect her peaceful rest at all.”

  “Okay. How about late Monday night? Were you out on the deck?”

  “Yes. I go to bed late, get up earlier and earlier. I figure I’m gonna be lying for eternity in a box soon enough, so why waste what time I got left sleeping? I like it in the early morning. Got a little cool breeze, see the dew on the trees and grass. It’s nice.”

  “Do you remember seeing anything unusual Monday night?”

  He stuffed the tissues in his pocket and rubbed his chin so hard it was like he was trying to polish it. He grinned and pointed first at Puller. “Saw you.” He next indicated Cole. “And I saw her. Out on patrol or something in the woods. Well, I guess that was technically Tuesday morning.”

  “We were looking for somebody. I saw someone run through the woods a few minutes before that. Did you see them too?”

  Dougett was already nodding. “I did. Running fast. Knew their way. There’s a path back there.”

  “Mr. Dougett, why didn’t you tell me that when I was here before?” asked an exasperated Cole.

  “Well, nobody asked me. And I didn’t know it was important. And it happened after you came by and asked me questions. I sure didn’t know it was connected to what happened over at the Halversons’.” His voice dropped. “Was it connected?”

  Puller said, “Can you describe the person?”

  “It was a man for sure. Tall, but not so tall as you, son. Big shoulders. Looked bald. Way he was moving I’d say he was young. It was dark, but there was some moonlight. Fellow had scars on his arm, or else was burned or something. It was all blackened.”

  “So he had on a short-sleeved shirt?”

  “Like a tank top, yes, sir.”

  “Good eyes,” said Cole. “Night, at a distance, even with moonlight.”

  “Lasik,” said George, pointing to his eyes. “I’m old and fat but I got me twenty-twenty at distance, and it wasn’t that far away.”

  “You think he was from around here?” asked Cole.

  “Can’t say. Like I said, he seemed to know his way through those woods okay. I could maybe pick him out in a lineup.”

  “Tell ’em the rest, George.”

  They all turned to see an old woman shoot into the room on a three-wheeled scooter designed for disabled persons. She had on a pink robe and her swollen feet were stuffed into too-small slippers. Puller noted that she wore a pearl gray wig that was cut short. She easily weighed two hundred pounds and looked as unhealthy as her husband. But despite her arthritis she steered the scooter with a practiced hand and rode it right up next to Puller.

  “I’m Rhonda, his far better half,” she said by way of introduction.

  Puller said, “John Puller, Army CID. What ‘rest’ are you talking about?”

  George Dougett cleared his throat, looked warily at his wife and said, “Some other things I saw.”

  “We saw,” corrected his wife. She looked at Puller and smiled triumphantly. “I was watching from the window.”

  “Why?” asked Cole.

  “Because my husband sometimes falls asleep outside while he’s smoking his cancer sticks. So I watch him to make sure he doesn’t ignite himself.”

  “I have never ignited myself,” said George indignantly.

  “That’s because you have a loving wife of fifty-six years who looks after you,” said Rhonda in the tone of a parent to a child.

  “And what did you see?” Puller asked.

  “It was nothing,” said George nervously.

  Rhonda snorted. “It sure as hell was something.” She pointed at Cole. “Saw that deputy of yours that got killed.”

  “Larry Wellman? You saw him do what?”

  “He was walking around the house, looking at things.”

  “He was patrolling,” said Cole. “That was his job.”

  Puller asked, “Did you see him go in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Was he alone?” asked Puller.

  Rhonda nodded.