A Long December (34 page)

“I really want to be up front with all of you,” she said. “Let me start with the fact that this case could be the break I need to go to the network. Just so you know why I’m here.”

“Sure,” said George. “We understand that.”

“Good. Look, I’d like to be on air with something just a half hour ahead of the big boys out there. Something good that they’d die to get. All right?”

“We know what you want
from
us,” said Hester. “What do you have
for
us in exchange?”

“Okay, look. I don’t know just what this means, but I think it could be important.”

We waited.

“Okay, so you know where Coralville is?”

We all did. It was a town that shared a border with Iowa City.

“I’ve got a girlfriend who lives in an apartment in Coralville. She says that there’s been an Arabic student in the apartment next to hers, who comes and goes at odd hours and who has Hispanic and Caucasian men visit him on a regular basis.”

“Okay, and…? “said George. “I mean, in Iowa City, there must be thousands of foreign exchange students.”

“I know. But my friend called me about an hour ago and said that an Hispanic man had pounded on her door and asked to speak to a Mr. O’Day. She spoke to him through the closed door, but he was very insistent. She said that she was just about to call the cops when the door next to hers opened, and the Arabic man stuck his head out, and the Hispanic said, ‘Mr. O’Day!’ and they both went into his apartment. She thinks it’s strange that an Arab is using an Irish name.”

“Go on,” said George.

“Well, what she said was the really weird part is that the Hispanic man was the same man she saw on one of the interviews I did down at the plant today. She swears it.” Judy Mercer looked at each of us in turn. “I mean,” she said, “she tapes every segment I’m on. So she replayed tonight’s and double-checked. She says she’s certain. Now, I don’t pretend to know just what’s happening here, but it seems to me that that’s the sort of thing you might want to know.”

“Could be,” said George.

“Okay, she also says that, in the daytime, she can look out her bedroom window down to the parking lot, and this Arab’s car, when she can see it, has lots of maps in the seat. Regular ones, like you can get in gas stations.”

The three of us didn’t say a word.

“Well? I think you should check that out.”

“You might be right,” said George. “Who is this friend of yours, and where does she live?”

“Now,” said Judy Mercer, “we negotiate.” She had a dazzling smile. “Don’t you think?”

Within an hour, Coralville PD had gone to the apartment, interviewed Mercer’s friend, and staked out the apartment unit next door. The suspect was not at home. His vehicle, which they said was a red Dodge van with Michigan plates, was also gone. We talked to Barry Goodman, the Coralville chief and longtime LEIN member. He assured us that he would keep the place under very tight surveillance until we advised it was no longer necessary. He’d also see what he could find out about Mr. Odeh from other sources.

In exchange, we promised Judy Mercer that she would be the first told of an impending arrest. She bargained us up to include an exclusive interview with the first suspect we took into custody. Just in case, as she said, the impending arrest turned out to be made in Florida or California.

We got the best of that deal.

I finally got home at 01:30.1 let myself in as quietly as I could and found a note on the refrigerator.
“Lasagna in white container. Tastes good! Watched TV and now I’m really worried. Wake me when you come up to bed, so I don’t worry. On the bright side, the weather report says we might get a white Christmas yet. Love, Sue.”

The lasagna was really good. I sat in the living room, eating it and watching our segment every fifteen minutes on
Headline News
. They changed the background footage twice, so I stayed up for another thirty minutes waiting to see if they’d change it again. They didn’t. Between times, I surfed through other news channels and got to hear some fascinating commentary about what was happening in New York City and Nation County, Iowa. Nobody seemed to have either the delivery method or the targeting anywhere near right. I learned a lot about ricin, and even got a five-minute segment regarding the “legitimate uses of castor oil.” This case was getting to be a real education.

So far, nobody had managed to link the poisoning to any specific terrorist network. Speculation was rife, though. Some poor bastard from the Israeli Embassy had been cornered, and was badgered about who he thought had done it, and if he thought it was an anti-Semitic hate crime, if he thought it would lead to a U.S. strike in the Middle East, and if he thought Israeli citizens felt safe in Tel Aviv. He did a very credible job of avoiding saying anything, and spent most of his time trying to reassure the reporter that “the U.S. authorities, I am sure, are handling this case with great expertise.” I thought that was nice of him. I also think he deserved a little credit for not calling the reporter an idiot.

I woke Sue and told her I was home. It must have been reassuring, because she was asleep again in two minutes. I think she only beat me by a minute or two.

SUE AND I WERE AWAKENED BY
the telephone at the head of the bed. I remember wondering for the umpteenth time why I’d ever thought I needed to buy an alarm clock, and then I picked it up.

“Houseman.”

“Did I get you up?” It was Volont.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“Well, rise and shine. We got one!”

I sat upright. “What?”

“We got some of Odeh’s people, that’s who. One sad bastard was driving the vehicle that Odeh was using in Coralville. It was observed at about three this morning in Michigan. The troopers notified us, and we all just followed the idiot to an apartment building. We just walked in with him and watched where he went. We hit the place as they opened the door. It was great! Odeh wasn’t anywhere around, and we’re sure nobody got out of the apartment unless they were with us. One of ‘em started talking. He says that there are two plants—one in Michigan, one in Nebraska—which they’ve targeted. He says something’s supposed to happen tonight, about four
A.M.
He’s given us some names of some of the workers.”

“No shit!”

“No shit, old buddy. Hawse says to tell you guys down there that you’ve done a terrific job. I couldn’t agree more. Just keep the lid on for another day or two, and we should have these people in the bag.”

“No problem. Hell, just the report-writing ought to keep us out of trouble for a month.”

“You got that right!”

I didn’t say it, but I also thought it would be nice to get back to finishing the work on the Rudy Cueva murder case.

After I hung up, Sue said, “What?”

“Oh, good news. About the big case. Can’t tell you what, but I’m going to be spending the next few days behind a keyboard, writing endless reports.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

It was, in a way.

“This means that you’ll be home for Christmas,” she said.

“You bet.” It was just about certain, in fact.

Today was Saturday, and Christmas was Tuesday. I thought I just might coast right into the holidays. We had Skripkin, we had a warrant for Hassan also known as Alvarez, we had a strong potential witness in Linda, and we had a motive. We needed to find this Chato, get an ID, and charge him with conspiracy to commit murder. That wouldn’t take long. The warrant for him at least. I suspected he was wherever Hassan/Alvarez had gotten himself to, and if he was, I figured he could well be dead by now. No great loss, and it would lay a second murder charge on Hassan/Alvarez. Him we needed. It would take time, but somebody, somewhere would snag him.

I rolled up to the parking lot at 09:35, past the media’s three huge microwave rigs, and allowed myself to think just how empty the place would be without them. As it was, the residents near the jail were getting a little upset since the trucks were set up in the only available space near the jail, the main highway leading out of town. As a consequence, the normal eighteen-wheeler traffic was being routed through the residential streets and bothering just about everybody. It was a good thing there was no snow, or we’d have been completely screwed.

Hester and George were both in the kitchen as I got there. The late shift had bought rolls at the local bakery, and Sally had put on some fresh coffee. In the jail kitchen, Big Ears was curled up at Hester’s feet, and George was reading the
Des Moines Register
.

“Good God,” I said as I walked in, “how domestic can we get?”

It was strange. I don’t think we’d realized just how much we had been running on adrenaline the last few days. Now that we were out of the main effort in the ricin case, everybody just got tired all at once.

“You know,” said George, “I really don’t feel like working today.”

“Not until Hawse and Volont want your report,” said Hester.

“Well…”

“It’s gonna take me the better part of the day just to get stuff sorted out,” I said. “I’ve almost lost track of where we are with Rudy…”

Five hours later, after going over all the notes, all the statements, all the prior reports, and combining them in my report on the death of Rudy Cueva, I declared myself ready for lunch.

“Me, too,” said Hester. “George?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s your next news briefing?”

“No later than 4:30 this afternoon. Closer to four if I can manage it.”

“Anything new to tell?” I asked.

“Not until I hear from Hawse and company. Just the same old ‘the investigation is progressing’ statement. Then refuse to answer questions about anything but the weather.” He was totally relaxed. I though he was beginning to enjoy being the PR man on the scene.

The three of us ambled out to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat. It was amazing. None of us had even had a phone call since about 9:00. It was almost like a vacation.

We cooked up tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches, with Sally’s help. I was assigned to stir the soup, since everybody seemed to think I overcook everything I put in a frying pan.

“Toasted cheese sandwiches are
supposed to
be black.”

It was a fine meal. Just as we finished, a phone call came in for George.

“It had to end sometime,” he said cheerfully.

It was Volont. George talked to him for a few seconds, then said to me, “He’d like to talk to you.”

“Really? “I took the phone, trying to think of what could possibly be left.

“We’re doing the hits on the two plants later today. All the action is on the plant’s late shift, so the fun should start about eleven tonight,” said Volont. “Just wanted to keep you posted.”

“Excellent!”

“So, they want us to make this one ‘airtight.’ That’s the word Hawse is using now. ‘Airtight.’ He said to check with you to see if you had any additional information develop in the last couple of hours.”

At that point, I could have just said no, and let it go at that. Maybe I should have. What I did instead was say, “You think maybe we should stake out the farm where Rudy Cueva was taken before he was killed? And Rudy and Linda’s apartment? Just in case somebody rabbits on the arrest teams, and might come here.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the conversation. “Well, sure. Yes. I mean, that’s a pretty good idea.” He sounded surprised. Not at the suggestion itself, but at the fact that I’d been the one to make it.

“You might also want to touch base with the Johnson County folks” I said. “Hell, if they don’t reassemble here, I’d suspect Odeh’s apartment in Coralville.”

“That’s been arranged,” said Volont testily. “Would you notify Conception County for us?” he asked. “Special watch on Linda’s and Skripkin’s cells, and the jail in general. Just in case.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “How late you think we ought to maintain surveillance?”

“Until eleven tomorrow morning,” said Volont, taking charge again. “Either that, or you can call it off if we contact you before that. Sorry.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Got it,” I said. I couldn’t resist. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Just let me talk to George,” he said. I relinquished the phone and told Hester the gist of what he’d said.

“You’re kidding,” said Hester. “Driving time from Nebraska is what? Eight hours, maybe? The Task Force goes in at eleven or a little later tonight. That’s seven
A.M.
any suspect can be here, at the earliest. On the off damned chance that they would ever in a million years come back this way.” She smiled and sighed. “Way to go, Houseman.”

“Well,” I said, “they might…oh, charter a plane…”

She laughed. “Around here, that would take longer. Did they happen to say just when they want us to begin? “she asked.

“As soon as possible, so we can be in place and completely hidden before four this afternoon.”

Me and my big mouth.

I had to tell Lamar, of course. He was pretty enthusiastic and thought we should have four or five people at each location.

“That’s gonna be a little difficult,” I said. “Isn’t it?” Lamar had something up his sleeve.

“Tell you what, why don’t you and Hester and George do the farm. Hell, Sally’s a certified reserve. Take her, too.”

“Okay. So, then, who does the apartment?”

“Me,” he said. “I can’t do outside stuff with my Goddamned leg, but I can stay in an apartment or in a car someplace. Just so I don’t get too cold. I’ll take Mike and a reserve and Martha with me.” Martha was a fairly experienced dispatcher, in her early sixties. Lamar was going to be in with the second team.

“Why don’t we split it a different way?” I asked. “Maybe Hester and Sally with you, and…”

“Nope. If these bastards come back, they ain’t gonna go to the apartment. Too many witnesses. I want the most experience out there on that farm.”

That was that.

I knew we wouldn’t be able to have our cars at the old Dodd place. We’d either have to be dropped off or park a long way away and walk in. With the manpower allocations going the way they were, I suspected we’d park somewhere and hump our stuff in. Either way, that meant no heat.