“We’re looking for a guy who used to work at the Air Force station here. First name Ben, last name unknown.”
“Is he military?”
“Yes. We learned that the DoD pulled out the military component and outsourced the work to a firm named Vector. You know them?”
“Why is this guy important?” said Robie, ignoring the query.
“He told a guy I trust that we were sitting on a ticking time bomb here. So I want to talk to him.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Irene Cramer. Any idea why the Feds are interested in her?”
The line went dead.
Jamison glanced at Decker. “Well?”
“Not sure. I might have just said something I shouldn’t have.”
They drove past the western edge of the Brothers’ Colony, where they saw colorful oil rigs erected along the way with trailers and trucks and lots of activity.
Decker read the sign erected in front of one rig nearest the Air Force property: THE ALL-AMERICAN ENERGY COMPANY. Two large Stars and Stripes were suspended from tall flagpoles and flapping in the breeze. Decker said drily, “Well, that’s patriotic.”
“What could be more American than drilling for oil?” quipped Jamison.
* * *
Kelly said, “We’ve had a BOLO out on Parker from the minute we found him missing. There’s been no sign of the guy.”
They were walking to the room where the postmortem had been performed by Walt Southern on Pamela Ames.
“I guess around here there are lots of places to get rid of a body,” said Jamison.
“Yep. We got landfills full of crap that they add to every day, including some radioactive stuff that comes naturally out of the drilling process.”
“Radioactive,” said Jamison. “And they can just dump that in a landfill?”
“Well, they’re not supposed to. But people aren’t supposed to do lots of things and they still do.”
“That’s why we have a job,” grumbled Decker.
As they entered the room Southern was finishing up some notes in a paper file.
He eyed Decker warily. “Heard you came by to look at Cramer’s body while I was out of town.”
“I did.”
“It looks like you opened her up again.”
“I did,” Decker said again.
“Why?” he said sharply.
“Because I had to. Now, I’d prefer to talk about Ames’s post.”
Southern started to say something but then seemed to catch himself. “Okay. Not much to tell. Dead about fourteen hours when you found her. Single contact GSW to the right temple. Dum-dum round.” He held up a baggie with the round inside. “All beaten to hell. No striations, lands, or grooves visible. Did what it’s designed to do. Won’t get a ballistic match off it.”
“Fourteen hours,” said Kelly. “So around ten o’clock at night?”
Southern glanced at his notes. “About, yes.”
“Stomach contents?”
“Some dinner, half digested. That’s it. Tox screens have been sent out. I found no obvious signs of drug use. No sign of a sexual assault or recent sexual intercourse.”
Kelly nodded but said nothing. He was watching Decker.
Decker said, “Did you confirm that nobody cut her up, like they did Cramer? We didn’t look under her clothing. Just noted the gunshot wound and bagged her for the post.”
Jamison looked at her partner in surprise, because this was an unusual thing to say. But from the look on Decker’s face, the man had a reason.
Southern slowly put down his file. “Do I have to read between those lines or are you going to come to the point?”
“You noted that Cramer’s stomach and small intestines were sliced open. Sliced. I don’t need to tell you those places are pretty popular to hide contraband. When I asked you if there was anything unusual in the post you never mentioned either of those things. Now I’d like an explanation for that.”
“They were in my report.”
“But they were not highlighted. They were buried, in fact. A single sentence for both organs. And you took no photos of them. You should have drawn our attention to them. That’s standard protocol.”
To this, Southern shrugged. “But you found out about them. So what’s the problem? No harm, no foul.”
“If you have to ask a question like that I’m not sure you’re in the job you need to be in.”
Southern scowled. “I do this out of a sense of public duty. It’s not like they pay much.”
Decker glanced at Kelly, who didn’t look inclined to say anything.
Southern said, “So you think she might have had something inside her?”
“Did you find any trace of that?” said Jamison.
“Because if you did it wasn’t in your report,” noted Decker.
“That’s because I found no trace of any foreign substance inside her stomach or intestines.”
“And you specifically looked?” asked Decker.
“I checked the organs.”
“Did you give the stomach and intestines a more focused look because of the way in which they had been sliced open?” Decker wanted to know.
“I was thorough. And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. If you got a problem with that, you can take it up with Joe. Now, if we’re done here? I’ll have my very thorough report ready for you later today.”
And with that Southern walked out.
Decker stood there for a minute and then walked over to the body of Pamela Ames and lifted the sheet. The Y-incision stared back at him along with the dead woman’s pale face.
No electric blue light again, thought Decker. My brain keeps me guessing and I don’t much care for it. No, I hate it.
“Decker?” Jamison said, coming to stand next to him. “You okay?”
Decker curtly nodded.
Kelly said, “I wish you could have given me a heads-up on all that.”
“What are you going to do about it now that you know?”
“What can I do? It was in the report, right?”
“Not where it optimally should have been.”
“Optimally? I can’t take that and run with it. Hell, without Walt we don’t have anyone here who can do posts. I don’t see that I have many options.”
“I would think that you have options for somebody like that.”
“You can’t believe that Walt would have intentionally—”
Decker cut him off. “I don’t believe or disbelieve anything until I can prove it. Just so we’re straight on that.”
He put the cover back on Ames’s remains, then walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
“I take it he’s pissed,” said Kelly.
“And I think he has every right to be,” retorted Jamison.
And with that Jamison left, leaving Joe Kelly alone with a corpse.
WILL ROBIE WAS ON THE MOVE. It was night, and a warm rain was falling. He was on foot, dressed in a camouflaged ghillie suit, with a pair of night optics, and a GPS tracker mounted on his forearm. Under the ghillie was Level 3A body armor along with rifle plates that could stop and disperse all handgun rounds and most rifle rounds. They offered superb stab and spike protection as well. Unless someone got a head or femoral artery shot on him, then it was over.