Brian Freeman - Marathon

“You’ll think about it? Kitty Cat, we’re talking hot tubs and a DJ and probably lobster and shit. I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock, okay? Sneak out your window, meet me at Lafayette Park.”

Cat hated herself for being weak, but she hadn’t snuck a drink in weeks. And she liked lobster. And it was cool having men hang on her, which they always did. And Curt was right; it was summertime.

“I want the cash in advance,” she said.

“It’s in your purse before we walk in the door.”

“You make it clear, I’m dressing up the party, and that’s all . I’m not screwing anybody, Curt, you hear me? I don’t do that anymore. Any guy sticks a hand up my dress, and my knee is in his balls.”

“Understood. You’re the best.”

“Where’s Eagle?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Aw, Curt, you’re messing with me,” Cat snapped.

“I don’t know where he is, but I know where he was . As of last Friday. Guy saw him hiking along the railroad tracks near Becks Road.”

“Last Friday?” Cat complained. “That was four days ago. He could be anywhere by now. That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“It’s more than you had before,” Curt pointed out.

“Forget the party.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You’ve got the whole day to check out the tracks, and then you can have fun and make some money tonight.”

Cat sighed. “Where exactly did this guy see Eagle?”

“Maybe half a mile from I-35. He was heading north.”

She thought about the location. One advantage of her time on the street was that she knew areas around Duluth that most people didn’t. The parks. The railroad tracks. The abandoned buildings. If she knew them, Eagle knew them, too. And one of the creepiest places in the area was within spitting distance of Becks Road and I-35.

“That’s near the old Nopeming Sanatorium,” Cat said. “Didn’t you say that Eagle likes to hang out there sometimes?”

“I did.”

“So maybe he was heading there.”

“Maybe so, Kitty Cat. Be careful if you sneak into the ruins, though. They say the place is haunted from all the TB patients who died there. Don’t let the ghosts get you.”

“So Cat was here?” Serena asked Drew Olson.

“Yes. She was watching us from the school. I tried to get her to come over, but as soon as she realized I’d seen her, she took off.”

Serena studied the empty basketball court on the other side of the alley. “It’s not the first time. She told me she was here on Sunday, too. She keeps coming back, so maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Well, I hope I didn’t scare her off,” Drew said.

“Not likely. Cat’s tough. It’s not about being afraid with her.”

Drew bounced Michael in his arms. Serena found it hard to take her eyes off the baby whenever she was near him. This time, though, she didn’t make any effort to hold him.

“So what’s up?” Drew asked. “Is there more news? That was a terrible thing last night about the fire in Woodland. Even if that man Rashid is guilty, it’s horrific to lose a mother and child like that. Krista was in tears over it.”

“Yes, it’s awful.” Serena hesitated. “Listen, Drew, I need to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Why did you and Krista take out a terrorism rider on your commercial policy last year?”

Drew’s eyes widened. His face clouded over. He put Michael into a stroller on the back lawn, and then he folded his arms tightly together. “Do you honestly think—”

“I don’t think anything, Drew. I have to ask. It raised a red flag with the FBI. Your business was having trouble, but even so, you bought extra insurance to cover an event that most people would consider pretty unlikely around here.”

“And yet look where we are,” Drew said.

“Yes. That’s what makes the FBI curious.”

Drew’s face had an angry cast, but then the anger faded. He sighed. “Look, I know you’re just doing your job. I guess I’m not surprised that someone would ask the question. The fact is, the rider wasn’t particularly expensive for us. Apparently, the insurers didn’t think a terrorism event here was very likely, either.”

“Then why do it?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? We did it because of Boston. Our shop is at the finish line of a major marathon, Serena. After Boston, we realized that if something terrible did come to Duluth, it might well happen at our front door. I’m not going to apologize for taking precautions. Everybody did. There are a lot more police at the marathon now for the very same reason.”

“You’re right,” Serena said.

Drew put a hand on her shoulder. “Please tell the FBI that Krista and I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened.”

“I will.”

He retrieved Michael from the stroller, as if the boy could soothe him. He didn’t say anything else. Serena understood. Trust was a casualty of every crime, but Duluth was still a small town, which made it worse. It was hard to think that a friend believed you were capable of something evil.

“I have to go, Drew,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

She wondered if she’d crossed a line with him and whether she would ever be invited back. Drew must have realized what she was thinking. “You’re always welcome here, Serena. And Cat, too, of course.”

“Thanks.”

As she walked away, Drew called, “Did you find that man you were looking for? The homeless man who was in our shop?”

Serena turned and shook her head. “No, we’re still looking.”

“And do you think he’s important?” Drew asked. “Do you think he knows something about the bombing?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I do.”

Maggie took intermittent bites of a Quarter Pounder as she scrolled through Twitter on the MacBook balanced on her lap. Beside her, Max Guppo feasted on a Coney Island chili cheese dog. She had a rule about not staying in enclosed spaces with Guppo, and she opened all the windows in her Avalanche as a precaution. The barrel-shaped sergeant had a way of poisoning anyplace he inhabited for more than ten minutes with near-lethal quantities of gas.

“Who the hell are these people?” she complained with her mouth full. “I’ve never seen so many whack-jobs making threats. It would take us a year to run these all down.”

“Yeah, Twitter is like walking into a crowded stadium where everyone is screaming obscenities at each other,” Guppo replied. “They’re big talkers, but the ones to really worry about are the people who don’t say anything.”

“So you’re saying we’re chasing our tails here?”

“Pretty much.”

Maggie scowled. She knew he was right. Whoever firebombed the gallery on Woodland Avenue had obviously seen the Twitter post from Dawn Basch, but that was a universe of thousands of people, and most of them were hidden behind anonymous accounts. She’d hoped for a clue among the users who’d reacted to the post, but instead, the sheer volume of haters overwhelmed her. It wasn’t going to help them find a suspect.

“Uh-oh,” Guppo said, lifting up in the passenger seat. “Sorry. Incoming.”

“You mean outgoing,” Maggie said, opening her door quickly. She jumped down and exited the truck before the memory of the chili cheese dog could waft her way.

She stood in the street and studied the burnt shell of the gallery. A light drizzle fell, tamping down the ash into wet tar. Police and firefighters combed through the wreckage. She had officers going up and down the surrounding streets to interview neighbors. So far, no one had seen anything that would point them toward a suspect.

“What do you think about timing?” Guppo asked, joining her on the street as he fanned his backside with a clipboard. “I figure this guy probably didn’t spend more than ninety seconds on site.”