Brian Freeman - Marathon

“No, I get it. It was a zoo.”

“Always is,” Troy said.

“I’m sorry, but I still need the list,” she told him. “Make it as complete as possible. Have every person on staff write down all the people that they can remember being in the office on Tuesday. I want copies of everyone’s calendar for that day, too, as well as incoming and outgoing e-mails and phone records. I need to go through all of it. Someone pulled the plug on that camera. Someone was here, inside the marathon office. Either it was the bomber himself, or it was somebody who got paid to do the job.”

Troy saluted. “Okay. I’m here to help. I’ll get it all to you this evening.”

“Thanks.”

“Mind if I walk you out?” Troy added, and Serena knew from the look on his face that Troy had something else to tell her that he didn’t want to say in front of the others in the office.

They descended the stairs to the outer door that led to Canal Park Drive. Beside them was a storage area where the race staff kept everything from bottled water to T-shirts to boxes of lanyards. It was dark, with the light off, but Troy unlocked the door and beckoned Serena inside. He closed the door, and they were alone in the warm space.

“Did you want to tell me something?” Serena asked.

Troy’s face was unhappy. “Look, you know me. I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body.”

“I know that.”

“The thing is, I was thinking about the groups that were in here on Tuesday.”

“Okay,” Serena said.

Troy hesitated. He shook his head, as if he was angry with himself.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she urged him.

“Well, part of our marketing effort is diversity, okay? This year, members of the local mosque reached out to us to expand the representation of Muslims running in the race. It was very successful. We had almost forty new Muslim participants, and we worked with local sponsors to make sure they had housing and that we were attuned to any special religious or dietary concerns.”

“And on Tuesday?” Serena asked.

“We met with several members of the mosque for a final check-in about the needs of the Muslim runners,” Troy replied. “They were all in the marathon office upstairs.”

Maggie found Shelly Baker in her hospital bed. Wade Ralston sat in a chair beside her. Talking to witnesses never bothered Maggie, but this time, she had to gin up the courage to go inside. She knew that Shelly had suffered grievous injuries in the marathon bombing, and she was reluctant to add to her burden by telling her that her brother, Travis, was now a suspect in a double homicide.

In the doorway, she cleared her throat, and the two people looked up. For Maggie, that first split second with someone always told the tale. Shelly’s expression was blank, but Wade Ralston’s eyes darted back and forth with beady, nervous alarm. That was as good as a confession.

He knew exactly why Maggie was there.

“Mr. Ralston, I’m glad to see you up and about,” she said. “Ms. Baker, my name is Maggie Bei. I’m a Sergeant with the Duluth Police. I’m sorry to bother you during your recovery.”

The woman in bed looked drained of energy. “What do you want?”

“I’m trying to find your brother, Travis. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“Travis? At my place, probably. I have a Central Hillside apartment, and he usually stays with me. He doesn’t have a place of his own.”

“No, he’s not there. I already checked. When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Shelly replied. “What is this about, Sergeant? Why are you looking for Travis?”

“I just need to ask him a few questions. Can you think of anywhere else your brother might be?”

“At Wade’s house, I guess,” Shelly said, turning to Ralston with a curious expression. “Have you talked to Travis today, Wade?”

Ralston’s face was suddenly as empty as a fresh sheet of paper. “Nope.”

“Travis works for your company, doesn’t he, Mr. Ralston?” Maggie asked.

“That’s right.”

“Does he ever drive your white van?”

“Yes, he does. It’s got a big logo for The Bug Zappers on the side. Termites, cockroaches, ants, rodents, wasps, Asian beetles. If you have any critter issues, we’re the ones to call. You can count on us to kill ’em all.” He said it with a grim smile, as if he was reciting the copy from a television ad.

“When did you last see Travis?” Maggie asked him.

“Same as Shelly. Yesterday afternoon, here in the hospital.”

“Have you talked to him today?”

She could read Ralston’s eyes and the twitch in his mouth, and she knew he was about to lie.

“I haven’t, no.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Positive,” Ralston said.

“Would he be driving your company van?”

“Probably. I like him to ride around in the van. It’s good advertising.”

“Was he working on any jobs for you today?” Maggie asked.

“No, not unless somebody called with an emergency. This was my first day out of the hospital. I cancelled all of our jobs. I’m sure we’ll be back at work tomorrow, though, crawling into the basements downtown. It’s a glamorous job, but somebody has to do it.” His mouth bent into a sarcastic grin.

“I wonder if you’d mind calling Travis for me,” Maggie said. “Maybe he’ll answer the phone for you.”

“Sure, if you’d like.”

He dug into his pocket for a phone, and he turned on the power. He dialed a number but then immediately ended the call.

“It went straight to voice mail,” he said. “Sorry. Do you want me to call back and leave a message?”

“No, that’s fine. Where is your business located, Mr. Ralston?”

“I run it out of my house on Five Corners Road. Shelly is our accountant and scheduler. Travis and I do the dirty work.”

“Have you been home today?”

“Yes. Got out this morning, went straight home. I took a nap. I was pretty worn out. I’ve been through a lot.”

“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss. Did you see Travis while you were there? Did he come to the house?”

“I already said no,” Ralston replied. “Unless he stopped by while I was asleep.”

“Tell me something. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the extermination business. Do you require supplies of gasoline in your line of work?”

Ralston’s face was frozen. “Gasoline? No, we don’t kill bugs with gasoline.”

“These seem like very odd questions,” Shelly Baker interrupted. “Do you suspect Travis of doing something wrong, Sergeant?”

“Well, as I said, we’d just like to talk to him,” Maggie replied. “Can you think of anywhere else that he might go, other than to your apartment or to Mr. Ralston’s house?”

“He has a lot of friends,” Shelly replied.

“Mostly women friends,” Ralston added. “You’ve never met a bigger horndog than Travis. Kid loves to drink and party, and his body is nothing but muscles and tats. Girls go for that sort of thing, I guess. It’s not his brains they’re after, that’s for sure.”

Shelly shot Ralston an impenetrable look, and Ralston smiled back at her with no warmth at all.

“Does he have a specific girlfriend he might stay with?” Maggie asked.

“No, he’ll go home with whoever happens to be at Curly’s on any given night,” Ralston replied.

“Ms. Baker, when you talked to your brother yesterday, did he mention any plans he had?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he tell you what he was going to do last night?” Maggie asked.

“No.”

“Was he angry about what happened to you?”

“Yes, he was very upset. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Of course. Mr. Ralston, what about you? Did Travis talk about any plans with you?”