Дэвид Балдаччи - Zero Day

Puller was thinking of the soil report, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

She said, “Okay, I lied. I do have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you really here?”

“I thought that was pretty clear.”

“Dead colonel? Off post? I checked you out. You’re from the 701st. They could have brought in CID from Fort Campbell. The 701st is special. So why you?”

“You know the military well, do you?”

“My father was in the Navy. Lots of men from around here were in the armed forces. And like I said, I checked.”

“Who’d you talk to?”

“I have my contacts. That’s all you need to know. And from what I found out, it seems that sending someone like you out here sends a pretty clear message. This is not just a routine murder.”

“No murder is routine in my book.”

“So you won’t tell me?”

“I’m just doing my job, Jean. Other than that I really can’t say much.”

She dropped him off at the motel. Puller watched her go until she disappeared from view. Then he turned and looked at his motel room. Then his gaze swiveled to his car. He walked toward it. Stopped about fifteen feet away. Studied it. He moved in a counterclockwise direction around the vehicle. Saw something. A bit of insulated wire with the copper seam exposed. It was tiny, a few centimeters, but the sun had hit it just right so that it gleamed like a bit of revealed gold.

He dropped to his knees and then bent his head down. He was up in a second and moved away from the vehicle. He phoned Cole.

“Got a bomb under my car. Want to get somebody over here to come get it?”

While Cole hurried there with the bomb cavalry, Puller sat on the front steps leading up to the motel office and calmly considered the situation.

Folks sure seemed to love their explosives around these parts.

And now maybe he understood the invitation to lunch.

The bomb wasn’t as sophisticated as the ones at the abandoned house. At least that was the pronouncement of the retired ATF agent who arrived two minutes after Cole did.

Puller stood next to Cole as the bomb was removed from the car and taken away.

“Didn’t have much time,” he said.

“What?” asked Cole.

“Wasn’t as sophisticated because they didn’t have enough time to put it together.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Your sister invited me to lunch today. She was waiting for me here. She insisted on driving. I left my car here. I really didn’t know why she wanted me to go to Vera Felicita with her, but she did.”

“She took you to her B-and-B?”

“Yeah. Then we got back, she drove off real fast, and I luckily spotted the footprint and the piece of wire. Otherwise, you’d be identifying my remains, if there was enough left of me.”

Cole didn’t say anything right away. She scuffed the dirt with her shoe, her brow furrowed in thought. “Are you accusing her of being involved in this?”

“I’m not accusing anybody of anything. I’m just presenting facts.”

“What reason would she have to kill you?”

“Well, if her husband is involved in those murders and he goes to jail, his company will probably tank and there goes her big house and her fancy B-and-B.”

“She built that place with her own money and financing.”

“So she says. But that operation must’ve cost a real chunk of change to get going. What bank would loan her that unless Roger cosigned?”

“But how do you figure Roger being behind the murders? He was the one receiving death threats.”

“He says he received death threats. We have no independent proof of that.”

“That’s true,” she conceded.

“And I checked something in the local newspapers at the library today. There were no public notices of the blasting for Sunday night. They blasted without fulfilling the notice requirement.”

“That’s a real big deal, Puller. Nice work.”

“So we have gunfire and explosives going off at pretty much the same time. One covers the other. And that mine belonged to Trent. Who had the authority to do blasting without filing the requisite public notice?”

“Legally, no one. Whoever did authorize it is in serious trouble.”

“I think we need to find out. And we need to find out if anyone saw someone around my car this afternoon.”

“I’ll get right on that. But, Puller, I can’t believe that my sister had anything to do with it.”

“I don’t want to think that she did either, Cole, but the circumstances are suspicious.”

“They are,” she agreed.

She scuffed the gravel with her shoe again. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to investigate this.”

“If you’re okay with it, I can do it.”

“I’m okay with it. But Puller, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, she’s my sister. But you let the evidence take you where it goes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“When are you going to do it?”

“Right now.”

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breath. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breath.

The air was humid, the smell oppressive. You could walk briskly and break into a flop sweat.

Four more strokes. A single breath. Then another quartet of strokes and Jean Trent came up for air after touching the side of the pool for the sixtieth time.

“Working off lunch?”

She jerked around in the water and stared over at the far edge of the thirty-meter pool.

Puller was sitting in a teak chair, his big hands on his thighs.

She said, “How did you get in here?”

He pointed to the wall of glass. “Through that door over there. You really ought to lock it.”

“I mean, how did you get on the grounds?”

He rose, came over to her, looked down. “You mean how did I manage to dodge the fat old guy in the rental uniform out there?”

She walked to the steps and came out of the pool and wrung out her hair. She had on a black one-piece. She was trim with good muscle tone.

She might have also just tried to blow his car up with him in it.

“You swim?” she asked.

“Not unless someone I’m after jumps in the water. Wanted to talk to you.”

She walked over to a teak chaise longue with a blue cushion with white piping set against one wall. A terrycloth robe was there. She slipped it on and sat down on the chaise.

“What about? Did lunch not agree with you? You seem out of sorts.”

He perched on a chair next to her. “I was actually wondering whether I should arrest you.”

She appeared startled. “What? Why?”

“Attempted murder of a federal officer.”

She sat forward. “And how exactly do you figure that?”

“When I got back from lunch with you there was a bomb under my car. I’m getting tired of people trying to turn me into little pieces of flesh.”

“I know nothing about that. And since I was with you at lunch I could hardly have planted a bomb in your car.”

“You could have paid someone to do it.”

“And why would I do that?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“I need to get dressed. I have a dinner to go to tonight. If you want to continue this conversation, we’ll have to do it at another time.”

“Actually, we’ll do it right now.”

She stood. “I want you out of my house. Now!”

“And I want some answers. I’m here with the blessing of the police department.”

Jean’s lips parted but she said nothing.

“In other words, your sister knows I’m here.”

“I didn’t put a bomb in your car.”

“Under my car.”

“I didn’t do that either. What reason would I have to kill you?”

“That’s an easy one. I’m here to investigate a series of murders. If you or someone you’re connected to is involved in those crimes you’d naturally want me out of the way. So you invite me to lunch. You insist on driving. We come back and I almost go boom. You can see why I’m suspicious.”