William Krueger - The Devil's bed

“I asked you a question you never answered,” Bo said. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Most patients are dreary repetitions of an unhappy theme. David Moses is different. I looked forward to our sessions. He’s charming when he wants to be. When he deigns to be communicative, a conversation with him can be delightful and challenging.”

“But is he dangerous?” Bo persisted.

“If he’s truly delusional, he’s fully capable of living out his delusion. If he’s not, then he knows well how to kill.” She paused and seemed to consider whether to say the rest of what was on her mind. “David doesn’t belong out there. Out there, heisdangerous. But in here, he’s a rare creature, and I would hate to see him destroyed.”

They leaned against their cars in the visitor lot of the Security Hospital. It was late morning, already hot. They’d given the program director all the information they had on the man who was probably David Moses. Helen Wardell had called the Nicollet County sheriff’s office, and two detectives were on their way to the Security Hospital.

Coyote said, “I was inclined to laugh when Dr. Hart said Moses might be a hired killer. But I’ve been thinking. A decade-long blank in his history, that’s pretty suspicious.”

“With this guy, I’m beginning to think anything is possible,” Bo answered.

“Could someone have actually hired David Moses to kill Jorgenson?”

“I think it’s more likely that he has his own agenda.”

“He’s driving Luther Gallagher’s truck. We should take a look inside Gallagher’s house.”

“You mind handling that, Stu?”

“Fine by me. When the sheriff’s men get here, I’ll see if we can’t get a warrant. While I’m at it, I’ll check out activity on any credit cards Gallagher has. Might tell us where he, or Moses, have been lately and what they’ve been up to.”

“My own instincts are telling me that Gallagher’s dead. And if David Moses is as clever as Dr. Hart believes, we’re not going to find the body easily.”

“Let’s see where we stand after I’ve had a look at his place. What about you, Bo?”

“I’m going back to the office, see how quickly we can get hold of Moses’s military service record. It might help in uncovering some of that missing history. I’d also like to find out about the fixation on Tom Jorgenson. What’s the connection between Moses and him?”

“If he’s whacked out, he could have seen Jorgenson on television and just fixated.”

“You know where St. Jerome’s Home for Children is, Stu? Less than ten miles from Wildwood. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Dr. Hart said David Moses never completed high school. He dropped out and joined the service. I’m going to look into his time at St. Jerome’s. I’d like to know who signed his enlistment papers and why.”

It took Bo an hour and a half to get to Minneapolis. He made one stop on the way at a market outside Shakopee to pick up an apple and some cheese for lunch, but he still felt hungry when he walked into the field office. The place seemed empty, as it usually did when someone important enough to warrant protection visited the Twin Cities.

He spoke with Rafael Ramos, the criminal research specialist for the field office, and gave him what information he had on David Moses. He asked Ramos to get a copy of the man’s military record ASAP.

Diana Ishimaru was on her phone. She waved Bo in and pointed to a chair.

The office of the special agent-in-charge was a large and orderly room painted in light blue. On the wall behind her desk hung a photograph of a younger Agent Ishimaru shaking hands with President George Bush, the elder. She was an attractive woman, Bo’s boss. Forty-seven years old, straight black hair that swept her shoulders, a well-maintained figure, dark Asian eyes. Like a lot of agents, she had a divorce somewhere in her past. Never remarried. Driven in a profession dominated by men, she’d advanced to her position through hard work, an astute understanding of the politics of the Secret Service, and an ability to engender fierce loyalty in those who worked with her.

Ishimaru hung up. “What do you have?”

“Care to step into the Twilight Zone with me?” He related what he and Coyote had discovered in St. Peter. She made notes as he talked. He finished with “I called the Washington County sheriff and let him know what we’d found out. He’s putting additional security on Tom Jorgenson.”

“How about Wildwood?”

“I talked with Jake Russell. He’s going to relay the information to Manning. I figure it’s Manning’s decision whether to inform the First Lady and Annie.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asked.

“Try to find answers to three questions. What’s the connection, if any, between Tom Jorgenson and David Moses? Why would such a towering intellect choose to join the military at seventeen? And, because he was underage, who signed as his guardian on the enlistment papers?”

“Let me guess,” she said, glancing at her notes. “You’re going to St. Jerome’s Home for Children, where you’re hoping to find the answers to all three questions.”

“You’re scary,” he said.

“Just good at this job. As you are. Well done, Bo.”

He was heading for the elevator when Diana Ishimaru stepped quickly out the door of the field office and called to him. “Bo. I just got a phone call from the Washington County sheriff. Tom Jorgenson’s regained consciousness.”

Where I-94 snaked through downtown St. Paul, there was a rollover with injuries. Bo got caught in the snarl of traffic. He was delayed nearly an hour getting to the St. Croix Regional Medical Center. He observed immediately the intensified security. Additional hospital guards and sheriff’s deputies made access to the fourth floor impossible for all but authorized visitors and staff. Consequently, the newspeople had set up camp in the main lobby. Media vans and cars that had been parked along the highway fronting Wildwood now sat in the hospital lot. Bo parked in a tow zone near the Emergency Room entrance and went in that way. He found the security desk manned by C. J. Burke, the guard who’d been on duty the night O’Meara died. Burke had the current issue ofGamer’s Magazineopen on the desk in front of him. He looked at Bo through eyes heavy with boredom.

“Sorry about your partner,” Bo said.

“Partner?”

“O’Meara.”

“He wasn’t my partner. We just worked the same shift.”

The guard wrote Bo’s name in the log and went back to looking at his magazine.

Bo was angry that Burke didn’t seem to give a shit about his fallen colleague, but he let it go. What good would it do to lash out? You cared or you didn’t, it was that simple. He took the elevator to the fourth floor, where Tom Jorgenson now lay conscious. A sheriff’s deputy stopped Bo the moment he stepped out, then allowed him to pass when he saw the Secret Service ID. Another deputy had been posted at the door to Jorgenson’s room. Sheriff Doug Quinn-Gruber was using the phone at the nurses’ station.

When the phone call ended, Bo approached. “Doug, have you had a chance to talk to Tom Jorgenson?”

Quinn-Gruber sipped vending machine coffee from a disposable cup. “He’s pretty weak. The doctor’s allowed only family in so far. The First Lady was here with Annie. They headed back to Wildwood just a few minutes ago. Ruth stayed. She’s here somewhere.” He glanced around. “Must’ve gone to the ladies’ room.”

“Any of the family know about Moses?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Manning didn’t want to say anything until he knew more. We got a photo of David Moses over the wire from Minneapolis P.D. Everybody working security has a copy of it. Detective Timmons is at Hennepin County Courthouse checking the file they’ve got on Moses.”