David Baldacci - Zero Day

“I’ll pray for you, Sam.”

“Thank you. I could use it, I’m sure.”

As the woman shuffled on Puller said, “Small town?”

“With all its thorns and rose petals,” she replied.

They walked some more.

Cole said, “At least we know whoever killed the Reynoldses wasn’t after his military stuff. Or else they would have taken the laptop and briefcase with them. Maybe that rules out the spy angle.”

Puller shook his head. “You can download a laptop’s hard drive onto a flash drive. So you don’t have to take the hardware. Did you happen to see if anything was in the briefcase?”

She feigned astonishment. “My God, Puller, and me not having an SCI or an SAP? I wouldn’t think of it. I could be charged with treason.”

“Okay, I deserved that. But did you see anything?”

“It was locked with a combo code. I didn’t want to break into it, so it’s in pristine condition.”

Keeping his gaze straight ahead he said, “Someone’s on our seven. Last three blocks. Twenty meters back.”

Cole kept her gaze straight too. “Could be they’re going in the same direction we are. What do they look like?”

“Older man in a suit. Twenty-something big guy in a cutoff shirt with a tat sleeve down the right arm.”

“Walking together?”

“Appear to be. They were in the restaurant eyeballing us the whole time, but from different tables.”

“Follow me.”

Cole cut to her left and started to cross the street. She let a car pass and took a look in both directions, ostensibly to check for more traffic. She proceeded on and Puller followed. She turned right and kept going in the same direction they had been heading, but on the opposite side of the street.

“Know them?” asked Puller.

“The man in the suit is Bill Strauss.”

“And what does Bill Strauss do?”

“He’s an exec with Trent Exploration. Like the number two guy after Roger.”

“And the beef in the cutoff?”

“His son, Dickie.”

“Dickie?”

“I didn’t name him.”

“And what does Dickie do? Something with Trent Exploration?”

“Not that I know of. He was in the Army for a while.”

“Know where?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“What now?”

“Well, we’re about to find out what they want.”

“Why?”

“They’re catching up to us,” Puller said.

From habit, Puller turned slightly and let his right arm dangle loosely. He lowered his chin, turned his head forty-five degrees to the left, and deployed his peripheral vision. He walked on the balls of his feet, dispersing his weight evenly so he could strike out in any direction with a balanced effectiveness. He wasn’t concerned about the older man. Bill Strauss was in his fifties, flabby, and Puller’s hearing told him the guy was wheezy just from a brisk walk.

Dickie the tat boy was a different story, but Puller wasn’t all that concerned about him either. He was late twenties, an inch over six feet, scaled about two-sixty. Puller noted that he’d gotten fat after leaving the Army, but he’d kept the infantry brush cut and some of the muscle.

“Sergeant Cole?” said Strauss.

They turned, waited.

Strauss and his son walked up to them.

“Hello, Mr. Strauss, what can I do for you?” she asked.

Strauss was about thirty pounds overweight and a sliver under six feet. He wore a Canali pinstripe with a loosened solid blue tie and white dress shirt. His hair was mostly white and longer than his son’s. His face was overly wrinkled, especially around the mouth. His voice was husky and edging toward ravaged. Puller noted the red-and-white pack of Marlboros sticking from his breast coat pocket and the nicotine fingers.

Lung cancer cometh, Mr. Wheezy.

His son’s face was filled out, the cheeks reddened from too much sun. His pecs bulged from too many bench presses, but he’d grown light in the quads, hammies, and the all-important calves from neglecting his lower body. Puller seriously doubted the man could run the Army two-mile in the allotted time. His tat sleeve also caught Puller’s attention.

Strauss said, “I heard about the bodies being found. Molly Bitner worked at my office.”

“That we know.”

“It’s just awful. I can’t believe she was killed. She was a very nice woman.”

“I’m sure she was. Did you know her well?”

“Well, just from the office. She was one of a bunch of gals who worked there, but we never had any issues with her.”

Puller said, “And would you expect to have had issues with her?”

Strauss shifted his gaze to Puller. “I understand you’re with the Army. An investigator?”

Puller nodded but said nothing.

Strauss eyed Cole again. “If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you handling the case?”

“I am. It’s a collaborative investigation, Mr. Strauss. One of the victims was in the military. That’s why Agent Puller is here. It’s standard procedure.”

“I see. Of course. I was just wondering.”

“Did she seem normal over the last few days?” asked Puller. “Anything seem to be bothering her?”

Strauss shrugged. “Again, I didn’t have a lot of contact with her. I have my personal secretary and Molly worked out in the main office area.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“Doing whatever was needed around the office, I suppose. We have an office manager, Mrs. Johnson, who could probably answer your inquiries. She would have had more contact with Molly than I would.”

Puller was listening but no longer watching the older man now. His gaze was on the son. Dickie was eyeing his work boots, big hands stuffed in his worn corduroys.

“Heard you were in the Army,” Puller said.

Dickie nodded but didn’t look up.

“What division?”

“First Infantry.”

“Mechanized man. Fort Riley or Germany?”

“Riley. Never been to Germany.”

“How long were you in?”

“One stint.”

“Didn’t like the Army?”

“Army didn’t much like me.”

“BCD or a DD?”

Strauss broke in. “Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. If we can help in any way, Sergeant Cole.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure we’ll be by your office to talk.”

“Certainly. Let’s go, son.”

As they walked off, Puller said, “Know the man well?”

“One of Drake’s leading citizens. And one of the wealthiest.”

“Right. Number two guy. So in the same league with Trent?”

“The Trents are in a league by themselves. Strauss is just one of his peons. But a very well-compensated peon. His house is smaller than Trent’s but gargantuan by Drake standards.”

“Strauss from Drake?”

“No, he moved here with his family over twenty years ago. He was from the East Coast, at least I think.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what brought him here?”

“Work. He was a business guy and in the energy field. Drake may not look like much, but we do have energy in the form of coal and gas. He started working for Trent and the business really took off. Now what was that DD stuff you mentioned?”

Puller said, “A BCD means Big Chicken Dinner. That stands for a bad conduct discharge. A DD is worse, a dishonorable discharge. Since Dickie’s still walking around free, I’m guessing it wasn’t a DD. They kicked him out for a reason that didn’t involve a court-martial. That’s what he meant when he said the Army didn’t much like him.”

Cole gazed in the direction of the Strausses. “I never knew that.”

“The only reason it might be relevant is that lots of BCDs are tied to drug use that the Army just doesn’t want to screw around with. So they choose kicking guys out instead of prosecuting them.”