Michael McGarrity - Everyone Dies

Matt cranked the engine and left the prison grounds thinking maybe Olsen could easily be all of the above.

The search warrant had been written broadly enough to allow for the seizure of Olsen’s personal, medical, and financial documents; his computer; any and all items used in bomb-making; articles of apparel and footwear; any and all poisons, weapons, or tools used as weapons; samples of material from blankets, linens, textiles, carpets, and rugs; any stolen property of the victims; and any personal hygiene products, hairbrushes, combs, or toothbrushes that could yield forensic or DNA evidence.

While Ramona and her team hadn’t gotten lucky and found a handgun, there were a number of knives that could have possibly been used to slash Dora Manning’s throat. Moreover, in Olsen’s office they’d discovered a scrapbook in the black vinyl binder that contained newspaper clippings about Jack Potter and Chief Kerney going back a number of years, and an arts calender notice in the Taos paper announcing Manning’s upcoming one-woman show.

That got them looking for the paintings that had been stolen during the break-in at the Taos gallery. Thorpe found them wadded up and stuffed into a fifty-five-gallon drum in the toolshed.

Ramona left Thorpe and the two investigators in charge of inventorying and boxing up the evidence for transport to Santa Fe, and drove to New Mexico Tech. Next up were interviews with Olsen’s coworkers and supervisor, which Ramona hoped would yield some information about where Olsen was spending his alleged vacation.

Buffered by pleasant, tree-lined residential streets, the college was a short drive from the main drag. The school grounds were even more delightful to the eye. A lush golf course, set in stark contrast to the brown foothills of the Socorro Mountains, separated two campuses. The main campus consisted of a blend of modern and territorial buildings surrounded by wide lawns fronting a curved main roadway. The west campus was less charming and more industrial in appearance, with blocky warehouses, storage facilities, a surplus property yard, and a number of research buildings, which included the headquarters of the testing center where Olsen was employed.

Ramona met with Morris Day, Olsen’s supervisor, who offered her a coffee in a mug bearing the logo of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco amp; Firearms.

“You do training work with law enforcement agencies,” Ramona said. “One of my coworkers took your course on terrorist bomb threats.”

Day, a thirty-something man with curly light-brown hair cut short and a protruding chin below a slightly turned-up nose, nodded. “It’s one of the most popular courses we offer to government entities. We have students from federal agencies, friendly foreign governments, and many state and local police and fire departments who come here to learn antiterrorism and counterterrorism measures pertaining to the use and identification of explosive and incendiary devices.”

“Sounds interesting,” Ramona said. “I’d like to take it.”

“I’ll give you an application packet before you leave,” Day replied.

“That would be great,” Ramona said. “Tell me about Noel Olsen. Did you know he was a convicted felon when you hired him?”

“Of course,” Day replied. “Even though he’s not working in a classified or a security-sensitive job, we did a very thorough background check before we took him on. He came highly recommended by his professors at State and his parole officer. Is he in trouble?”

“I just need to talk to him.”

“My secretary told the other officer who called that he’s on vacation,” Day said as he toyed with his coffee mug. “He asked for leave rather unexpectedly, but it came at a time when we could spare him.”

“Did he say what he planned to do on his vacation?”

“Noel likes to travel, especially to Europe. He said he had a last-minute offer from a friend to go on a hiking tour in Scotland that was too good to pass up.”

“Did he mention the friend’s name?” Ramona asked.

“No.”

“Did he request his leave in person?”

“No, he called me at home on a Friday night about two weeks ago and asked for fifteen workdays off.”

Ramona found that interesting. Why would Olsen, who had planned his crimes so carefully, wait until the last minute to arrange to go on holiday? It didn’t make sense. “Had he ever done that before?” she asked.

“Ask for an unscheduled vacation? No.”

Ramona asked about Olsen’s personality and learned he was well-liked, a hard worker, and had recently been upgraded to senior technician at the explosives mixing facility on the school’s testing grounds. He had no close friends at work, but always showed up for office parties and picnics, and played on the center’s coed volleyball team.

After she finished questioning Day, he drove her out to the facility where she spoke to Olsen’s coworkers, who confirmed that Olsen was a good guy who kept his head into work and his personal life to himself, which meant absolutely nothing. There were any number of sex offenders and murderers who masqueraded as ordinary people until something set them off.

Back at the center, Ramona thanked Day for his time and left, still nagged by the thought of Olsen’s abrupt request for a vacation. Perhaps Olsen had timed his leave to overlap with the arrival of Kerney’s wife, and since he didn’t have an exact date had to play it by ear.

But how did he know, even in a general way, when Sara Brannon would be coming to Santa Fe to have her baby?

In the kitchen, Samuel Green heated up some canned soup, poured it into a bowl, and carried it to his bedroom. He sat on the bed facing the small color television and watched the local noontime news out of Albuquerque. An anchor woman with big hair and bright-red lips smiled into the camera as she read the Teleprompter headline about the protest outside the Santa Fe Police Department.

Green turned down the volume when the picture switched to the intro of Kerney’s statement to the press. The camera panned over the crowd, and Green saw himself standing in the front row next to an old fag holding a JUSTICE FOR ALL sign. He looked good on camera, better then he’d expected.

He hit the mute button on the remote, and thought about how Kerney had to die. He’d done everything possible to make Kerney believe his next victim would be his pregnant wife. But that was not to be the case. In fact, until she delivered, Sara Brannon was in no danger at all.

Above all else, Green wanted Kerney to watch his wife and newborn child die before he killed him.

T hrough a stream of fax messages and phone calls, the Santa Fe PD had kept Sheriff Paul Hewitt advised of the progress of the investigation. As soon as he got the word that a credible suspect had been identified in Socorro, Hewitt called Clayton Istee, who was with his family at his in-laws’ house. He gave Istee the skinny on the ID of Victoria Drake, her tie-in to Noel Olsen, and the search under way at Olsen’s house.

“They’ve found evidence that connects Olsen to the bombing and all but one of the homicides,” Hewitt added.

“I’m going up there,” Clayton said.

“Stay with your family, Sergeant,” Hewitt said. “They need you.”

“My family’s fine,” Clayton replied. “Grace and the kids are taken care of and well-protected.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not going to sit here and do nothing,” Clayton said heatedly. “One way or the other, I want in on the investigation.”

Hewitt knew arguing wouldn’t change Clayton’s mind and ordering him not to go would be pointless. “Okay, I’m placing you on training leave for the rest of the week. You’re to observe methods and procedures used by the Santa Fe PD major felony unit. Observe is the key word. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”