Nelson Demille - Wild fire

“Let me discuss that with Major Schaeffer first.”

“Why?”

“I just spent forty minutes with Madox, and I got some strange vibes from him-I think that sonofabitch had Harry at his place, grilled him, then murdered him.”

“That’s… that’s quite a statement. Think about what you’re saying.”

“ You think about it.”

Walsh said, “Kate?”

She took a deep breath and said, “It’s possible. I mean, it is possible.”

“What would be Madox’s motive?” Walsh inquired.

I replied, “I don’t know, but I will find out.”

He stayed silent for a few seconds, then said, “All right. We’ll certainly proceed as though it were a homicide. Meanwhile, I need to call Harry’s girlfriend, Lori, and Washington is on the other line, so-”

“ Send someone-a cop from the Task Force-to see Lori Bahnik in person and have a police chaplain along. Also, Harry has kids and an ex-wife. You need to send someone whom the family knows to do the notifications, like his old squad commander or his former partner. Speak to Vince Paresi. He’ll know how to take care of it.”

“I understand. Meanwhile, drive now to the airport and wait for a helicopter to pick you up. A state trooper will meet you there with Harry’s cameras, which you will bring to 26 Fed-”

“Hold on,” I said. “We’re not leaving here until this investigation is complete.”

“You’re coming back to Manhattan, tonight. I’ll be here-”

“Tom, excuse me, you need your people on the scene.”

“Thank you. I know that. In fact, two people from this office will be on that helicopter. You, Detective Corey, are off this case, and so is Kate. Return immediately. Meanwhile, Headquarters is on hold, and I don’t have the time or patience to-”

“Neither do I. Let me give this to you straight, Tom. Number one, Harry Muller was my friend. Two, you wanted my ass on that assignment, and I could now be lying in that morgue instead of him. Three, I think he was murdered, and four, if you pull me off this case, I’m going to make a stink that they’ll smell in the Justice Department.”

“Are you threatening me with something?”

“Yes. Five, you sent that man into a fortified camp with no clue about what was there-hell, I just left this place, and a Delta Team couldn’t penetrate it, and you either knew that or should have known it. Six, Harry Muller went in there carrying his credentials and no plausible cover story. How long have you been doing this for a living?”

He was really hot and yelled, “Let me tell you something-”

“No, let me tell you something, Einstein. You totally fucked up. But you know what? I’ll go to bat for you when the shit hits the fan. Why? Because I like you? No, because you are right now going to tell me to stay here and stay on the case. If you don’t, my next stop after 26 Fed will be Washington. You understand?”

It took him about four seconds to understand, and he said, “You make a compelling argument for your continued work on the case. But so help me God, Corey, if you-”

“You were doing fine until ‘so help me God.’ Quit while you’re even.”

“I will get even.”

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get sent to Wichita.” I said, “I’ll let you and Kate have the last word.”

Kate was really shaken up and she said to Walsh, “I have to agree with John that Harry’s assignment was not well thought out, and not well handled.” She added, “That could have been my husband lying in the morgue.”

Walsh didn’t respond to that and said instead, “I need to speak to Headquarters. Anything further?”

Kate said, “No.”

He said, “Get over to the state police in Ray Brook, and call me from there.”

He hung up, and we both sat in silence for a while on the side of the road. I could hear birds in the woods, and the sound of the engine idling.

Finally, Kate said, “I was afraid we’d get that news.”

I didn’t reply, lost in my own thoughts about Harry Muller, who’d sat across from me for about three years; two former cops, working as strangers in a strange land called 26 Federal Plaza. Body shipped back to New York City for an autopsy, funeral home Thursday and Friday, and Mass and burial on Saturday.

Kate took my hand and said, “I just can’t believe this…”

For months after 9/11, I attended wakes, funerals, Masses, and memorial services, day and night, sometimes three in a day. Everyone I knew was on this insane, soul-numbing schedule, and as the weeks went by, I’d run into the same people at funeral homes, churches, synagogues, and cemeteries, and we’d all just look at one another with eyes that were beyond expression; the shock and trauma were fresh, but the funerals started to blur into one another, and the only difference was the grief-stricken family who never looked the same as the last grief-stricken family, and then the widows and kids would show up at some other cop’s funeral to pay their respects, and they became part of the crowd of mourners. It was a gut-wrenching and surreal time, black months, with black caskets and black shrouds, and black mourning bands on shiny badges, and black mornings after a night of too much drinking.

I can still remember the shrill of the bagpipe bands, the final salute, and the casket… more often than not containing not much more than a body part… being lowered into the grave.

Kate said, “John, let me drive.”

Harry and I had gone to some of the funerals together, and I recalled that at Dom Fanelli’s funeral Mass, out on the steps of the church, Harry had said to me, “When a cop thinks about getting killed on the job, he thinks about some dumb dirtbag who’s having a lucky day. Who would’ve thought something like this could happen right here?”

Kate asked, “John? Are you all right?”

I remembered, too, Dom’s mother, Marion Fanelli, conducting herself with great dignity, almost ignored in the crowd as everyone focused on Dom’s wife and kids, and Harry said to me, “Let’s go talk to her. She’s alone.”

And that reminded me that Harry’s mother was still alive, and I made a mental note to add her to the list of people who should be officially notified with a chaplain in attendance.

Kate had gotten out of the car and opened my door. She took my arm and said, “I’m driving.”

I got out and we changed places.

Kate put the car in gear, and we continued on in silence.

The sky above was still light, but the road was in deep shadow, and the forest on either side was black. Now and then, I could see glassy eyes shining in the dark woods, or a small animal scurrying across the road. Around a bend, a deer was trapped in our headlights, and he stood there, half petrified and half shaking in fear before bolting into the woods.

Kate said, “We should be at the state police headquarters in about an hour.”

After ten minutes, I said, “Harry’s assignment made no sense.”

“John, don’t think about it.”

“He could have seen and photographed cars on this road. One way in, one way out. He didn’t have to go onto the property.”

“Please don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“That’s why I have to think about it.”

She glanced at me and asked, “Do you really think it was Bain Madox?”

“The circumstantial evidence, and my instincts, say yes, but I need more than that before I kill him.”

We came to Route 56, which went south, back toward Saranac Lake and the state police headquarters in Ray Brook, or north toward Potsdam and the morgue where Harry should have arrived by now.