The Big Thaw Part 28

"Sounds true," I said. "You know what they say about 'doing it for the movement.' Just means you don't have to pay the help."

Fascinating. Unfortunately, it didn't change a thing as far as murder and bank burglary were concerned. Ideology aside, we still had the same problems going on.

"Thanks, George," I said. "A lot." He'd taken a large risk to tell me that. I just wished it had been something I could have used to stop the "five banks" stuff, or to have prevented the deaths of the Colson brothers. But I did file it away, and very carefully, too.

Between the office and home, a distance of six blocks, I decided to go take a peek at the Grossman place.

It was about eight miles out. Dispatch thought I was going home. If anything happened, I didn't want any sort of mix-up.

"Comm, Three, on INFO?"

"Three," the dispatcher crackled back on the INFO channel, where she could hear me, but other cars couldn't.

"Comm, I'll be in the car in the central part of the county for a while."

"Ten-four, Three, ten-six at 2044." Just in case.

Every limestone rock quarry has two "roads" that lead to it. The main one, and the one that everybody sees is the ground level entrance the trucks use. But the second one runs to the top of the quarry, and is used by workers who want to drill and blast. They aren't used all that often, and are sometimes very difficult to find. This particular one had come to my attention during a raid on a beer party more than ten years back. It entered the quarry area from nearly a quarter of a mile back down the road, and twisted through a stand of trees on it's way to the top of the quarry hill. No snow plow would ever go here, but since n.o.body else had, either, it wasn't particularly slippery. Road ice usually comes from traffic on snow, compressing it, and making the ice. Snow, if you're careful, isn't all that slippery. Especially in below zero temperatures. I crept up the back slope at about five miles per hour, lights off. It took me a good five minutes, but at the top I was rewarded with a pa.s.sable view of Grossman's house, and the broad valley leading to the Borglan farm.

I picked up my binoculars, and cranked down my side window. Cold, but much clearer than looking through the gla.s.s. The vibrations of the engine prevented me from resting my arm on the window edge, but I needed that heater on. I looked over the area. Lights, and two pickup trucks in the yard. Unremarkable.

I put the binoculars down, and waited about five minutes. I looked around my perch, able to see more since I was beginning to dark adapt. Trees. Rocks jutting up out of the snow along the edge of the man-made bluff, to keep trucks from slipping over the edge. I looked to be about 50 or 60 feet above the quarry floor. The more I looked about, the more it appeared that I might not have enough room to turn my car around on top of the quarry. s.h.i.+t. Was I going to have to back down?

I decided to give it a while longer. If I crunched the car up backing down that access road, I wanted to have something to show for it.

My radio crackled to life. "Comm, Nation County Cars, radio check..."

Every hour, on the hour, after 9 P.M., they checked. The patrol units gave their current location as a response. On the OPS channel, where all ears could hear them. When she called my number, I responded with a simple "Three, ten-four ..." on Info. The other cars couldn't hear me, but they would know I was still out.

I looked at the house again. Nothing. Now, that was weird. I mean, it wasn't that big a house, and with two pickups in the yard, that meant that they had company. It was likely that they would all be on the ground floor, with the possible exception of little Carrie. But there was no movement, and most of the lights were on in the kitchen, which I could see pretty clearly.

I put the binoculars down again, and sat. What were they doing? Watching TV as a group? I rolled up my window. If I didn't, I was going to start to s.h.i.+ver, and s.h.i.+vering makes it impossible to use binoculars.

I unrolled the window after a few minutes, and thought I heard a popping sound. I switched off the ignition, and in the silence, could hear a roaring that seemed to be coming from near the farm.

Suddenly, two farm tractors emerged from Grossman's backyard, and began heading up the valley toward Borglan's. Neither had their headlights on, and both seemed to be pulling something. In the dark it was very hard to tell, but it looked like they each had a large, flat object behind them. About the size of a barn door, but it looked like they had stuff piled on top. Like hay bales.

I was surprised. No doubt. I was even more surprised about a minute later, when they both turned as a group, lined up side by side, and began to slowly traverse the valley about a quarter mile above the house. As I watched, they went about 100 yards, turned, and went back. What the h.e.l.l?

They did the whole routine again. And again. And I became aware that they were slowly working their way back to the Grossmans', combing the field as they went. It took quite a while, but when they finally got back to Grossman's yard, they both turned around and went right back up to where they'd started the back and forth trips. Were they looking for something?

Then, they turned again, and this time made about fifty trips up and down the valley. Not moving over ten miles per hour.

Then it occurred to me that the sons of b.i.t.c.hes were obliterating all the snowmobile tracks between Grossman's and Borglan's. That had to be it. And that meant that we had missed something really important in those tracks. d.a.m.n.

It took them about an hour and a half. Then, they returned to Grossman's, packed up their sleds, and left. Just like that. Two minutes after they had gone, everything looked absolutely normal.

I finally got turned around, and got back down to the road. I turned south, to avoid Grossman's place.

I saw headlights in front of me, approaching. They were about half a mile off. c.r.a.p. I was about to be discovered by a neighbor. Although theoretically unmarked, my car was pretty easily recognizable as a cop car without decals or top lights.

Nothing for it but to get moving, and pretend I was just pa.s.sing by. Whoever I met would just a.s.sume I'd been traveling all along. I hoped.

We met when I was about half a mile south of Grossman's drive. Red pickup, towing a snowmobile trailer with two snowmobiles on it. BHK 234. Minnesota. Red pickup.

I waited until it was out of sight in the rearview mirror, then spun around and followed it north. I had to know.

It turned into Grossman's drive. d.a.m.n. I hastily tore off my glove, and reached inside my vest for a pen. Guiding the car with my knee under the steering wheel, I hastily scribbled the plate on the back of my hand. d.a.m.n. A late arrival?

A few minutes later, I called dispatch. "Comm, Three, I'll be ten-forty-two. Mileage 31566." That meant I was done with my s.h.i.+ft, and the mileage was to make sure I wasn't using the car to vacation in Florida. Department rules. I'd give the mileage again when I went to work. Of course, having written it on my log, I could easily fake it. But, then, most county rules were like that.

As soon as I got to the house, I phoned Dispatch, and ran that plate. "Yeah, it's Houseman. Could you give me a twenty-eight and twenty-nine on Minnesota Pa.s.senger Boy Henry King two three four, run the twenty-seven, get a twenty-nine and Triple I on that." The registration came back to Timothy Frederick Olson, twenty-two, of Brainerd, Minnesota. No wants. No warrants. The criminal history would come back a little later.

"Would you just leave all of it in my box? I'll pick it up in the morning."

"Got it. Sleep tight."

"Thanks." Well, that had likely accomplished very little. They used to tell me that you couldn't ever have too much information. Maybe so. But you sure could have too much to process in the allotted time.

Twenty-one.

Sat.u.r.day, January 17, 1998, 0714 I'd made it out of bed at 0702. Nearly a record. After a quick shower, I'd pulled on sweatpants and a s.h.i.+rt, and made a pot of fresh coffee. The Weather Channel gave me a new shot of my blue and pink worm, coiling through North America. The upward b.u.mp was edging closer and closer. Ah, warmth was on the way. Soon.

Sue didn't flinch when I got up. Still mad about Madison, I guess. I promised myself that I'd make it up to her somehow, but then thoughts of the "five banks" took over. I decided to go see Hester again and get her thoughts before hitting the office. I called George and he agreed to come with me. He must be as addicted to the buffet as I am.

The three of us sat looking out at the red-neon-framed Beau Beau, glittering in the clear morning and reflecting on the small patch of liquid water that surrounded her. The Mississippi, except where the slight heat from the Beau's Beau's pumps and disturbed water flow kept it from freezing, was covered with a thick coat of ice. Hester told us that she'd seen cars carrying ice fishermen on it as late as yesterday. It was warming a bit, though. I would hesitate to drive on the stuff myself, now. pumps and disturbed water flow kept it from freezing, was covered with a thick coat of ice. Hester told us that she'd seen cars carrying ice fishermen on it as late as yesterday. It was warming a bit, though. I would hesitate to drive on the stuff myself, now.

"So," said Hester, wistfully, "things looking up?"

We brought her up-to-date on the interviews, and the "five banks" business.

"Five?"

"Yeah, five. Why five? We don't have the foggiest."

"Does Gabe have access to a good safe man?" asked Hester.

"Not that we're aware of," said George. "But with his training in explosives, he probably could do it very well himself."

"Daylight," said Hester. "I'll bet on daylight. He can't be in five places at once, and explosives require a high level of competence."

"That's true." We'd spent the better part of the afternoon on it, and Hester had just zipped in with an excellent point we'd overlooked. Another reason I liked her so much.

"How much cash you got floating on the old Beau Beau out there?" out there?"

"Oh, maybe thirty to fifty thousand at any given time. They use some tokens, coins, and cash, but it's hauled to the banks very regularly ..." She grinned. "You thinking piracy?"

"Well, I was..."

"They keep the cash on hand to a minimum, just for that reason." She suddenly got very serious. "They might have a lot more than that in the local bank," she said. "Especially on a weekend ..."

"'Bank'?" It was George's turn to look concerned. "We considered this one, but felt that the cash flow would be small. You know. The workers here wouldn't get that much cash on a payday ..."

"They take it off the boat," said Hester. "It's gotta go somewhere. I think I heard they distribute it between several banks, but I'm not really up on this operation yet. Want me to check?"

"I'll check," said George.

"So," said Hester, "Super Agent Volont have the princ.i.p.als wired on this one?"

"Everybody but Gabe," I said, grinning. "He says he's lost him, and I think that's true."

"Even if it wasn't," said George, "I think he'd be a lot better off trying to take him out in the world, than he would be trying to arrest him wherever he's holed up." He shrugged. "I think we can be pretty sure that Gabe will find us."

I couldn't have agreed more. Gabriel would be able to not only hold off a small army, but I wasn't so sure he wouldn't take the offensive and break out. With lots of unnecessary bodies in his wake. The man was really good at that sort of thing, and I believed he had access to more dangerous tools than even the FBI did.

"So where's Volont?" asked Hester. "I would have thought he'd be with you two."

"Last we saw of him," I said, "I think he was off to meet one of his famous sources." I took a sip of coffee. "I wonder who they are, anyway?"

"Wouldn't it be funny" said Hester, "if he was calling a psychic?"

That made my day.

As we left, she said, "Hey, look on the bright side. At least you know who did the brothers in the shed. The big case is all over but the shouting."

"Yeah, and Art'll take care of that."

When I got back to the office, I met with Mike Connors. Since he'd been with the department for over fifteen years, he was pretty much in charge of the night s.h.i.+ft. He was also renowned for being able to keep his mouth shut.

I checked with him on the general stuff happening with the night s.h.i.+ft. Who or what was moving. Anything suspicious. Mike just shook his head.

"You might want to keep an eye on all the banks in the county..."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He'd been one of those tunnel rats in Vietnam. It took a whole h.e.l.l of a lot to get a rise out of him. Whether it was a case of the chicken or the egg being first, I couldn't tell you.

"We might have a problem there," I said. "There might be somebody scouting some of 'em. You see anything unusual ...?"

"Sure."

"But don't tell the other people on the s.h.i.+ft," I said. "Just you and me for now."

"Got it."

"Hey, by the way, do you know either Harvey or Linda Grossman?"

He smiled. "Linda. You should remember her, too."

"Me?" I grinned. "Sure I do, I just met her a couple of days ago."

"No, no. She was a Perrin. Married a fellow named Vosh.e.l.l before she got hitched to this Grossman guy. You remember now?"

Not at all.

"You remember Nola Stritch?"

Did I. She had been heavily involved with the whole Gabriel business back in '96.

"Linda's her sister."

"'Sister'? I didn't know she had a sister ..." I was dumbfounded.

"Yep. Well, half sister. Nola's maiden name was Jaekel. Divorce in the family. Little sister's maiden name was Perrin. Linda Perrin. Remember her? Charlie Perrin's kid. We got her twelve, thirteen years ago for beer."

It never occurred to me to question a beer ticket from a dozen years ago. He had that kind of memory.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," I said. "Be really aware around the banks. You remember the Gabriel dude who did all the s.h.i.+t at the courthouse?"

"Oh, yeah ..."

"He's back, and he's the one we think is going for the banks."

He got very serious, very quickly. "No s.h.i.+t?"

"No s.h.i.+t. Without any names, bring the night folks up to one hundred percent, okay? I think something's gonna happen between now and Monday."

"Yep. Who else knows about this?"

"Me, and Lamar. Sally, at least part of it. Two DCI. FBI, of course. Gabriel," I added, grinning.

"Right."

"And Mike? One more thing. I think it's about one hundred percent that Gabriel offed the Colson brothers. You can figure he's in a mood."

George came in with a look in his eye.

"Let's take a drive up to the Frieberg bank."

I drove. Less conspicuous that any U.S. government Ford. Even if George had drawn one of the better ones. Forest green as opposed to navy blue.

"This could be a good day," I said.

"Let me guess. You're thinking, 'Thirty minutes of Frieberg. Minimum of thirty minutes at the bank. Time for lunch. The pavilion of the General Beauregard General Beauregard. Buffet.'" He looked up from studying the photographs of the field. "Right?"