42

“GIVE ME THE BAD NEWS,” Arn said. He poured Ana Maria a cup of coffee before refilling his own and sat at the kitchen table. “Did Beth turn you down?”

“I haven’t felt this exhausted since I rebuilt two motors in one weekend.” She wrapped her hand around her coffee mug. “I thought I’d never get her to open up even a little. She finally agreed to talk with me in person. So you’re right—I need to sweet talk DeAngelo into sending me up to Seattle.”

“You can do it if you convince him Pudgy’s whereabouts may be the key to solving these veteran deaths.”

“I’m still not convinced myself Pudgy’s involved, but I’m willing to talk with her. If DeAngelo springs for the plane ticket.” She took a chocolate chip cookie Danny made that morning and broke off a piece. “What did Wagner say?”

Arn eyed the cookie and thought he’d better hold off. Until he reasoned he had burned his chance with Sam anyway, so it meant little what his shape is, and he grabbed one. “Sam had appointments scheduled all day in Sheridan. Wagner’s going to verify she actually made them, and that Winger was in Scottsbluff for training.”

“He could have easily slashed my tires and still make it to Scottsbluff. It’s not that far away.”

“I liked it better when you figured Jonah was your mad slasher.”

Arn jumped when the alarm beeped, and Danny came in the house. The beeping continued and Arn imagined Danny fumbling to rearm the system. The noise finally stopped, and Danny walked into the kitchen, trailed by an Indian man who had to turn sideways to fit through the doorway. Danny stopped and put his hand on his thin hips. “So condemn me because I don’t do technology.”

“It’s not your problems with our new alarm system.” Arn looked past Danny to the man towering over him. “Who’s your… large friend?”

“Chauncy Big Eagle,” Danny said. “But everyone always called him Bulldog ’cause once he got onto something he never let go until the job was done.”

Arn looked at Bulldog’s massive forearms covered with jailhouse tats inked by some prison artist with less than ideal skills. Colors ran together, as did the two teardrops tattooed on Bulldog’s left cheek beside his eye. Spiderwebs adorned both elbows, and the wristwatch tattooed on his wrist had no hands.

“Don’t just stand there,” Danny said as he craned his neck up. “Shake hands with Arn.”

“But you said he’s a cop.”

“Retired,” Danny said. “But he’s a good guy. Now shake.”

Bulldog hesitated a moment before sticking out his hand missing the little finger. Arn shook it, noting A. C. A. B. tattooed on the fingers. “All Cops Are Bastards,” Arn said. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

Bulldog’s grin showed only four teeth left in his uppers. “I like to think it stands for Always Carry A Bible.”

“Do you have a bible on you?”

Bulldog’s grin faded. “Why the hell would I carry one?”

“Let’s talk out back,” Danny said quickly and ushered Bulldog out the back door.

Ana Maria let out a long breath. “Now that man’s scary.”

“He ought to be if I read his prison tats right. The spider web shows he was in stir for a long time, and the two teardrops means he killed two men in prison.”

“Then why’s he out of jail?”

Arn shrugged. “Like Doc Henry, Bulldog probably gamed the system.”

Danny came back into the kitchen and went to the freezer as if nothing happened.

“You’re missing a friend,” Arn said.

“Bulldog,” Danny said as he kept his back to Arn, “don’t like certain… company. No offense.”

“Danny, turn around for a minute.”

When Danny faced Arn, he asked, “Did Bulldog just get out of prison?”

“Naw,” Danny answered. “He’s been out of the state lockup in South Dakota for nearly a year. Been living on Rosebud Reservation doing odd jobs.”

“Odd jobs? That include enforcing someone’s will upon others?

Danny feigned hurt. “Why do you think that? Bulldog’s just a big… pussycat.”

“I say that because he had an American Indian Movement tat on one forearm.”

“So, a few of my old A.I.M. buddies are still kicking.”

“And they just drop in unexpectedly?”

Danny turned back to the sink and began unwrapping the frozen hamburger. “Bulldog dropped in for a visit. You know, reminiscence.”

“Your reminiscences wouldn’t include Doc Henry by any chance?”

“Of course not,” Danny said.

Ana Maria stood and walked to the sink. “Don’t tell me you sent for him to hurt Doc. As much as I despise the man, I don’t want to see you get involved.”

Danny smiled. “Who, me? “The only thing I did was recommend Mimi’s Restaurant if Bulldog wanted a nice steak.”

—

That night as Ana Maria’s shower was running and Danny’s snoring echoed from down the hallway from the sewing room, Arn looked through his wallet until he found Ethan Ames’ business card. “Call any time you need to talk,” he had told Arn that first day. “All my other clients do.”

Ethan picked up on the third ring and breathed heavily into the phone. When Arn identified himself, Ethan said, “let me grab a towel and some water.”

“Is this a bad time?” Arn asked.

“Not really. I just came back from a three-mile jog and a little out of breath. Not as young as I used to be and all that.”

“Running at night?”

“Less traffic here in Rapid City,” Ethan said and Arn heard water running on the other end. “Back,” Ethan said. “What do you need, Mr. Anderson?”

Arn had thought long if he should even talk with Ethan about Pudgy. Arn had nothing at all to connect him to the VA deaths other than what Sheriff Ridley told him, and Pudgy’s father who hated all things officer. And unlike the others on Arn’s suspect list on the white wall, Pudgy wasn’t an employee of the VA. Unless, Arn thought, Pudgy was an employee. Somewhere in the government system. But at this point, Arn didn’t even have a name. Arn didn’t even know if the man was still alive. “One of the people I want to talk about is a kid… he’s a grown man now if he’s alive, named Pudgy.”

“Pudgy who?”

“I don’t know yet,” Arn said. “He lived in Custer with his father, Bo Randall, but he enlisted under another name apparently as there’s no record of him being in the Army. But I found witnesses who saw him at the time of his father’s funeral wearing an Army Ranger uniform.”

“What do you want from me?” Ethan asked, his voice coming in muted gasps as he fought to catch his breath. “And before you ask, I can tell you I’ve never treated a soldier named Pudgy Randall. Or anyone named Pudgy. Or Randall for that matter.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Arn said. “One of the leads Ana Maria and I were working was Bo’s divorced wife, Beth Randall, though she’s going by another name now.”

“Have you found her?”

“We have,” Arn said. “Ana Maria’s going to fly to… Washington state to interview her about her son.”

“And you think this woman is Pudgy’s mother?”

“Almost positive,” Arn said. “What I need to know is what should Ana Maria be asking Beth about Pudgy that might help us identify him?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Sorry, had to grab another water. Tell me what you know about this Pudgy Randall.”

Arn explained to Ethan that Pudgy’s lacked respect for law enforcement or anyone else, including his teachers and principle. He told Ethan that Pudgy had been raised by a psychotic father after Beth fled the marriage with the sister, a father who undoubtedly brainwashed his son into hating most everyone. Especially military officers. “Ana Maria is going to have one shot at her, as Beth is highly suspicious.”

“As she ought to be,” Ethan said, “after the way Bo treated her.”

Another pause. “Beth might not be able to be much help, given that the last time she saw her son was…”

“More than twenty-five years ago.”

“Let me think,” Ethan said. A long pause. “I would ask this Beth if there was anything to distinguish Pudgy physically. Maybe he was taller than most. Stockier as he might be with a name like Pudgy. Maybe the way he walked. His unique eye color. Anything that Pudgy couldn’t change in that amount of time.

“Then I would ask her what she remembers about the way Pudgy dealt with his father as opposed to dealing with her when it came time for discipline. The way in which a boy interacts with both parents tells us a lot and helps paint a psychological profile.”

Arn jotted that on his notepad and added, “Pudgy had few friends, according to his ex-girlfriend, Mary Ann Hester. She’s still living in Custer and actually remembers Pudgy well.”

Ethan dropped the phone and Arn heard the chink of a glass on a tabletop before he came back online. “If I understand you correctly, this girlfriend is still in South Dakota?”

“Living and working as a waitress,” Arn said. “The way she tells it, Pudgy had even more trouble associating with people after the mom left.”

“Abandonment,” Ethan said. “Your Pudgy kid felt he had been abandoned. Betrayed when mom left. That would undoubtedly shape his world view. But I still don’t quite grasp why you consider Pudgy a suspect.”

“Remember me telling you about Captain Sims’ murder in Sheridan?”

“How could I forget,” Ethan said, “the way you described it so… graphically.”

“And I recall you said it sounded like a crime of rage?”

“It did.”

“Rage against military officers,” Arn said. “Or, former military officers. And I thought back to when you told me serial killers are usually very intelligent. At least the ones that get away with their murders for any length of time. I believe it is a distinct possibility that Pudgy Randall killed Sims brutally and, later, evolved.”

“And you think this because Pudgy’s father was done wrong by officers? That is a bit of a stretch. But thinking back to other serial killers, they have gone on their killing sprees for less provocation than that. But you mentioned you think your suspect evolved?”

“If it is just one killer involved, I think he—or she—did evolve. Learned from their mistakes. Which is why I think it’s so difficult to identify them now—their method of killing is so… surgical. Clean.”

“Copy that,” Ethan said. “But I’m afraid I haven’t been much help. I’ll be happy to sit down with Ana Maria when she returns to go over what Beth Randall said to her. Maybe I can help establish a profile.”

“At least Beth may give her enough insight and information that Sgt. Wagner can run it through a database and we can finally ID Pudgy.”

“Good luck with that,” Ethan said. “And do me a major favor.”

“Sure,” Arn said, “I think I owe you after interrupting your cool-down time.”

“Let me do a forensic interview with Pudgy when you do find him. He sounds like a deliciously fascinating guy even if he might be a serial killer.”