| |
Maple and Stickman moved quickly – and unobtrusively – to establish a routine intended to appear normal but was more than it seemed. The electricity was turned on in Simms’ name, backed up by a cash deposit. Both purchased fishing licenses, and they frequented streams and small lakes in the area. They fished from the relative safety of shore, not wanting their options limited by a slow-moving boat. They reduced the need to frequent bait shops by using artificial lures, not caring whether they caught fewer fish. If the Banks watched their comings and goings, they saw the men carrying in groceries, though it is doubtful they noticed the purchases came from many different stores. They bought hand weights and other equipment and exercised vigorously. Both, but especially Stickman, ran frequently in the rugged hills behind their rental.
Important precautions were taken. They parked their car on the side of the trailer away from the house – presumably for shade but when backed in, for privacy when accessing the back seat. They cut a path through the prickly undergrowth at the edge of the grove, then fashioned a gate from live multiflora rose that when closed was a prickly obstacle for anyone following. Several yards into the woods they stowed a small emergency cache of weapons, food and water in a water-repellent canvas bag. Stickman found two elevated locations – one on a turnout from a paved road, the other on a gravel county road – where from more than a mile away they could sweep the Banks’ property with binoculars.
For a time, as an extra precaution, they took turns slipping out to sit in the chill of late winter nights and listen for tell-tale sounds of unwanted visitors. Maple enjoyed those periods of solitude, entertained by calls of night predators and the warblers’ early morning songs. Not so much Stickman, who was committed to monitoring television and police radio.
The media gradually mixed more stories into what had become the drumbeat of an angry nation. Reports of checkpoints and disrupted air, rail and bus travel commanded less attention. Sightings of two callous killers continued to pepper law enforcement, but with less frequency or velocity. While coverage of the embassy attack slowly abated, the fact it basically did not change told its own story: Thousands upon thousands of law officers still were flailing aimlessly, having failed to find even a cold trail. They were stuck, unable to get beyond vague descriptions of two men who looked like everyone’s neighbor or pod mate.