I drove the county highway until it left the forest and revealed the long, flat field. The sight of the silica sand mine still jolted me. Something had changed, though; I felt it before I knew it. The pyramids of topsoil and shifting yellow sand were still there. My car kicked up the particles, trailing clouds behind it as I drove just as before. Yet there was no shrieking of heavy machinery. There was no noise at all except for the steady hum of the Camry.
I followed the road past the Franson farm. Bridgette and Mark were sitting on their stoop drinking from travel mugs as I passed. A couple more turns and I was heading toward a cluster of offices and porta-potties. Unlike the gash in the earth, the offices looked temporary.
I parked next to a Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor with the words ARONA POLICE DEPARTMENT painted on the door. Heads turned toward me as if they were waiting for something and hoping I was it. Most of them turned away when I emerged from the Camry.
Chief Maureen McMahan approached. Skip Zetzman and Doug Pinter trailed behind.
“What are you doing here, Taylor?” the chief asked.
“What’s going on?”
“Answer me.”
“I’m here to see Esther Tibbits. I heard she was out here.”
Along with McMahan, Zetzman, and Pinter, there were at least twenty men milling around the cluster of buildings. They reminded me of baseball fans during a rain delay wondering if the game would resume. Leaning against the wall of one of the offices, I found Esther. She was wearing a black skirt and a white shirt, both tinged with yellow. The men were showing a great deal of interest in her, yet she didn’t seem interested in them.
“Why do you want to speak to Esther?” Zetzman asked.
“It’s a personal matter.” I waved at the site. “What happened?”
Heads turned. I followed their gaze to what used to be a high-volume storage silo but was now a heap of twisted scrap metal that looked as if it had been dropped there from outer space. Next to it was a pile of charred steel resting on melted rubber that used to be a tractor and frack-sand trailer. Smoke lingered close to the ground. Blackened sand was everywhere.
“My, my, my, what a mess,” I said.
“I got the call ninety minutes ago,” the chief said.
“Then where is everybody?”
“The Kamin Independent Citizens Against Silica Sand cannot condone the destruction of private property,” Pinter said. “However, given the urgency of the problem, the destructive nature of fracking and silica sand mining, we feel—”
“David, will you kindly shut up?” the chief said.
Zetzman held up his reporter’s notebook.
“I got it, Pinter,” he said. “I got it.”
I took the chief’s arm and led her away. Zetzman and Pinter attempted to follow, but I gave them a look that froze them in their tracks. As soon as we were safe from eavesdroppers, I leaned in.
“Dammit, Chief, this is no way to protect the integrity of a crime scene,” I said.
“No one has gone near the silo and truck. I’ve seen to that.”
“The crime scene isn’t just the truck. It’s everything. It’s everywhere. You let the media hang around? Some environmental extremist who should actually be a suspect?”
“I’ve known David for years. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“A silo isn’t a fly. Where’s the county sheriff? Where’s the DCI?”
“I never called them. This is my jurisdiction.”
“Maureen, this isn’t a simple case of vandalism. Given the nature of this site—hell, even Doug Pinter knows eco-terrorism when he sees it. Which the federal government translates into domestic terrorism—”
“Don’t you think I know that? I called the Feds.”
“Who specifically? Homeland Security? The FBI?”
“Since I’m pretty sure it was a bomb that destroyed the equipment, I called the ATF.”
* * *
I watched the white van approach, a yellow cloud trailing behind it. The vehicle followed the same path I had used and parked next to my Camry. Special Agent Rachel Colgin alighted from the passenger side, and the tech I had met earlier slipped past the driver’s door. A third agent I had not seen before joined them. The two men halted and gazed at the scene as if they thought it was amusing. Colgin kept walking toward the chief. I stepped away from Maureen.
“You,” Colgin said.
“Ma’am?” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“Umm…”
“Stick around.”
“Yes, ma’am. Happy to assist the federal government in any way I can.”
Colgin kept walking until she reached the chief. Without hesitation, she draped an arm around the older woman’s shoulder and squired her toward the bomb site. Halfway there, they stopped. Colgin left her arm around the chief’s shoulder and even gave it an encouraging hug as she spoke. I couldn’t see the chief’s face, but I knew something about body language, and hers was not confident. Finally Colgin removed her arm, turned, and walked away. The chief did not move, however, and Colgin halted. She walked backward until she was parallel to the chief. She said something. I don’t know what, yet it was enough to cause the chief to turn and walk ever so briskly to her car and speak rapidly into the radio. Fifteen minutes later, an army of Kamin County sheriff’s deputies descended on the place. It wasn’t long before agents from the Wisconsin Division of Criminal Investigation joined them.
Meanwhile, Esther Tibbits continued to lean against the wall of the temporary office, looking as if she wished she were somewhere else.
“May I ask a few questions?” I said.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Don’t be so sure. I just left your uncle.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him what you and your brother wouldn’t.”
“About?”
“About Julie.”
“Are you sure he didn’t already know?”
“Whatever that means.”
Esther went to the office door, opened it, and stepped inside. I followed. She closed the door behind us and locked it.
“I didn’t recognize Julie when she came to the conference room in the Barrington building,” Esther said. “That’s the truth. I saw her only for a second, and I thought, Joel Barrington is doing a pretty girl, but that’s all I thought. I didn’t know it was Julie until you showed me the pic on your smartphone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Did you really speak to Uncle Curtis?”
“Yes. A couple hours ago in his trailer. You can call him.”
I was relieved when she didn’t. Instead, Esther said, “What did he say?”
“He was very upset about Julie’s murder.”
“But what did he say?”
“He told me about Menominee, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then you know that Julie betrayed the cause. That she ran out on the Patriots, on her father. She was just as guilty of the crime as he was. If it was a crime. More so because it was her idea.”
“Blowing up the Welcome Center with a liquid explosive was her idea?”
“What did Uncle Curtis tell you?”
“He said that Julie bought the anhydrous hydrazine and ammonium nitrate.”
“So you know, then.”
“Know what?”
“That Jules was responsible.”
“Your uncle said he did it.”
“No, it was all her. She built the bomb and planted it. Don’t you think she didn’t. She ran away because she knew the Feds would come a-knockin’. Well, they came and they went and nothing happened. But we all knew if they ever caught up with Jules, she’d rat us out in a heartbeat. Turn government informant and get a cushy life in the Witness Security Program while the rest of us went to federal prison.”
“So she had to die.”
“That’s how the Patriots looked at it.”
Esther smirked then.
“Doesn’t mean we killed her, though,” she said. “After you left the office, I called my brother. Neither Eric nor the rest of the Patriots knew anything about Julie. No one knew she was in the Cities. No one knew she had changed her name to Emily.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Eric came down to make sure.”
“Eric, but not your uncle.”
“The Patriots operate on a need-to-know basis like any other paramilitary organization.”
“Who’s the one who didn’t need to know? You or Curtis?”
“I know what you’re asking, and—I’m speaking hypothetically now—it’s possible he had it done without telling us because he didn’t know how we’d take it, executing our own blood.”
“How did you take it?”
Esther smirked some more.
“I don’t know if Jules was killed by the Patriots. You never heard me say that any of us had anything to do with it. We’re just talking here.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m saying, if the Patriots did it or if someone else killed Jules for their own reasons, the bitch had it coming. There’s no crime in saying that, is there?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“If someone else did kill Julie for his own reasons, let’s just say me and Eric were protecting my uncle from some unnecessary grief by keeping it to ourselves and let it go at that.”
“You’re talking about your own cousin.”
“I’m talking about a traitor.”
“Are you really this cynical, Esther? Are you really this tough?”
“Tough enough to be my uncle’s whore. Do you think Todd Franson would have hired me if I didn’t put out? Do you think I’d be working for those shits at U.S. Sand if I didn’t get down on my knees every now and again? I do what I have to for the cause. I do what’s necessary to help protect this country from its enemies both foreign and domestic.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Fuck you.”
“Just between you and me and the empty room, did you blow up that silo out there? Is that why you stayed in Arona instead of going back to the Cities with Frick and Frack?”
“I didn’t blow up anything. You believe what you want, though. You can’t prove shit.”
* * *
I exited the office and hung around like any other innocent bystander. By now the investigation was humming along. Yellow crime scene tape was everywhere. Local TV cameras took video from behind the yellow tape. Pinter tried to attract their attention and actually succeeded. Guys crawled over the silo and truck with magnifying glasses and tweezers. Someone had even set up a table with coffee and donuts. A man wearing a flannel shirt kept asking Special Agent Colgin when his crew could get back to work, and she kept saying, “I’ll let you know.” After a while Colgin waved me over. Chief McMahan was standing near enough to hear our conversation.
“What’s your name?” Colgin asked.
“Holland Taylor.”
“What the hell kind of name is Holland for a guy?”
“My mother wanted a daughter.”
“I can imagine her disappointment. What are you doing here?”
“I’m a private investigator working a case that has nothing to do with the bombing.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Let me see some ID.”
I showed it to her. At the same time, Colgin slowly nudged me away until the chief couldn’t hear us.
“That woman,” Colgin said. “Where the hell did she get her badge? A box of Cracker Jack?”
“I was told that she slept her way to the top.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I like her, though.”
“You like too many people.”
“Actually, I’ve been accused of the exact opposite.”
“My guys gave me a preliminary on the IED. Anhydrous hydrazine mixed with ammonium nitrate in a glass jar detonated by a cell phone. Sound familiar?”
“Vaguely.”
“Makes you wonder where Curtis Blevins was when the bomb was planted, doesn’t it?”
“We know he wasn’t at the compound; otherwise I wouldn’t have had to wait for so long. By the way, why aren’t you in Marquette?”
“I was headed that way until this call turned me around. But you know what? I don’t actually need to go to Marquette to get a warrant. They have all these wonderful newfangled inventions now. Email, Skype, the telephone.”
“When you start building your case, I recommend that you interview Esther Tibbits.”
“Blevins’s niece?”
“She’s a true believer. Give her an audience and she’ll talk her head off.”
“Good to know.”
“She claims that it was Julie who planted the bomb in Menominee.”
“Does she?”
“Yep.”
“Does she also say that Blevins was innocent?”
“No, she doesn’t say that.”
“Okay, then.”
“I’ll be getting out of your way now. I’m sure my guy will be contacting you soon. In the meantime, good luck.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No, no, no. I want you to hang around for a while, at least until tomorrow.”
“Forget it. I’ve had enough of small-town American values.”
“What about your case?”
“I have more than I need to help get Mrs. Barrington off.”
“Seriously. Stay.”
“Seriously, I’m outta here.”
“C’mon, Taylor. Don’t make me get all large and emphatic.”
“I don’t know what more I can do for you that I haven’t already done.”
“You never know what tomorrow might bring. The sun might even come out.”
“Is that an allusion to the musical Annie?”
“Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun.”
“I like a girl who likes her job.”
“So, you’ll stick around?”
“Since you asked so sweetly.”
* * *
By then, Richard Kaufman and Allen Palo had arrived. I figured they must have broken every existing traffic law to get there from the Cities on such short notice. They approached Chief McMahan and demanded action in voices loud enough to be heard by the media standing behind the tape.
“This is an unforgivable act of domestic terrorism,” they said.
Chief McMahan agreed.
Colgin drifted toward them, probably to let them know that she was in charge. I followed because I had nothing better to do.
“We demand a thorough investigation,” Kaufman said.
“You’ll get it,” McMahan said. “In the meantime, I have some questions for you.”
“What questions?” Palo asked.
“I have been conducting my own investigation into illegal activities involving U.S. Sand…”
Kaufman and Palo glanced at each other as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
“If you prefer that we speak in my office…,” McMahan continued.
“We have nothing to say,” Palo said.
“I have Bob Barcott’s emails. The ones where you and he discuss how you want him to retaliate against Arona citizens who oppose the sand mines. I especially like the one where you tell him to write a scathing letter to the nursing home that you helped finance, demanding that it fire a nurse who complained about a sand mine near her property. What was it you wanted Barcott to tell her boss? That the nurse used her work email to file the complaint, which brought the integrity of the nursing home’s entire staff into question, especially management?”
“We have nothing to say,” Palo repeated.
“I’ll quote you when I send all my findings to the county attorney.”
Kaufman and Palo glanced at each other some more.
“If you think some rinky-dink small town cop—” Kaufman said.
“Chief. I’m chief of police.”
“What do you think that will get you?” Palo asked. “Hmm? This, this bombing”—he waved at the bomb site—“makes us look like the victims. We are the victims, too. That’s what ninety percent of the media reports are going to say, and the rest—no one cares about the rest. As for this paltry investigation of yours, how many people did you interview. Two? Three?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“I don’t care if it’s a hundred and twenty-seven. Do you know what’s going to happen at the end of it all? Allen and I will be suspended for three days and given mandatory ethics training. At least that’s what the company will announce to the media. Afterward, we’ll be sent somewhere else to do the exact same job that we’re doing here. You opposers”—he spoke the word as if it were an obscenity. “Frac sand is never going away. Never. Not as long as there’s a nickel to be made from it. Get used to the idea. Best you can do, the best you’ll ever do, is shut us down for an hour.”
“Long enough to take a shower and get the shit out of my hair. This is a crime scene. Leave immediately.”
“Who do you think—”
Chief McMahan stepped backward and tilted her head at Rachel.
“Special Agent Colgin,” she said.
Rachel stepped between the chief and the boys. She held up her ID for them to see.
“Move along, gentlemen,” she said.
Kaufman and Palo glanced at each other again. They seemed to do a lot of that. They smirked and shrugged and turned and left.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Telling them what you’re going to do before you do it…”
“You too, Taylor,” the chief said. “Beat it.”
“Maureen…”
“You heard the woman,” Colgin told me.
I bowed my head and spoke as respectfully as possible.
“Chief McMahan,” I said.
* * *
It took me some time to maneuver my Camry out of the now-crowded parking lot. I followed the county road toward the Franson farmhouse. Bridgette and Mark were still sitting on their stoop drinking from travel mugs. I slowed to a stop and powered down my window.
“Good evening,” I said.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bridgette said. “The way the setting sun reflects off all that golden sand.”
“Peaceful, too,” Mark added. “Quiet. You can hear the birds calling to each other.”
“Wooo, wooo,” Bridgette said.
The two of them giggled just the way they had when I caught them fooling around in their backyard.
I might have told them that if Kaufman and Palo had their way, the mine would be back to full operation before sunrise, except I guessed they already knew that. Instead, I wished them a good night and drove back toward the Everheart Resort, Restaurant, and Bar.