part0020

M ac drove back to his apartment, mulling over what Katrina had told him. On the one hand, it seemed as if he had wasted his time and upset her for nothing. Tom had already said that Kelsey had framed Roland Hobb for embezzlement; Katrina had only confirmed it. Still, her story had been useful. If Kelsey had framed her husband, then no doubt he had framed others. And if Kelsey made a practice of framing people for his misdeeds, he must left evidence of his wronging somewhere.

One mistake. That was all Agent Cole needed. One mistake, one slip-up, to unravel the tapestry and pull down Kelsey.

Mac had a thought, reached for his prepaid cell phone, and remembered the radio jammer in his trunk. He drove a bit faster.

The green van still sat outside his apartment. Mac had the immense satisfaction of watching both Ron and Raul turn to stare at him in annoyed confusion. Evidently the bastards had indeed planted a GPS device on his car. He resisted the temptation to wave as he pulled into the parking lot. After collecting his cell phones and switching off the jammer, Mac walked up to his apartment.

“Hey,” said Claire, scowling at her laptop as he let himself in, “can you take look at my computer? The wireless just cut out.”

“It should be back up,” said Mac.

“What?” said Claire. She glanced back at the screen. “Wait…it is! How did you know that?”

“Psychic,” said Mac. Her expression turned thunderous, and he retreated into his room. He took off his gun, fished Agent Cole’s card out of his pocket, and made the call.

Cole picked up on the second ring. “Who is this?”

“Cormac Rogan,” said Mac. “I’m using a prepaid cell phone. Kelsey’s got some private goons sitting outside my apartment. They’ve probably figured out how to tap my regular calls by now.”

“Clever of you,” said Cole. “What do you want? Do you have something for me?”

“Did you know Roland Hobb’s conviction was a screw job?” said Mac.

Silence for a moment. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you stop it?” said Mac.

“I couldn’t,” said Cole. “For one thing, it was entirely the Milwaukee Police’s jurisdiction. Your friend Carey investigated the case, and for once he didn’t make a botch of it. Kelsey had some smart people fabricating the evidence. Carey managed to create an open-and-shut case. Hobb’s lawyer planned to appeal, and I hoped to become involved, but Hobb died before the process could begin.”

“The cancer,” said Mac. “He didn’t have any health insurance.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered, in any case,” said Cole. “That form of leukemia is resistant to all currently known treatments. The hospital actually treated him free of charge.”

“Really,” said Mac. Katrina hadn’t mentioned that.

“I spoke to his widow a few times,” said Cole. “She refused to tell me anything. Kelsey’s lawyers had managed to get her testimony thrown out, and she felt betrayed, wouldn’t trust anyone with a badge.”

“Can’t blame her for that,” said Mac.

“No,” said Cole. “At the time, I hoped to unearth evidence that Kelsey had bribed Carey, but we found nothing. If Captain Hobb had lived longer, Mrs. Hobb might have talked, and between the two of them that might have been enough to throw out the conviction. Unfortunately, it came to nothing.”

“Yeah,” said Mac, remembering the shaken, broken woman he had met. “Unfortunately. Look. If Kelsey tried to frame me, and did frame Roland Hobb, he must have pulled the same trick on someone else.”

“Why do you care?” said Cole.

Mac hesitated. “Harkin did a lot of Kelsey’s dirty work, right? I suppose that would include framing people. Maybe one of them had a grudge, decided to act on it.” He snapped his fingers. “Did Kelsey ever frame anyone in Pure Earth for anything?”

“He didn’t have to,” said Cole. “Walter and Pure Earth committed enough atrocities on their own. Besides, since Kelsey is funneling funds to Walter, however quietly, it’s unlikely someone from Pure Earth would have killed Harkin.”

“Damn,” muttered Mac. It had been such a neat theory.

“I told you before,” said Cole, “it’ll be nice if we can catch Harkin’s murderer, but right now I’m more focused on finding proof of a link between Kelsey and Walter. Harkin’s dead. He’s not coming back. But a lot more people might die if we can’t find proof to stop Pure Earth.”

“Yeah,” said Mac. “I know. I’ll give you a call if see anything.”

“Do that. And contact me immediately if you feel the least bit threatened.” Cole hung up.

Mac tossed the prepaid phone onto his bed. No sooner had he sat down at his computer than his main cell phone started ringing. It was from Tom. He waited until the ringing had stopped, then punched Tom’s number into the prepaid.

“Tom, it’s Mac,” said Mac. “Kelsey’s got a pair of hired snoops outside my apartment, and I’m afraid they’re listening in on my calls. I’m using a prepaid for now.”

“Smart,” said Tom. “You need. To hear this.”

“Where are you?” said Mac.

“I’m watching the warehouse. The one Walter owns. On the north side.”

“Are you insane?” said Mac. “These are the kind of people who like to set other people on fire.”

“Relax,” said Tom. “They won’t see me. Bunch of goddamn civilians. Goddamn hippie civilians, too. Bad guys, sure. But stupid.”

Mac supposed Tom had dealt with people equally as bad, and probably far smarter, while in Iraq. “Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Tom made a scornful noise.

“So what do I need to hear?” said Mac.

“That FBI guy was right. About one thing,” said Tom. “Fuel. Lots of fuel. Tanker trucks. Three of them. Since I’ve been watching.”

“Fuel trucks?” said Mac. He didn’t know how much a single tanker truck could hold, but three of them no doubt carried tens of thousands of gallons. That would make quite an explosion. “You sure it’s really fuel?”

“The back is plastered. With warning signs,” said Tom. “Definitely fuel, all right. I think they’re draining it into fifty-gallon drums.”

“How do you know that?” said Mac.

“A flatbed pulled into the dock. About an hour ago,” said Tom. “Covered in fifty-gallon drums.”

“Why?” said Mac.

“Maybe they want to set more than one thing on fire at once,” said Tom.

Mac rubbed his forehead. All that damn fuel. In one place, it would make a really big explosion. But scatter it around the city, set it all off at once, set a thousand little fires…Jerome Walter could make a lot of pig-humans burn for Pure Earth. A thousand Patricia Honeywells, all at once.

“Christ,” he said at last.

“You’d better call,” said Tom. “That FBI agent. Better call him. A bunch of environmentalists with ten thousand gallons of gas? Suspicious.”

“The FBI agent already knows,” said Mac. “It’s all perfectly legal. Walter owns a private jet, and that warehouse is licensed for hazardous chemical storage. Can’t arrest him unless he’s doing something illegal.”

“Too late,” said Tom. “Does no good if he gets arrested. After he murders a bunch of people.”

“Look,” said Mac. “Just don’t go all vigilante. You might be a Marine and all that, but you’re not freaking Batman.”

“No shit,” said Tom.

“Batman has a better haircut, for one thing,” said Mac.

“Funny,” said Tom. “You do. What you want. I’m going to keep an eye on them. Give me your prepaid number. I’ll give you a call. If I see anything weird.”

Mac rattled off the number. “Just be careful. Okay?”

“Will do,” said Tom. He hung up.

Mac sat back down with a sigh. He remembered how deftly Tom had stopped the purse snatcher at Frank’s Bar and Grill. His older brother had always tended towards extreme and often violent action in stressful situations, and had almost gotten thrown out of high school three or four times for fighting. Ten years in the Marine Corps had given him self-discipline and better control of his temper, but Tom still took drastic action when he thought it necessary.

God, Mac's head hurt.

Considering how often he had gotten hit in the head over the last week, it wasn't surprising.

He took a pair of Excedrin from the bathroom, swallowed them with a drink of water, and wandered into the living room. Claire had left, and apartment was quiet. Mac sat down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He needed to think some more, and besides, he wanted the damn headache to pass. He scooped a discarded newspaper from the floor and started to leaf through it.

Harkin’s name caught his eye.

Mac sat up straighter, half-expecting to see another load of inaccurate lies about Harkin’s murder.

Instead, the headline read “Will Disputed In Harkin Murder Case.”

It seemed that Jeffrey Harkin had not bothered to write a will. He had no children, and so his four ex-wives, various distant relatives, and the State of Wisconsin had become embroiled in a massive legal brawl to claim the dead man’s fortune. According to the article, Harkin had live-in girlfriend, one Valerie H. Strom, who claimed Harkin’s entire estate based on her dubious status as Harkin’s common-law wife.

Mac had been under the impression that Harkin had lived alone. If Harkin had a live-in girlfriend, she might have seen something, known something that pointed towards his murderer. Hell, she might have even killed him herself. Mac got up, walked back to his computer, and started searching.

He found a record for a Valerie Strom, age 69, a Kenosha resident. Mac doubted Harkin would shack up with a woman two decades his senior. The website for a gay/lesbian student group listed a Val Strom as their treasurer. She seemed an even less likely candidate. On the site of a Wauwatosa high school, Mac found the program from the 2006 graduation. The name Valerie Helen Strom appeared in the program, alongside a picture of an attractive young woman with red hair and bright green eyes.

Had Harkin shacked up with a 20 year old? It didn’t seem out of character. But why would a 20 year old girl sleep with Harkin? Money? Fame?

Mac shrugged and sifted through the file Dave Wester had sent him. Harkin had been on the board of directors of a huge national charity that operated out of Milwaukee. Mac hit the charity’s website and did a search. The About Us page listed the charity’s various officers. All of them had multiple degrees and long professional careers. All save for their Office Manager, one Valerie H. Strom, who had joined the charity in 2007. The picture next to her e-mail address and phone number showed the same green-eyed young woman Mac had seen in the graduation bulletin.

Well. Apparently Harkin had gotten his girlfriend a cushy job after all.

Mac picked up his prepaid cell phone and dialed Strom’s contact number. The phone rang three times, and a woman’s clipped voice answered. “Save the Cultural Heritage Foundation, Jeanne speaking.”

“Yeah, hi,” said Mac. He decided to improvise. “I was hoping to speak to a Ms. Valerie Strom.”

The faintest note of distaste entered the voice. “Ms. Strom is not currently in the office.”

“Right,” said Mac. “Do you happen to have a cell number for her? It’s urgent that we talk to her.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jeanne. “We can’t give out personal information of Foundation employees.”

“Okay,” said Mac. “Can you take a message?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Good, good,” said Mac. “My name’s Lee Carey, and I’m with Chapman Security Professionals. It’s vital that we speak immediately with Ms. Strom concerning the will of one Jeffrey Harkin.”

Mac heard Jeanne’s slight intake of breath, and grinned.

“Could you provide more detail, sir?”

“I’m sorry,” said Mac. “I can’t give out client information. Though if you were to share Ms. Strom’s cell phone number, I could provide more detail.”

“I take it,” said Mac, “that you and Ms. Strom were not the best of friends.”

“Not really,” said Jeanne. Her voice lowered. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I couldn’t stand that greedy little minx. None of us could.”

Jackpot. Human nature was appallingly predictable.

“That’s a no, then?” said Mac.

“She’s been here nearly a year, and I never saw her do a second of work,” said Jeanne. “She only got the job because she was living in sin with that awful Mr. Harkin. I know Mr. Harkin was on the board, but he never showed the slightest bit of interest in the Foundation’s work. Then one day he asks the board to give Valerie a job. She barely finished high school! But the board caved because Mr. Harkin was friends with Senator Kelsey. A six-figure salary, and she barely shows up more than four or five hours a week! And with the Foundation’s money so tight, too.”

“Scandalous,” said Mac.

“So, Mr. Carey, why do you want her cell number?”

“Jeffrey Harkin was recently murdered in his office,” said Mac.

“I know.” Jeanne failed to sound upset.

“He neglected to make a will,” said Mac, “and since Harkin had four ex-wives, his estate is being contested in court. Ms. Strom claimed the entire estate as Harkin’s common-law wife…”

“You aren’t working for her, are you?” said Jeanne.

“No, ma’am,” said Mac. “We have in fact been contracted by Mr. Harkin’s third ex-wife to invalidate all other claims to the estate.”

“Oh. Good. It’d be good if Valerie never saw another penny of that evil man’s money. She deserves to work at a McDonald’s or something for the rest of her life,” said Jeanne. She rattled off a string of digits. “Here’s her cell number.”

Mac wrote it down. “Thank you.”

“Don’t tell anyone where you heard this, okay?” said Jeanne. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Discretion is our watchword at Chapman Security Professionals,” said Mac. “Trust me, the less Ms. Strom knows about us, the happier we’ll all be.”

“Good,” said Jeanne. “It’ll be worth it if she doesn’t get a dime. Good luck, Mr. Carey.”

“Thank you,” said Mac. She hung up. Apparently Valerie Strom’s personality did not match her winning looks. Mac dialed the number Jeanne had given him and waited.

Someone picked up before the second ring. “What?” The voice was high-pitched, reedy, and quite slurred. A heavy bass beat rumbled in the background.

“Is this Valerie Helen Strom?” said Mac.

“Who the hell is this?” snapped the woman’s voice.

She sounded quite drunk.

“I’m an attorney with Rottwald and Smith,” said Mac. “We heard you were having difficulties in your estate case, and called to offer your services.”

“Oh. My. God! ” said Valerie. “What the hell took you so long? I must have called you, like a hundred times, and left ten thousand messages, and you’re only now calling back. What the hell took you people so long?”

“We wanted to research the validity of your case,” said Mac.

“That’s what all those other bastards said! ” Valerie’s voice rose a shriek. “All that fat old bastard’s money is mine, you understand? That’s what I told them! But, no, they all said you had to live with a man seven years to get common-law wife status. Seven years! Like I was going to stick with him for seven years! But he died and all his money belongs to me! It’s mine! ”

Mac’s headache returned in full force. Wisconsin did not have common-law spouse status, and in any case, a year of cohabitation would not entitle Valerie to Harkin’s property. “We understand that. But we’ve decided to take your case anyway. We’re quite certain you can win.”

“Yeah?” said Valerie. “And what? You take your big fat lawyer fees and I’m left with enough money to buy a Happy Meal?”

“There will be some expenses,” said Mac, “but given the size of Mr. Harkin’s estate, even after legal fees, you should have more than enough money to ensure that you’ll never need to work again.”

“I want to launch a singing career,” said Valerie. Mac blinked in utter stupefaction. “Jeff always said I could be an actress. And I look better than all those skanks who cell CDs.”

“I’m sure,” said Mac. “Ms. Strom, if we’re going to take your case, I’ll need to ask you a few questions about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Harkin’s death. Procedure, you understand.”

“Right, right, whatever,” said Valerie. “How soon can I get my money?”

“The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we can get you the money,” said Mac.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” said Valerie. “Ask your goddamn questions already! ”

“All right,” said Mac, thinking fast. He had only one good chance to pump Valerie for information before she became too suspicious. “First question. Under what circumstances did you and Mr. Harkin meet?”

“We had sex at my high school graduation.”

Good Lord. “I…see.”

“Don’t sound like such a total prude,” said Valerie. “He started hitting on me, and I told him I wouldn’t screw a fat old bastard like him for a thousand dollars. He laughed and said I’d do it for five hundred. We settled on eight hundred, and did it in the basement.”

Mac did his very best not to wince.

“He called me a week later, and I did him again,” said Valerie. “I told him if he wanted more, he’d really have to cough up. So I moved into that sweet condo of his, and he got me a high-paying job at some company that gives money to poor people or dumb shit like that.”

“Uh-huh,” said Mac. “Did you and Mr. Harkin talk often?”

“Not really,” said Valerie. He heard ice clink, followed by a slurping sound. “We did it three or four times a week. Sort of our whole arrangement, you know? Sometimes he would miss a day, but he’d make it up later. Course, I haven’t been seeing him a whole lot lately.” She laughed. “Not that I minded. God, he was bad in bed.”

“So you haven’t seen him recently,” said Mac, hoping to forestall further salacious detail.

“No,” said Valerie. “He was busy with business. A lot of business. Jeff worked for that one Senator, was always complaining he had to do shit work for him. What was his name? Kelley? Kelsi? Something like that.”

“Did Mr. Harkin ever discuss his concerns with you?” said Mac.

“What?” said Valerie. She laughed again. “We didn’t actually, you know, talk much. He did spend a lot of time talking on that Internet phone of his.”

Mac sat up straighter, remembering the stolen smartphone. “Did you happen to make note of Mr. Harkin’s conversations?”

“Note? What am I, a goddamn secretary?” said Valerie. “He kept talking about the church. Something for the church.”

“A church? Mr. Harkin was a member at a church?” said Mac.

Valerie snorted. “He had to. His boss the Senator was a member, so Harkin had to go to church too. He thought it was all a bunch of bullshit, but he had to go. Senator Kelley made him a member of the church council or something.”

“Which church?” said Mac.

“Green-something? Greenwater Church. That’s it.”

Claire had told Mac that Kelsey was a member of Greenwater Community Church, that he had made his big conversion speech there. It only made sense that Harkin would have been a member as well. Yet why would Harkin have been worried about the church in his final weeks of life?”

“Did you happen to overhear why he was concerned about the church?” said Mac.

“Why do you care?” said Valerie. “What does this have to do with me getting my money?”

“If the police find Mr. Harkin’s murderer,” said Mac, improvising, “you’ll be entitled to more money. The insurance.”

“Oh, okay then,” said Valerie. “He was worried that the church was spending too much money.”

“On what?” said Mac.

“What kind of stuff?”

“How the hell am I suppose to know?” said Valerie. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Any recollection might help our case.”

“Like, janitor-type stuff,” said Valerie. “He was upset that someone rented a truck. And mulch. Someone bought too much mulch.”

“You know,” said Valerie. “Mulch. You spread it on your garden, it grows bigger.”

Mac felt a chill. “You don’t mean fertilizer, do you?”

“Fertilizer! That was it. He was worried they were ordering too much fertilizer,” said Valerie. “That sounds stupid. Fertilizer’s just dirt, right?”

“Dirt,” repeated Mac, his mind racing. Actually, most commercial fertilizers contained ammonium nitrate, which was quite a bit more dangerous than dirt. The Oklahoma City bombers had used ammonium nitrate fertilizer to construct their bomb, along with plastic explosives and a good deal of nitromethane.

Nitromethane was found in industrial solvents, pesticides, and pharmaceuticals.

And certain kinds of high-performance jet fuel.

“Hey!” said Valerie. “You listening to me? If you don’t pay attention, I’m going to take my business elsewhere.”

“Actually, Ms. Strom,” said Mac, “based on your testimony, we’ve changed our evaluation. We no longer think you can win in court. Good day.”

He hung up just as Valerie Strom started to shriek in outrage.

Mac walked back into the living room, thinking. On the face, it seemed preposterous. Greenwater was an evangelical Christian church, and Pure Earth was a collection of atheistic environmentalists. You couldn’t image two groups less likely to cooperate.

But what if Senator Kelsey was pulling the strings from behind the scenes? With Rowena Holden/Janice Hartmann, he was pushing Pure Earth towards committing an act of terrorism. Surely he couldn’t be doing the same thing with Greenwater Community Church? Academics like Claire enjoyed demonizing evangelicals, Mac knew, but in his experience they were innocuous enough, if a bit self-righteous. He could see them picketing or doing a protest. He could not see them burning a mother and a child alive as Pure Earth had done.

The FBI already held Pure Earth and Jerome Walter under surveillance. The jet fuel had already drawn suspicion. Suppose Walter had ordered two or three tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer in addition to the jet fuel? The FBI would have found some pretext to arrest Walter and seize the fuel and the fertilizer. But who would double-check an order of fertilizer to a church? Especially for a large church that no doubt had extensive grounds.

And Katrina Hobb was head groundskeeper at Greenwater, wasn’t she? Kelsey might have bribed her to arrange the fertilizer. But why would she help him? She had every reason to loathe Jack Kelsey and Jeffrey Harkin. For that matter, why had Harkin been upset about the fertilizer order? It shouldn’t have disturbed him in the slightest.

Unless Kelsey hadn’t shared his plans with Harkin. Unless Harkin had put two and two together, figured out what Kelsey would do to win the election. All the evidence indicated that Harkin had been a hard-hearted scoundrel, but maybe some shred of conscience within him had recoiled at the thought of murdering thousands. Or maybe he had opposed the plan out of self-preservation, fearing that the FBI would find out.