A Long December

EPILOGUE

It turned out that the Heinman boys had towed their car into a garage in Battenberg about a week before. It had a broken timing chain, and they’d just raised the back end up and towed it behind their tractor. It was taking a long time to fix because it was a 1975 Dodge Dart, and the parts were getting a little scarce. Odeh and Chato had clobbered Jacob Heinman because they thought he was lying about the missing car. It seems they thought that Hester’s car, which was a Plymouth, belonged to the Heinmans for two bad reasons. First, it had the same pentagonal logo as the key that hung on the nail in the brothers’ kitchen. Despite what Jacob and Norris said, they didn’t believe Hester’s Plymouth was a cop car because Hester has one of the undercover radios that fit in the glove box. You can’t see it from the outside, and it uses the same antenna as the commercial radio. My car, on the other hand, has a pedestal mount for the cop radio, in plain sight through the window.

Thanks to my having the young trooper check out the “media van” that had followed us toward the Heinman brothers’ farm, Judy Mercer of KNUG was on the scene and she and her cameraman got almost all of the action at the farm on tape. She’d apparently thought my reference to being very tired was for the benefit of the other media team, and it had been her headlights I’d seen behind us. Inadvertent though it was, it was nonetheless her scoop. I was glad, because they’d caught me thundering out the door and heading toward the pigpen. I refer to that sequence every time somebody implies that I’m slow.

Odeh, I was told, talked pretty readily. I can’t prove that, because I never got to talk to him again, myself. What George told me, though, was that Odeh and Chato had been in the van, the one that Hector told us about. They had four others with them. They’d parked it, and walked in after one of the people who’d surprised us in the barn had called them on a cell phone and warned them that we were there.

Volont had been right. The ricin cans were at the farm, and their distribution had been delayed when we began working the area because of Rudy’s murder. They’d apparently tried to get in twice, and there were either lab agents or cops there both times, so they just kept on driving. The DCI lab team had been within fifteen yards of the little fruit cellar, but the entrance was nearly impossible to see. When we went on our little picnic to the old Dodd place, the people who started shooting at us were actually in the process of pulling the ricin cans out of the cellar and taking them to the shed where they’d parked the car. Odeh and company were supposed to meet them there, but elected to walk in when they were told that we were on the scene. It was a risk for Odeh, but it was either that, or have the whole operation with the ricin go down the tubes.

Odeh and Chato originally fled the scene when the ambulance was blown up. They were headed over the hill to the hidden van, but saw four or five cop cars parked just about on top of the hiding place. We didn’t know the van was there, but Odeh and Chato couldn’t know that. They’d circled around, trying to avoid cops, and eventually came out onto the roadway near the media vans. There, they sort of mingled, and then got to the east side of the road and began walking north, away from all the commotion. The helicopter hadn’t keyed on them because they were on the cop side of the fence, so to speak.

The ambulance was blown up solely to create a diversion for Odeh and Chato. There was no other reason. They’d used a terrorist named Aba, who along with Odeh was the only really thoroughly trained terrorist present. He’d been hit in the leg, so his injury was legitimate, and the explosives had been inside the rolled rim of his stocking cap. In the dark, and in the hurry, it had just been missed. We reviewed the tapes. One of the victim HRT guys actually did something at the bomber’s head just before they released him to the ambulance. George thought he’d probably felt the cap to see if there was anything under it, not part of it.

We found lots of remains of the people who’d been either in or just by the ambulance when it went up. The driver was virtually intact, for instance, but under a part of the cab. Those who were actually inside at the time of the detonation were reduced to parts. We never found the head of the bomber, but got his torso, eviscerated abdomen, and legs. Terri must have been leaning over him when he set himself off. We think that because most of her head and torso had just disappeared. If anything about the whole incident pissed me off the most, it was that. Here she was, knowing he had tried to kill some of us, and still putting herself at risk to help the man. So what does he do?

Chato, as it turned out, was supposed to be affiliated with FARC. He was trained, but not a fanatic like Mustafa.

Odeh pled guilty to assault, attempted kidnapping, and wrongfully pointing a gun at another. That was me. I didn’t believe that was all, but the feds needed him elsewhere, and Iowa wanted to get rid of him. He went into federal custody immediately after our trial, and I have absolutely no idea where he is today. Volont didn’t volunteer anything, and I didn’t ask.

Speaking of Volont, Hester woke up after surgery in Dubuque to find a huge bouquet of flowers in her room with a big blue ribbon that said, in gold letters, “Lady Agent.” It came from the FBI Field Office in Cedar Rapids, but it had to have been George and Volont who were behind it. She was charmed.

Juan Miguel Alvarez, also known as Hassan Ahmed Hassan, pled guilty to second-degree murder in the death of Rudy Cueva.

After his sentencing, he was transferred into federal custody, and tried in the Northern District of Iowa for Terrorism. He pled guilty there, too. Last I heard was on the news, and he was being transferred to a federal prison.

Linda Moynihan pled not guilty. Well, what’s an innocent girl to do? I guess the plan was that, since everybody who could testify against her was either dead, in federal prison, or had been deported, she had a good chance of skating. Our federal attorney friend Dirty Harriet shot that one down when she announced in a news conference that any federally held witness who was needed to testify in Iowa would be made instantly available. True or not, it worked. Linda changed her plea and got five years. I expect her to serve eighteen months.

Skripkin turned state’s evidence for every governmental agency he could find in the phone book. We got him a fifteen-year sentence as an accessory, and then he went to trial in the federal system for “terrorism.” I don’t think he’s actually been adjudicated yet, but I’m sure he’s happy as a clam.

When the news got out that the packing plant had been a victim of a terrorist act, their business actually improved. Ben was flabbergasted, but happy. Me, too.

Although my shooting of the two terrorists at the Dodd place was ruled by the District Court as “justifiable,” I got sued. The suit was brought by two sets of attorneys who were supposedly representing “familial interests” of the deceased. Only the court knew the actual families, as they were afraid of “retribution.” They must have been really interested, though because each suit demanded a hundred million dollars. Both dead men, as it turned out, were from Honduras, and had been known to associate with the drug trade. During depositions, it became clear that the plaintiff’s attorneys were going to maintain that their clients, far from being caught by my return fire while they were reloading, were actually unloading their weapons while preparing to surrender.

Don’t you just have to wonder sometimes?

Anyway, the feds let us have Juan Miguel Alvarez for a witness. He was deposed by the plaintiffs, with suitable restrictions, and claimed that the dead men had been reloading because they intended to advance to the barn door, throw in more grenades, step in with guns blazing, and kill all of us. He ought to have known, as he was standing right beside them.

Even so, the suit dragged on for three more months, as the attorneys for the plaintiffs ran up the bill. I hope the “families” of the dead men could afford it.

Oh, and just for the record, I’ve never regretted shooting them for an instant. I went through a short period of time wondering what was wrong with me because I felt no remorse at all. Then I decided that I’d just done what needed to be done. Works for me.

My shot into Odeh’s lower leg was also ruled justified. There was no suit over that one.

The only upside to being involved in a police shooting, I discovered, was that I didn’t have to do the damned investigation. That alone probably saved me six months’ work.

All things considered, we came through this case pretty well. Hester has a permanent dimple in her cheek that the plastic surgeons couldn’t quite erase. It really doesn’t detract from her appearance at all. She still has Big Ears with her. She brings him along sometimes when she has a case in Nation County. Sally and the rest of the dispatchers go nuts when they see that dog.

Hector is still in Battenberg, pretty much in control of the world he inhabits. He still informs for me, when he thinks justice should be done and I seem to be lagging a bit behind. I’m pretty sure he’s doing the same thing for the FBI. I hope they treat him right. He’s a good man.

Our intrepid county attorney Carson Hilgenberg has already started to campaign for office. His bumper sticker reads PROVEN TOUGH ON TERRORISM. Honest. He’s unopposed, naturally.

Lamar says he’s going to retire. I’ll believe it when I see it. As for me, I think I’ll stick around for a while.