Known Dead

Twenty-seven

We had lots of meetings to put it all together, so the prosecuting attorneys could make some kind of case. We all met, except Volont. He’d just send advice through others, normally George. On the afternoon of the second meeting, George made it clear that he wanted to see me, and Hester, alone. We met out back in the storage garage at the jail, the one that used to be a barn.

It was hot and musty in the old building. Hester looked around her. ‘‘This better be good, George.’’

‘‘Good might be the wrong word,’’ he said. ‘‘I think I have some bad news.’’

Neither Hester nor I said anything.

He took a deep breath. ‘‘Remember the shooter that was killed in the courtroom?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘I do.’’

‘‘He was an informant for Volont.’’

‘‘No shit,’’ I said. ‘‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’’

‘‘He was one of the shooters in the park,’’ he said. ‘‘High probability.’’

‘‘Oh.’’ Well, that was a little help.

Silence. Then Hester asked the crucial question. ‘‘For how long? How long was Volont working him?’’

George was quiet for a second. ‘‘From before the shooting in the park,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘Way before that.’’

‘‘You mean,’’ I said, ‘‘Volont knew they were in the park before we did?’’

‘‘That’s what I mean.’’

‘‘You think he knew who they all were?’’ asked Hester very slowly.

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Then,’’ I said, ‘‘he probably knew that there were some of the involved people at the Stritch residence? Before Lamar and Bud went there? Is that what you’re saying?’’

‘‘I’m afraid so,’’ said George. ‘‘There’s a bit more. I might as well tell you now.’’

‘‘Like?’’ asked Hester.

‘‘Well,’’ said George, ‘‘remember that one sort of disconnected message on the computer? The one that said ‘You better get up here,’ and we couldn’t figure out who it was supposed to go to?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘Sure.’’

‘‘That was traced to a server in some little burg in Virginia.’’ George sighed. ‘‘Addressee unknown to us, just to the server. Turns out that the server is a covert one used by only one agent.’’

We both stared at him.

‘‘Volont,’’ said George.

‘‘You mean to tell me that they were talking to him from the GODDAMNED HOUSE!?’’

‘‘I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t know until yesterday.’’

‘‘Which one of those assholes sent the message?’’ asked Hester. ‘‘Gabriel?’’

‘‘Could have been,’’ said George. ‘‘But I personally think it was Wittman.’’

Great. More to come, though. Two of the bodies from the courthouse still hadn’t been identified. We’d been trying to run prints, but neither of them had a print on file. That meant that they had never been federal employees (including armed services), had never been arrested for more than a misdemeanor… no more than that. Simply that they were average people.

‘‘I’ve been talking with some, oh, people,’’ said George. ‘‘We think that there’s a good chance that one of the bodies actually is Gabriel.’’

‘‘Really?’’ I’m always at least that quick.

‘‘We think that Volont knows that. But that it suits his purposes better, somehow, to have him not be dead.’’

‘‘But,’’ I said, ‘‘he was in the Army. His prints would be on file.’’

‘‘Who did you run the prints through?’’ asked George rhetorically. ‘‘What agency maintains the records?’’ He looked at me with sad eyes.

‘‘So that means he’s not one of the ‘known dead,’ then?’’ I asked.

‘‘Well, no, I guess not.’’ George looked at me curiously. ‘‘Not for certain. Why, is that important or something?’’

‘‘Oh, sort of. To me, I guess.’’ I snorted. ‘‘Just kind of a play on words that bothers me. Only now it bothers me in a different way.’’

Yeah.