Warning Signs

CHAPTER 40

I can't sleep. Can you?"

Lucy's eyes had been tracking the linear shadows that were making a picket fence of light appear across the ceiling of the construction trailer. She was wide-awake. In response to Jason Ramp's question, she said, "No."

For a moment both were silent. Lucy finally stammered, "Is it because you killed somebody today?"

"Yeah," Ramp said. "That, and I keep going over what's going to happen tomorrow."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure. I don't know if I do. More people are going to die tomorrow. I'm sure of that much. So I'm not sure why I'm so weirded out by Marin's mom dying today."

"Maybe that's it-that she was somebody's mom."

"Whoa, I hadn't thought about that. That's something to think about, isn't it?"

"Why did you do it, Jason? Blow her up?"

"She figured out what we were up to. I'm not exactly sure how. I think probably Marin left some stuff around the house or was careless on the Net or something. Doesn't matter now, I suppose. Marin said that her mom was going to tell everything to that shrink she was seeing. I had to keep her from doing that. One more day, that's all we needed. One more day."

Lucy sensed a vulnerability. She tried to exploit it. "You ever kill anyone before?"

"That woman who died in the car bomb in Denver? I caused that. She wasn't the intended victim. Her husband was. I guess you could say I killed her. But the bomb I put under their car went off by accident. I wasn't going to set it off until… until the right time came. Her husband should have been driving, not her."

"Why him?"

He ignored her question.

Lucy spoke into the darkness. "Maybe you feel troubled because you knew Marin's mother. I imagine that it makes a difference, killing someone you know."

He parried with his own question. "Have you been angry enough to kill your mother?"

The question felt like a physical blow to Lucy. She had trouble catching her breath. "I've never thought about it."

"Think about it now. Please."

"I don't know, Jason. I don't know. My God, what a question."

"You might be surprised what you can do when you've been hurt enough. You might be surprised."

"Have you been hurt enough?"

"Have you?" he countered.

Lucy looked away from him. "Are the others all going to be strangers?"

"What others?"

"The ones who are going to die tomorrow."

Ramp's voice softened. "I don't know them, not personally, if that's what you mean. I know who they are. I picked them because of who they are, but I don't know them. Others will get hurt or die, too. Unintended victims. No matter how careful you are, bombs tend to be a little indiscriminate when they go off around people. I've accepted that risk."

"So what is it then?" She was trying to feed his self-doubt.

Ramp stood up and crossed the distance between them slowly, his body emerging from the shadows the way a lover might approach the bed. He straddled a metal desk chair three feet from her.

"I'm telling you a lot. You tell me something about you. Something personal, private."

Lucy almost laughed. She looked up at the grimy ceiling before staring into his cool eyes. "I already told you I was sleeping with my mother's husband. How much more private you want me to get?"

She could only see half his face. The eyelid that she could see was heavy, and a soft beard had emerged on his chin. She thought she recognized something unexpected in his glare.

She double-checked her impressions and decided to take a chance. Lucy said, "My boobs are two different sizes."

He laughed and pounded a boot on the dirty carpet.

She joined him laughing.

"My mom told me that all girls' boobs are two different sizes. That's not a big deal."

"Mine aren't a little different, they're a lot different. More than a whole cup size different."

"That's a lot?"

"Yeah, that's a lot. It made for some tough times in the locker room at school. And it complicates shopping for lingerie." She said the final word wistfully, hoped it hung in the room like perfume.

He crossed his arms on top of the chair back and sprawled his legs out in front of him, smiling to himself. "Which one do you like more?"

She laughed with him again, trying to draw him along. "What kind of question is that?"

"If you could have them both be the same size, which one would you choose?"

"The left one."

He looked down at her chest and laughed again. "That's a good answer."

His appraisal of her chest left her questioning her decision to flirt with him. She said, "Thank you."

"You know," he said, "when I was like nine or ten, I used to think they had bones in them. Boobs. Breasts. I didn't know they were soft. I thought they had like a cone of little bones holding them in shape. One time I was in a swimming pool playing some game and I accidentally kicked a girl in her chest and her breast just squished underneath my foot. I remember that I thought I'd broken it."

"So how did you find out the truth about boobs?"

"Personal research."

"Seriously."

"My mom. She told me. She'd tell me anything. Never made me feel stupid. Then she died."

Lucy felt the flirtation that was developing between them evaporate like water splashed on a griddle. She knew that the strategic advantage she'd been nurturing evaporated along with the teasing. She said, "I'm so sorry, Jason. About what happened to your mom. It sounds like you two were very close."

He leaned over the edge of the cot and said, "Thanks for saying that. I'm sorry about what happened with you and your mom, too. At least I got a lot of memories with mine. You don't even have that."

"No, I don't even have that."

"Lots of wives and sisters and daughters die because of the stupid way the system works. So this… thing I'm doing, it's really about lots of moms. Everyone has to remember that. It's not just about my mom."

"It's about sons and brothers and fathers, too?"

"Yeah."

Lucy said, "What was she like? Your mom?"

"I don't think I want to talk about her."

"You know, I'm no expert on mothers, that's for sure," Lucy said. "But she sounds very special."

Ramp's jaw took on a tight set. He said, "They won't find you here. In case that's what you're hoping. They might be looking for you, but…" His voice faded away.

"Oh," Lucy said.

"Nobody knows that I'm here. That we're here, in this trailer. Not even Marin knows where I'm planning to spend the night. The truck I'm using won't be missed for a couple of days. My company thinks it's in the shop with transmission trouble."

Lucy fought a fresh flush of despair. She needed to keep him talking. "How did you know her? Marin?"

"We met on the Web. In a chat room."

"Complaining about the justice system?"

"Yeah."

"You recruit her?"

"I guess. Didn't take much effort. It was more like I invited her. She was as angry as I was. You know what happened to her a few years ago?"

"Yes, I do. I didn't work the case but I knew a lot about it. Are you two like boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"At first, kind of. But no. Not now. I don't stay with girls very long. Not that way, anyway. I'm not ready for a real relationship."

Lucy couldn't tell whether she heard some disappointment or longing lurking in his words.

A siren erupted nearby. Its insistent wail filled the trailer like a sour stench. Lucy and Jason both waited to discover whether the sound would approach them or recede into the distance.

It faded.

"Told you. They won't find you here."

"Is she part of what's going to happen tomorrow?"

"You mean Marin?"

Lucy nodded.

"She was going to be. Now she's in the hospital, so I guess not. The whole thing was planned so that we would operate independently. Just in case one of us was caught. Either one of us can make our half of the plan work on our own."

Lucy watched Ramp stand and move to the trailer's window. The thick layer of dust on the glass turned the night sky behind him pasty and sick.

"Were you trying to hurt Marin today? Or was that an accident?"

"You know, I'm not really sure. At the moment I touched the button, I wasn't sure whose side she was on. Mine or her mother's."

"Wow," Lucy said. "You're not even sure whether you were trying to hurt her. What a thing to say."

"Yeah."

Lucy pressed. "The bomb at the district attorney's house in Boulder? That was one of yours?"

"Yes. It was. That was going to be part of Marin's route."

"Route?"

"Tomorrow, we each have a route. There will be a series of bombs. The bombs in Boulder are designed differently from the ones in Denver so that they can't be tied together. And I have something special planned at the end, like a finale at a fireworks show."

"Who's going to die tomorrow?"

The silence that followed her question allowed the hum of I-25 to infiltrate the trailer. An eighteen-wheeler was having trouble with a low gear. The whine of air brakes sounded.

"A lot of people."

"You don't want to tell me who?"

"People who've had a hand in the bullshit. That's all I'll say."

"Regarding your mother? That bullshit?"

"Not just that. Remember, I'm talking about the whole system. I want people to talk about every last place where the system is broken. The problem with Columbine, even with McVeigh in Oklahoma City, was that…"

Ramp's words faded into the darkness as he suddenly refocused his attention out the trailer's window.

"Was what, Jason? What was the problem?"

"Shhh." He waved an open hand from his shoulder to near his waist. "Shhh. Don't speak."

She watched the reflexive movement as his fingers curled toward the switch that was taped to his wrist.

Lucy whispered, "Is there someone here?"

Calmly, he said, "I said shut up. I meant it."

Lucy considered the opportunity that was being presented to her. She wasn't gagged. She could scream and maybe get the attention of whomever Ramp was tracking outside the trailer. At this hour, she assumed it would either be a security patrol or a trespasser.

She forced her heart to still so she could hope to hear whatever it was that was going on outside. She heard nothing. No tires on gravel. No voices. No music from a car radio.

Ramp straightened at the window and moved his fingertips away from the switch on his wrist.

Her moment was gone. She felt a tear form in the corner of one eye. "You were telling me what the problem was with McVeigh and with Columbine. What was the problem?"

"Not just one. A few. The main one was their rage. But also the randomness of what they did. And the fact that they targeted innocent people. Those things changed the debate. If the bully steals your lunch and you respond by blowing up the whole damn cafeteria, nobody ends up paying attention to what the bully did to you. They focus on your rage, and on the innocent victims you killed by how you retaliated. That was the problem with Columbine. What they did-killing so many innocent people-changed the debate forever, and their message was diluted to the point that nobody really paid any attention to their motives. Not in the end, anyway. I won't allow that to happen tomorrow."

"You want the debate?"

"I want the debate."

"But you already said that there will be unintended victims from what you're planning."

"Yes, but they're not targets. That's the difference. They will prove one of my points, however."

"I don't understand."

"My mother was the unintended victim of the justice system's decision to free a murderer and put him back on the street. My plan will duplicate that. There's some irony there, I think. The ones who are responsible will suffer losses, and so will some innocent people. The justice system didn't target my mother. But they allowed her to be killed. They were callous to her safety."

"And you'll do the same tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"What gives you the right?"

He laughed, a tight sound that seemed to catch in his throat. "Revolution always begins with an act of anarchy. By definition, no one has the right to be an anarchist. I'm hoping to start a little revolution. So by definition, I'm assuming the right to be an anarchist."

"You can call it anarchy but it sounds like revenge to me. Vengeance. I don't see how what you're doing is any different. You'll be just another pissed-off kid with blood on his hands. You don't have to do this."

"I don't want the blood. I want the dialogue. That's what's different. The blood will get everyone's attention."

She implored him, "Don't do it."

"It's too late."

Lucy felt herself sinking into the sofa. The cogency of Ramp's argument was exhausting her. She wanted to ask him to use his energy differently. To beg him to find another way. But she knew he wasn't remotely interested. Her desperation caused her to play a card she wasn't sure she should play.

"The shrink that Marin's mother was going to see when you killed her today? I know him. His name is Dr. Gregory. He already knows a lot about what you and Marin are planning."

His pale eyes narrowed, the tips of his brows curling down toward the bridge of his nose. "How do you know that?"

"We're friends. He was worried about his wife's safety, so he came to me. I thought he might be able to help me figure out who killed Royal Peterson. We've been helping each other."

"Are you lying?"

"You still have my cell phone?"

"Yeah."

"Hit redial. You'll see his number. He's the last person I called. Or check caller ID. His number's in there."

Ramp retrieved the cell phone from his duffel and hit the redial button. He read the number that came up and then killed the call.

Lucy asked, "You know how to work it? Check the directory and you can match the name and number."

"Yes," he said, touching a series of buttons. "There it is. Alan Gregory."

"See?"

"He could be anybody. You could be playing me right now. How do I know you're not lying?"

Lucy said, "He knows about Paul."

Ramp smiled in a way that seemed full of compassion and something else. She wasn't sure about the something else. "You think Naomi told this Alan Gregory what the plans were?"

"I know he knows some things. I also know he was reluctant to tell me some other things."

"But he knows about the bombs?"

"Yes. And that you're angry at the justice system."

His jaws tightened. "She told him that?"

"Yes."

"What else? Tell me."

"He knows about the wouldn't-it-be-cool games."

"God, really? The man might really know something."

Lucy's phone suddenly came alive, chirping in his hand.

Ramp stared down at the phone. Didn't answer it.

He asked Lucy, "Who do you think was trying to call you?"

She hesitated a heartbeat or two. "My partner. His name is Sam Purdy. He's a detective in Boulder. And he's my friend."

"You were trying to decide whether to lie to me right then, weren't you? What did you decide?"

"I decided to tell you the truth." She paused. "Mostly because you can check for yourself on caller ID."

She waited for him to check the caller ID log. He didn't. "So your friend, this detective, he makes a habit of calling you in the middle of the night?"

"Sam knows I'm missing by now. I told him I'd check in with him when I got back from seeing your grandmother."

"What will he do if he thinks you're missing?"

"Whatever he can think of to find me. Sam's relentless and he's pretty resourceful."

"What does he know?"

"Whatever Alan Gregory knows, Sam knows. They're good friends."

"You making this whole thing up as you go along? You're pretty good if you are."

"It's all true, Jason."

"Do they know about the bombs?"

"For sure? No. But they're the ones who found the bomb at Royal Peterson's house, and Dr. Gregory was so worried that you might have targeted his wife with a bomb that he brought an explosive-sniffing dog into his house and to check his cars."

"Really? You mentioned his wife already. Who is she?"

"She's a deputy DA in Boulder who was tangentially involved in Marin's rape case."

"Her name?"

"Lauren Crowder."

"Doesn't ring a bell. I don't think Marin mentioned her."

Lucy shrugged to hide her sense of relief.

Ramp was flipping the phone into the air, catching it again as it completed one end-to-end rotation.

She said, "The special part you mentioned that would be coming at the end of the day. That's part of your route?"

"It is."

"What good am I in all this?"

"So far you're just good company. I appreciate that. I'm still considering what else you'll do."

"You're going to kill me, aren't you, Jason?" The use of his name was intentional. She even emphasized it.

He stepped back from the window and moved halfway into a shadowed place close to the wall. "I don't think I'll have to. I really hope not."

"I don't understand."

"If I'm still standing at the end of the day, your job is over. I won't have to kill you."

"But if they catch up with you before that?"

"That's up to them, of course. Your presence is to ensure that I get to keep going. To finish what I started."

"But there will be bombs close by all day long. Who knows what will happen? That's what you're saying?"

Ramp's hand flashed toward his right hip as though he'd been stung there by a yellow jacket.

The swift movement of his hand caused Lucy's breath to catch in the middle of her chest as though she'd suddenly been dipped in ice water.

He lifted a beeper from his belt and lit the screen.

"Wow," he said. "What a surprise. I have to go make a call. I'm going to have to gag you. I'm sorry."

"Please, no."

"I said I'm sorry. You want something to drink first?"