Keller’s call. He would have thought that by now the FBI agent would have copped to the fact that Landry was a fake.
Must be busy over there.
“Jim Branch, Zephyr PD,” Landry said.
“Jim—Special Agent Andrew Keller.”
“Andrew. Hello.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
There was a slight hesitation. Then: “Look, I’m taking a risk with you and I hope it’s justified.”
Landry waited.
“This can’t go any further.”
“I understand, sir.”
A pause. “Was there anything about your guy that was unusual?”
“Unusual?”
Silence. Keller was conflicted about talking to him. Landry’s guess was that Keller was on to something, and thought his new friend at Podunk PD in Montana might just have some corroborating evidence.
Think fast. What could it be? Something to do with the body, was his best guess.
“Anything unusual at all?” Keller said.
“Well, yeah.” There were only so many things it could be, so Landry made an educated guess. “There was. We found traces of wax on the steering wheel. Is that what you’re talking about?”
Silence.
Bingo.
Professionals removed their fingerprints a certain way. They spread laminated latex over a soft gelatin pad, wrapped the pad around their fingers down to halfway, and let the mixture warm under an ultraviolet lamp for approximately sixty seconds. The wax coating would eliminate fingerprints.
Landry decided to give him a nudge. “Latex? That was my thinking.”
“Your guy—you think he was just some backwoods asshole with a grievance?”
“No, I don’t.”
“So there were traces of latex on the steering wheel?”
“Roger that.”
“You sound like you were in the military.”
“I was.”
“Elite?”
“What kind of question is that?” Landry said.
“Elite. I thought so.”
Landry waited.
“You ever hear of a company named Sabrecor?”
“Sabrecor?”
Landry wished the guy would stop playing coy. He decided to rise to the bait. “I’ve heard of them. Works with the military, or is it the government? Top-secret stuff, right? You think they have something to do with this?”
“We think there might be a connection. One of their products.”
“One of their products?” That would mean an institution of some sort. A company specializing in special ops, or another type of institution—for instance, a government.
Keller said, “Another thing. Whoever shot the shooter placed the shot perfectly.”
“I thought the shooter was killed by a security guard.”
“That was what we put out to the press, yeah.”
Landry said nothing. He’d hunted at many a waterhole, and he knew not to spook the target.
Then Keller said, “Thing I want to know is, why would someone shoot the shooter?”
Landry pretended to think about it. He decided it was time to state the obvious, since that was where Keller was headed. “Maybe that was the plan all along? Hire somebody to shoot up the school and then shoot the shooter? If it was me, I would be worried the first guy would get caught.”
“Yeah. What I was thinking. Dead men tell no tales.”
Landry said nothing.
The silence stretched. Then: “I was just thinking out loud,” Keller said. “You sure that was wax on that steering wheel?”
“Yeah. I’ll go look for the pics, although I can’t guarantee—”
“Okay. Look. Not a—”
“—word. I know.”
“Where were you?”
“Iraq. Afghanistan.” He rattled off a battalion he didn’t belong to.
“Might’ve run into you. Well, you take care now, and tell your brother I’ll be coming out there soon.”
“Come in June. The cutties will be rising by then.”
“You know it!” Keller disconnected.
Landry removed the SIM card from his burner phone and stomped it to pieces. He dumped the LA Times into his duffle and hit the road back in the direction of San Diego—putting as much distance between himself and the phone as possible. He guessed Agent Keller had triangulated the call.
A minute
Must be busy over there.
“Jim Branch, Zephyr PD,” Landry said.
“Jim—Special Agent Andrew Keller.”
“Andrew. Hello.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
There was a slight hesitation. Then: “Look, I’m taking a risk with you and I hope it’s justified.”
Landry waited.
“This can’t go any further.”
“I understand, sir.”
A pause. “Was there anything about your guy that was unusual?”
“Unusual?”
Silence. Keller was conflicted about talking to him. Landry’s guess was that Keller was on to something, and thought his new friend at Podunk PD in Montana might just have some corroborating evidence.
Think fast. What could it be? Something to do with the body, was his best guess.
“Anything unusual at all?” Keller said.
“Well, yeah.” There were only so many things it could be, so Landry made an educated guess. “There was. We found traces of wax on the steering wheel. Is that what you’re talking about?”
Silence.
Bingo.
Professionals removed their fingerprints a certain way. They spread laminated latex over a soft gelatin pad, wrapped the pad around their fingers down to halfway, and let the mixture warm under an ultraviolet lamp for approximately sixty seconds. The wax coating would eliminate fingerprints.
Landry decided to give him a nudge. “Latex? That was my thinking.”
“Your guy—you think he was just some backwoods asshole with a grievance?”
“No, I don’t.”
“So there were traces of latex on the steering wheel?”
“Roger that.”
“You sound like you were in the military.”
“I was.”
“Elite?”
“What kind of question is that?” Landry said.
“Elite. I thought so.”
Landry waited.
“You ever hear of a company named Sabrecor?”
“Sabrecor?”
Landry wished the guy would stop playing coy. He decided to rise to the bait. “I’ve heard of them. Works with the military, or is it the government? Top-secret stuff, right? You think they have something to do with this?”
“We think there might be a connection. One of their products.”
“One of their products?” That would mean an institution of some sort. A company specializing in special ops, or another type of institution—for instance, a government.
Keller said, “Another thing. Whoever shot the shooter placed the shot perfectly.”
“I thought the shooter was killed by a security guard.”
“That was what we put out to the press, yeah.”
Landry said nothing. He’d hunted at many a waterhole, and he knew not to spook the target.
Then Keller said, “Thing I want to know is, why would someone shoot the shooter?”
Landry pretended to think about it. He decided it was time to state the obvious, since that was where Keller was headed. “Maybe that was the plan all along? Hire somebody to shoot up the school and then shoot the shooter? If it was me, I would be worried the first guy would get caught.”
“Yeah. What I was thinking. Dead men tell no tales.”
Landry said nothing.
The silence stretched. Then: “I was just thinking out loud,” Keller said. “You sure that was wax on that steering wheel?”
“Yeah. I’ll go look for the pics, although I can’t guarantee—”
“Okay. Look. Not a—”
“—word. I know.”
“Where were you?”
“Iraq. Afghanistan.” He rattled off a battalion he didn’t belong to.
“Might’ve run into you. Well, you take care now, and tell your brother I’ll be coming out there soon.”
“Come in June. The cutties will be rising by then.”
“You know it!” Keller disconnected.
Landry removed the SIM card from his burner phone and stomped it to pieces. He dumped the LA Times into his duffle and hit the road back in the direction of San Diego—putting as much distance between himself and the phone as possible. He guessed Agent Keller had triangulated the call.
A minute
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