Killing monarchs, p.8
Killing Monarchs, page 8
“Didn’t you have lunch?” Sam said.
“I’m still growing.”
Around the age of 19, Wheezo outgrew his asthma. Once he realized he could exercise without threat of asphyxiation, he began making up for lost time. Now he was a triathlete. Tall and thin, he consumed food like a disposal. And with abnormal amounts of endorphins washing through his brain, he had the relaxed demeanor of a long-distance runner.
“So how long is it going to take to open this thing?” Mac said.
Wheezo had the phone in his hands. “Hmm,” he said. “An iPhone 4s.” Then he looked up at them and said, “I’m so damn hungry, it’s difficult to concentrate.”
“Okay, bright boy,” Mac said. “If the USFW spots you for a second lunch, how long will it take you to open it?”
Wheezo shrugged. “A good estimate is hard to calculate on an empty stomach.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Mac said. Then he stood up. “So looks like we order up front and they bring it to you, unless it’s pastry.” Truth was, Mac had been eyeing the pastry shelf.
Sam got coffee. Mac got one of two remaining caramel rolls, a monstrosity called a “pull-a-part” that could have been quartered and fed four students in Amber Mansfield’s sixth-grade class. Wheezo ordered the ahi tuna burger with a side of fries and a Coke.
While they waited for Wheezo’s food to come, he took another look at the phone. “An iPhone 4s,” he said, and grinned.
He turned on his laptop, pulled a USB iPhone cable out of his pack, and inserted one end into the phone.
“Funny thing about the 4s,” he said. “Apple got a lot more sophisticated with the 5. You can’t get into the latest iPhones without a subpoena and help from Apple—and they don’t help. But these earlier versions . . .”
Once the computer was up and he’d entered his password, he booted up a law enforcement forensics application designed to skirt iPhone security, at least for earlier versions of the phone. Without plugging the USB end into the laptop’s port, he held down the iPhone’s home button. Then he plugged the USB end into his laptop, entered a few commands, was prompted by a couple of options, and after answering, the phone’s icons came up on his screen.
“A known backdoor into the iPhone 4,” Wheezo said, handing the phone to Sam.
As if on cue, his food arrived.
Mac looked at Sam. “We’ve been Wheezo’d.”
As Wheezo worked through his tuna burger and Mac his pull-a-part, Sam began examining Jerry Trailor’s phone and text messages. By the time Wheezo had finished, Sam had cross-checked Jerry’s text messages with his contact list and recent phone calls. There were three people who appeared interesting.
“Can you get into the BCA’s criminal records database?”
Wheezo sipped down the last inch of Coke. Mac still had a small piece of the roll sitting on his plate. He was taking a rest, looking like a diabetic on the edge of a fugue state.
“How was that caramel roll?” Wheezo said.
“About the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Wheezo looked at Sam. “I’ve heard this place is known for their baked goods.”
“Can you get in?” Sam said.
“I’m feeling a little peckish,” Wheezo said.
“Peckish?”
“Hungry.”
Mac rolled his eyes. “After that tuna burger?”
“That was, like, an appetizer.”
“Where do you put this stuff?” Sam said, considering Wheezo’s frame.
“I ran 6 miles this morning and I’m swimming tonight.”
“Don’t you have a family?” Mac said.
“They come with. They love to swim.”
“They love to watch you do laps?”
“We play around. Then they keep playing while I swim a mile. Then we play around a little more. Perfect evening.”
“I wonder if Mrs. Wheezo feels the same way?” Sam said.
“Do you know the beauty of a kid who spends an hour in the pool?”
“No idea.”
“That pool does something to him. When he gets home, he drops into bed like a bag of rocks.”
“I bet his dad is tired, too, who ran 6 miles and swam another,” Mac said.
“Not so much,” Wheezo said. “It’s my chance to spend some alone time with Mrs. Wheezo.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Isn’t she pregnant?”
“Four months. So what?”
“When Margie was pregnant, it was hands-off.”
Wheezo was surprised. “Not Mrs. Wheezo. She’s always frisky. And I’ve got to say, there’s something about a pregnant wife. They’re so, fecund.”
Mac looked at Sam.
“I think he means rich and fertile,” Sam said.
“I don’t want to hear about your fertile wife,” Mac said.
“How did we get from ‘Can you access the BCA database?’ to hearing about your pregnant wife’s sex life?” Sam said.
Wheezo shrugged. “Just, still hungry. I get distracted when I’m hungry.”
“Are you familiar with extortion?”
“In the abstract. My crimes involved fraud and robbery.”
Mac rolled his eyes. “While you get into the database, I’ll go get you that last caramel pull-a-part.”
“While we’re waiting for your caramel roll, run these names through the BCA’s database.” Sam handed over a sheet of paper with the names. “I want to see if any of them have a record.”
“I’m on it,” Wheezo said.
Within moments Sam was gazing at the juvenile record for Kurt “Suthy” Baxter, who at the age of 17 was adjudicated for a felony—possession and distribution of a controlled substance. He’d served 12 months in the Stillwater Juvenile Detention Center.
Suthy Baxter was one of three people with whom Jerry had been in recent contact, by both voice and text. But he was the only one with a record.
One of Jerry’s latest texts to Suthy Baxter said, “Hey, coming into a little extra jack. Let’s head over to Mystic Lakes Casino, do a little partyin’.” So Jerry may have been a dealer? That was interesting. If so, it sounded like Jerry’s buddy Suthy would know. Definitely a person of interest. He had a 763 area code. When Sam had Wheezo check it out, he used a reverse phone directory to pull up Baxter’s address. 1025 25th Street, Cambridge.
Mac returned with the pull-a-part. It was slightly smaller than Mac’s head. Wheezo smiled.
“I thought you couldn’t concentrate when you were feeling peckish?” Sam said.
“Sometimes,” Wheezo said, tearing off an outside layer of the gooey roll and biting off a chunk. “Sometimes it has the opposite effect,” he said, his mouth nearly full. Wheezo grinned, bits of roll peaking from the corners of his mouth.
Sam noted the address and briefly thought about calling him. But if he picked up and they had a conversation, Suthy would be tipped off.
Sam called Marschel and told her about the contact.
“Okay,” Marschel said. “You heading up to see him?”
“Can’t just yet. Still have to check into a hotel and run Gray. I’m thinking an early morning visit would be best. Around 7? Before he goes to work, if he goes to work.”
“Makes sense. Surprise him.”
“You in?”
“At 7? You’ll have to be on the road by 6. You go ahead and be a hero on this one, just keep me in the loop.”
“Will do.”
“As soon as they’re done with the autopsy and drug analysis, I’ll let you know. But my ear is tellin’ me it’s heroin and an OD by a practicing junkie.”
“That ear’s pretty smart,” Sam said.
“It’s like a superhero thing,” Marschel said, and hung up.
By the time they’d finished at Carmichaels, it was almost 4:30. Wheezo ate the last bite of his roll, closed his laptop, and headed out the door. After Sam checked in at the Eden Prairie Extended Stay America, he was going to meet Carmel Rodriguez at Anderson Lakes Park Reserve to run their dogs.
“Close enough to quittin’ time,” Mac said. “I’m going home.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said.
“So does meeting up with that veterinarian,” Mac said. “You going to try and hook up?”
“Hook up?” Sam said. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“You’re a known slut, Rivers. Remember Diane?”
“I’d known Diane since I was a kid. She was practically an aunt to me.”
“An aunt with benefits? That’s sick.”
Sam looked away, shaking his head. “I’m going to run Gray with her. That’s all. She’s showing me around.”
“I bet. Did you see she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring?”
“I noticed.”
“I could tell you were interested.”
“Anyone would think Carmel Rodriguez was nice to look at. Even a grandpa like you. But in the final analysis, Mac, I’m a working stiff. What’s left, when romance turns south?”
Mac recognized a rhetorical question, so he shrugged and waited.
“Work,” Sam said. “In the depths of the bad time with Maggie, the only place I could find solace, such as it was, was on the job, in the field. Didn’t matter if it was the sun-baked plains east of Denver or the middle of the Rockies or the Western Slope or Northern Minnesota. Flora and fauna, Mac. It has always been my mantra, when the chasm of life opens and threatens to swallow you whole. Getting out under the sun and stars has always kept me sane. And it helps to have a partner like Gray.”
Mac let out a sigh and said, “Rivers, anyone ever tell you you’re full of horse shit?”
“You, when I get too philosophical.”
“I’d love to stay and be educated in the ways of sensitive men, but I got a lawn to mow.”
“You want to head up to Cambridge in the morning, before rush hour?”
“Are you kidding? You’ll have to leave before 6.”
“I’ll call you after I talk to Suthy.”
“Do that,” Mac said. “Figure out some way to get me out of the office. I like the sun too. But because it’s warm and spring in Minnesota. Not ’cause of all that other crap.”
CHAPTER NINE
At the hotel, Sam showered, fed Gray, and they were out the door before 6. They turned onto Anderson Lakes Parkway, heading toward the reserve. Carmel had said the reserve would be an excellent place for Gray to stretch his legs—plenty of trails and very few people, and those who hiked it were usually dog people. She had two dogs she liked to run there most nights. If Sam and Gray were okay with company, she could give them a tour.
That sounded just fine to Sam. Gray, too, Sam noticed, seemed to appreciate the vet. Sam wondered how he’d like the vet’s dogs.
Sam and Gray saw the reserve sign up ahead and turned. There was a short road that curved right to a blacktop parking area with 20 spaces and only three cars. Carmel was waiting with her two dogs beside a red Expedition. She had a brown dog, maybe 60–70 pounds, and a smaller one, around 40 pounds, spotted black and white like a dalmatian. Both dogs appeared to be mixed breeds.
Sam parked his jeep two slots away from Carmel’s Expedition.
Gray glanced at the two dogs and made a low-throated growl.
“No,” Sam said, scratching Gray’s neck and then pulling, just enough to snap Gray out of his aggressive instincts. Gray stopped and turned, enough to tell Sam he understood.
“Good boy.”
Then the wolf dog’s attention swung back to the new dogs.
When Sam got out of the car, Carmel smiled. She wore jeans and a simple white muslin top, what Sam’s ex-wife Maggie would have called a tunic. Maggie had worn them to tactfully cover weight gain. Sam couldn’t tell if Carmel was employing it for the same purpose, but he didn’t think so.
“Just a sec. Let me get Gray on a leash. We need to introduce them.”
Carmel glanced around to make sure they were alone. “I know these cars,” she said, indicating the other two vehicles in the lot. “Once we get on the trails, we can take them off leash, if Gray’s okay with it.”
“That’d be great,” Sam said. He turned to the passenger side of his car, opened it, and leashed Gray before he came down off the seat.
Carmel’s dogs strained against their leashes, trying to get a whiff of the new dog.
“How is he with other dogs?” she said.
“The only time he’s rumbled is when he’s been provoked. How are your guys? Besides cute and handsome.”
Carmel smiled. “This is Frank,” she said, indicating with a nod the big brown mix. “And this is Liberty,” she nodded toward the black-and-white spotted one.
Gray was pulling his leash taut, staring at the two with interest.
“Okay if I move forward?” Sam said.
“Sure.”
They closed the 10 feet between them. Gray stood still, his tail wagging. That was a good sign, Sam thought. Liberty moved in toward Gray’s back side and sniffed, low. Frank went nose-to-nose with Gray. Frank was 6 inches shorter and arched his nose up. The wolf dog’s height and weight were a clear advantage, probably one of the reasons Gray was still moving his tail in a tentative wag.
Sam and Gray had encountered dogs in other parks that weren’t well socialized. If they were big enough, they’d sometimes go after Gray. But the wolf dog was all sinew and muscle, and not averse to mixing it up, if the occasion required it.
Gray, Frank, and Liberty became friends about as quickly as three dogs can, in part because Carmel had the same control over her dogs as Sam did over Gray. Carmel and Sam were alphas, Sam thought, at least where dogs were concerned. Carmel led them down a side trail and they disappeared into vibrant green. The spell of warm weather precipitated an early spring, causing a green explosion only people who live in four distinct seasons get to appreciate. Everything was new and, Sam thought, shimmering.
“Something’s happened in the last week,” Carmel said. “There’s been a sudden shift. It all feels different.”
The day had been unseasonably hot, but since it was still early in the year, the evening was starting to cool. It was warm, but moderating—perfect, really, Sam thought, for walking dogs in the Minnesota woods. Particularly since the bugs hadn’t yet emerged.
The trail opened into an early spring field filling out with foxtail grass, milkweed, sumac patches, thistle, mustard, and the usual patchwork of Minnesota wild. Carmel looked ahead and saw they had the path to themselves.
She bent down, unclasped her dogs, and said, “Let ’em run.”
Sam was happy to oblige. And so was Gray.
Frank shot forward like a bullet, Liberty in pursuit, and Gray followed with his long-legged stride.
“Looks like they’re on the hunt,” Sam said.
“I’m not sure mine would know what to do, if they got lucky,” Carmel said.
“They ever get lucky out here?”
“Not in the winter, so it’s been a while. But now, suddenly, it’s spring—practically early summer—and they’re feeling it. But I can tell they’re out of practice.”
“Gray too.”
“It was a long, hard winter,” Carmel said.
“After work in Denver, Gray and I head out to the nearby foothills, sometimes Green Mountain, and once I get off the path and make sure we’re alone, I let Gray run. It’s great exercise for both of us,” Sam said. “But last winter was tough for me too.”
Carmel told him that she had lived in Denver as a kid. She’d attended the third and fourth grades in Lakewood, a Denver suburb. Her father had brought their entire family up from Monterey, Mexico. He was also a veterinarian and had to work through the licensing process to become certified in the States. Once he did, he moved the family to Hopkins, where his sister and a brother had already settled.
Sam felt comfortable with Carmel, at least enough to explain how he’d ended up in Denver at 17—homeless, without his high school diploma, bereft and adrift. There had been an incident with his father resulting in a threat to prosecute Sam for attempted murder. It had been a bogus charge, but Sam’s father was an Iron Range attorney with connections and the ability to make the charge stick. Sam didn’t share all the details, only that the logical choice was to leave. He changed his name and spent the next 17 years creating a new life. Two years ago, he had finally returned home to face the charges and clear his name. He ended up discovering much more than redemption. Sam helped uncover murder and insurance fraud, and ultimately rescued Gray.
The dogs turned into the field and were exploring a gradual slope, hunting for birds, rabbits, squirrels, or whatever else their noses could turn up. If you were an observer of dog behavior you could already tell the three dogs were beginning to form a pack, sorting out the hierarchy, moving in a kind of hunting unit across the slope. They were working at it, trying it on, seeing how it felt, sizing each other up.
“So what about your name?” Sam finally said. “I could have sworn last year, when we met at your clinic, your name was Susan? Dr. Susan Rodriguez.”
She paused. “Susan was my ex-husband Carlos’s idea. My maiden name is Carmel Susannah Martinez. But Carlos thought it would be better if we had Anglo names.”
“Why did you need Anglo names?”
“To fit in. Carlos thought it would be better for business,” Carmel said. “He thought people would be more willing to bring their animals to a vet named Susan rather than Carmel.”
“Was Carlos right?”
Sam had a sudden sense there was still something between them. Conflict could be a connection, particularly among the long-married.
Carmel paused, watching the dogs on the slope nosing back and forth through the cover, and said, “Carl,” almost in a whisper. “He actually goes by Carl. We argued about it so much, and I’m so damn stubborn, it’s been hard to accept his perspective and call him by anything other than his full name. But it’s just, his perspective. Irreconcilable.”
When Sam’s wife filed for divorce, she listed the reason as “irreconcilable differences.”
“Sometimes irreconcilable is all that’s left.”
Suddenly Frank stopped and Carmel could see his tail shift to a rapid wag. “Frank found something.”
Sam turned and noticed Frank’s position and tail. “Definitely something.”
