Chain Reaction (16 page)

Maggie stared down into her cup, took a long swallow and said, ‘I’ve been warning them for more than a year. But you’ve got to understand. Agent Connelly spent time at all three 9/11 sites. He was at the World Trade Center the day after it went down. It scarred him – it scarred everybody who was there.’

‘Are you saying he’s had a problem that long?’

‘Oh no! When I started working in this office six years ago, Connelly was a little bit suspicious of Muslim men in the their twenties and thirties, but not more than anybody else. But then, after his wife died, his concern moved to paranoia and obsession.’

‘What happened to his wife?’

‘Massive stroke – she lingered, patched into machines for a couple of weeks, and then the doctors convinced him to pull the plug.’

‘When was that?’

‘About eighteen months ago. It was after her funeral that he started acting odd. He became suspicious of every Muslim person he saw. He once told me that Muslims had pulled a fast one on the doctors. He said he had proof that they administered a fast-acting drug that caused her to have a stroke.’

‘Proof?’

‘So he said, but he never showed me a thing. And every day, it seemed to get a little worse. Not only was he certain every Muslim he met was guilty of something but he saw Muslims everywhere – even in his own church.’

‘What religion is he?’

‘Catholic. Every Monday, he started telling me about seeing a Muslim or two sitting in the pews pretending to worship but he knew they were plotting to blow up the church. Then, one week, he came in and told me that the priest of his church was a secret Muslim who was trying to destroy the faith of the whole congregation.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, and sometimes he’d make the oddest statements. Like when he told me he couldn’t go back to the church because of the heretic priest, he said, “Got to guard against that at all times, Maggie – garbage in, garbage out.”’

‘So what did you do?’ Jake asked.

‘I went over his head. I felt bad about that. I mean, he’s been a great boss – even now, he treats me great. Understands when I have personal business, when my daughter gets sick, tells me to stay home on the Monday after Daylight Saving Time hits so I can adjust to the loss of an hour without pressure. Always takes me out to lunch on my birthday, never steals credit for ideas or work – yeah, he’s been great. But he was falling apart. I wanted them to force him into retirement before he did anything wacky. I wanted him to go out with his reputation intact – his service to his country appreciated. But now …’

‘What reaction did you get from the home office?’

Maggie sighed deep and swallowed down the rest of her cup. ‘They thanked me. They asked for my patience. They said that Connelly had already agreed to retire.’

‘Then why was he still working?’

‘Because he agreed to retire on his twenty-fifth anniversary date but that is still a year away now. I didn’t know what else to do but try to keep him from acting on any of his nutty ideas. But since the explosion at the high school, he just doesn’t listen to me any longer. Oh damn, I shouldn’t have told you all of this,’ Maggie said, hanging her head.

Jake rested a palm on her lower arm. ‘Yes, you should have, Maggie, because I am going to use this information to get Connelly to step down, to walk away from the possibility of a violent confrontation. What you have told me could save his life. Now, you said that you might know where he could be.’

Maggie’s shoulders shuddered as she inhaled deeply and looked into Jake’s face. ‘If I tell you, do you promise me that you will do everything in your power to protect him?’

‘Absolutely,’ Jake said.

‘I imagine someone’s already checked his home.’

‘Yes, I know they have. They are searching it right now.’

‘You probably should stake out his wife’s gravesite, if you haven’t already.’

‘I don’t know but I’ll check into that.’

‘There is one more place where he might be.’

‘Where, Maggie?’

‘I want you there – don’t leave this up to the locals. I don’t want you to tell anyone until you are there in person to protect him.’

‘Again, you have my promise.’

‘His brother has a vacation cabin at Smith Mountain Lake.’

‘Do you have an address?’ Jake asked.

‘Yeah, I even have a map. It’s up in the office. And it’s probably about time I returned to those damn phones.’

Jake walked her back, retrieved the information about the cabin at the lake and got into his car. He called Lucinda but her cell phone immediately went to voicemail. ‘I don’t think I’ll be home tonight, Lucy. I’ve got to follow a lead out of town. I’ll call back later. Love you.’

Jake lowered the convertible top on his baby-blue 1966 Impala Super Sport and pulled out of the parking lot, knowing he’d enjoy cruising across the state in his vintage car even if the drive out to the lake proved totally unproductive – or even if it turned horribly tragic. He shook that thought out of his head and headed west.

L
ucinda returned to the classroom at the high school to continue the interviews. Tilly Campbell walked in wearing a grin and an outfit that spoke of her Texas roots: flared, mid-calf denim skirt with an embroidered vest over a plain white knit shirt with three-quarters sleeves and a pair of red, intricately stitched boots. Her long hair was pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck revealing large Lone Star earrings dangling from her lobes. ‘Howdy, Lieutenant,’ Tilly said.

The woman’s stereotypical image left Lucinda speechless for a beat, then she said, ‘Please have a seat, Ms Campbell.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Lucinda half expected the woman to spin the chair around and straddle it backwards but she sat in it like a normal person and crossed her legs. ‘What can I do for you, Lieutenant?’

‘Miss Texas much?’ Lucinda asked.

Tilly leaned her head back and laughed. ‘Sure do, ma’am, but somehow the beauty of Virginia has kept me tethered here – a whole lot prettier than that West Texas ranch where I grew up.’

‘What brought you here in the first place?’

‘My mama was from Virginia and she went to Sweet Briar College. She assumed that I would go there, too, and I never considered anyplace else. Can’t say I have any regrets. Still get back to the ranch a couple of times a year – my brother and his family live there now but it still feels like home. So, I suspect this little chatty talk is designed to disarm me before the hard-hitting questions start flying?’

Lucinda laughed. ‘Not exactly, Ms Campbell, just ordinary human curiosity about someone from a distant place. I guess it wouldn’t have been very effective with you if that had been my plan. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about this past Sunday morning. Where were you?’

‘Home. Alone. Well, I did have two dogs and a cat with me but I doubt they can confirm my whereabouts.’

‘Where was your red pick-up truck?’

‘Oh, so that’s why you wanted to talk to me. Well, it was sitting in my driveway – all day long. I thought about coming up to the school when I heard what happened but I decided I’d just be in the way. Didn’t go anywhere till lunchtime on Monday.’

‘You didn’t loan your truck to anyone?’

‘I hope you’re not suspicious of one of my 4-H Club kids.’

‘Why would you think that?’ Lucinda asked.

‘Because they spend time at farms and would have access to fertilizer.’

The alarm in Lucinda’s head pinged its danger signal. ‘And what does that have to do with what happened here?’

‘Well, shoot, Lieutenant, it looked pretty obvious to me that it was the same kind of explosion as the one by McVeigh in Oklahoma – a fertilizer bomb. Or am I wrong about that?’

At the scene, Marguerite Spellman had theorized fertilizer – ammonium nitrate, to be precise – as the explosive material used. Lucinda hadn’t considered Tilly Campbell as a likely suspect before. But now? ‘Interesting theory, Ms Campbell. How did you reach that conclusion?’

‘Because of the damage, the force of the explosion that caused it, the availability of the material and the fact that it wouldn’t have weighed enough to cause a transportation problem – anyone but a small child could carry enough of it in here. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?’

‘I would like to get a list with contact information and parents’ names for all the members of your 4-H Club.’

‘Lieutenant, I’m telling you that these are good kids. Not a hoodlum in the bunch. I’d bet my life on the fact that none of them were involved.’

‘When can you get me that list?’

Tilly exhaled a loud sigh. ‘I sure wish you’d leave those kids alone, Lieutenant.’

Silence filled the space between them as they stared at each other. Tilly was the first to look away. ‘Fine. I’ll go get that information together for you right away. Shouldn’t take me long at all. Anything else?’

Lucinda could tell from the look on the other woman’s face that any additional cooperation would not be readily forthcoming but she pushed ahead. ‘Do any of those kids drive red pick-up trucks?’

Tilly shrugged. ‘How would I know?’

‘Can you think of anyone capable of setting off that explosion?’

‘I told you: my 4-H kids are upright, solid citizens – not criminal misfits.’

‘I wasn’t just asking about them, Miss Campbell. Anyone, anyone you think might be able to pull this off?’

‘At first, I thought about the really bright kids in my calculus class who were strong in physics. But I couldn’t think of one of them who was that devious or that bitter. Then I realized that, with all the internet sites out there with step-by-step instructions on how to build everything from a Molotov cocktail to a dirty suitcase bomb, it wouldn’t require anything more than average intelligence. That gives you a whole school full of possible suspects.’

‘Anyone of your students express interest in any of those devices?’

Tilly shook her head. ‘C’mon, Lieutenant, get serious. These are teenagers. Every year, there are bunches of them who are interested – but it’s all talk or lame experiments in the woods. I never felt a single one of them was dangerous.’

Lucinda slid a card across the desk. ‘Thanks, Ms Campbell; call me if you think of anything. Bring by that list as soon as it’s ready. I’m sure we’ll need to talk again soon, so—’

‘Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ve got no plans to run off to Texas and hole up on the ranch. I do remember Waco.’

Tilly walked out with long strides, her boot heels clicking on the floor tiles. An interesting woman – and great at raising red flags. But did that indicate guilt or guileless innocence?

While Lucinda waited for her next interview, she turned on her cell and listened to the voicemail from Jake. She almost called him back but then remembered that he wouldn’t tell her anything about the case over the phone and wouldn’t want to hear anything from her, either. It would have to wait. She turned her phone back off when she heard the staccato clip of high heels moving down the hall in her direction.

A
s Jake approached Lynchburg, his heart soared at the first sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains. On a clear, bright day like this one, he was always amazed at the aptness of the name of the range – an unexpected and magnificent blue rising up on the horizon, rounded by eons of weather into soft, forgiving peaks that bear little resemblance to the stark, sharp juts of the Rocky Mountains.

He left the interstate highway for smaller state roads, shifting his direction to the southwest as he traveled at a slower pace through rural areas in the direction of Smith Mountain Lake. Just over one hundred miles from his starting point, he turned left, heading south in a near straight line. Two and a half miles later, he reached Smith Mountain Lake Turnpike and traveled southwest to a sprawling body of water. GPS directed him to a property abutting Smith Mountain Lake State Park where a small log cabin sat at the end of a rutted dirt drive.

Jake parked just past the drive by a rusted mailbox and entered the woods. Fortunately, in early May, the undergrowth was not as lusty as it would be later in the summer and finding a spot where he could remain concealed while observing the home was not difficult.

The cabin was an old structure – the logs appeared to be hand-hewn. Someone had kept the place up, though. It was obvious that the mortar had been freshly pointed, the porch was stained a dark brown and the steps leading up to it looked sturdy. The Adirondack chairs arranged in groupings on either side of the door appeared to be of recent vintage.

For a long while, Jake heard nothing to indicate that the cabin was occupied. He started easing his way through the woods, circling around to view the back side of the structure, when a shout rang out, followed by a loud noise that sounded as if something inside had crashed into an exterior wall.

Jake moved quickly as he looked for the shortest approach from the woods to the cabin – the route that would offer the least risk of discovery as he crossed open ground. When he found it, he darted to the building and pressed himself against the wall and listened. All he could hear was the lone rumble of spoken voice – it sounded like only one voice. It seemed that if anyone else was inside, they were not responding.

He crept around to the closest window and slowly eased an eye over to it. He was looking into an unoccupied living room dominated by a tall stone fireplace with a blackened hearth. A wooden chair with a broken leg lay on its side on the floor in front of it. The bright, pointy splinters at the break indicated that it might be that chair he heard crash into the wall.

He eased around the corner and saw Connelly’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee, its top draped in a camouflage tarp. Now Jake knew with some certainty that the ATF agent was here and, in all likelihood, had his two Sikh hostages with him.

He approached the next window and peered into a small room containing two bunk beds with stripped mattresses and bare pillows. No one was in that room, either. The next window was high and opaque – probably the bathroom. He couldn’t see through the obscured glass but heard no noises of anyone in that room.

The window beside that one opened on another bedroom. One of the two single beds there had been made, its blanket and linens pulled into place but looking as if someone had slept there.