“It is. Ol’ Ray Zorn runs the place. You want to talk to him?”
“We need to.”
“I thought you might. I called Ray and told him we might be stopping by. He lives five blocks from here.”
Jupiter sat next to Hagen as the convict computer genius’s fingers set speed records flying over the keys. Sally was striking out with the pipe company, which was located in Des Moines. There just wasn’t a way to get hold of someone on the holiday. If the FBI and their resources could be trusted, they might have been able to throw some weight around. However, Mac and Riles both said they didn’t want to do that unless they were left with no choice.
Hagen said they had a choice.
He rolled his eyes when Sally asked him if he could crack into the company’s system. Hacking was a skill one never really lost, he said, “like riding a bike.” Peters had already promised protection if anyone caught him.
It took him about twenty minutes, but now he was into the company’s electronic shipping records for the kind of pipe shown in the video. “So where do they ship the pipe to?” Hagen asked, staring at the computer screen with a perplexed look on his face.
“You’re in, right? Jupiter quizzed. “But can you find the information you need?”
“I’ve never been much of an end-user. I’ll find what we need, but…”
“It’ll take you some time,” Jones filled in. “I have a little expertise in this area. May I?”
“Be my guest,” Hagen replied, scooting over.
Jupiter wasn’t a hacker. He was originally a programmer who had since moved to video. He liked to use technology as a tool to develop information, whether it was business intelligence software, where he had made his initial fortune, or in video, where he was making his next one. Hagen, on the other hand, knew programming and he liked to use technology as a tool as well, but more like a sword to access the information of others — that was where the thrill, and utility, lay for him. It was a different mindset. But Hagen had used his sword, and now, Jupe thought, it was time for the toolbox.
“While I was looking over your shoulder I thought I saw a previous page where I could…” Jones’s voice trailed off as he exited the shipping records and moused through menus. He clicked on an icon for a program named Customer Choice. “Here we go,” he said. “This is business intelligence software. This is the kind of stuff I used to make. It should let me search for what we need.”
Now Hagen was the interested one as Jupiter set up a search, entered the kind of pipe, the letter H in the company name profile, Minnesota and Wisconsin in the state field, and then clicked search. The program quickly turned out thirty-nine hits. “Now we’re cooking with gas,” Jupiter said. “I’m going to see if we can’t narrow this down a little more.”
Ray Zorn lived on a quiet corner in a blue two-story with a white picket fence. Zorn was sitting with his wife at a picnic table under the shade of a large maple tree. He was dressed in an old, yellow Munsingwear golf shirt, Bermuda shorts, and dark socks, along with a John Deere ball cap. Prepared for company, a white tray with a pitcher of lemonade and six glasses rested on the table.
“Hiya, Chief,” Zorn welcomed, waving the group over.
“Ray.” Mitchell introduced Mac and Lich, who both declined refreshment.
Mac wasted no time, “Mr. Zorn, David and Dean Mueller worked for you?”
“Yes they did.”
“They still work for you?”
“I don’t think they do.”
“Don’t think?” Lich queried.
“Well, they stopped showing up a few weeks ago and I haven’t heard from them since. So if those boys ever show up, it’ll only be for me to tell ’em not to come back. Must say, though I’m kind of disappointed in those boys.”
“Why’s that?”
“I knew their father. Tom Mueller was a friend of mine years ago. Those boys came to me, just out of prison, looking for work. I had my doubts, but I liked their father and thought I’d give them a chance.” Zorn went on to explain that they had been good workers who showed up on time, did whatever he asked, were respectful, caused no problems. “I was surprised when they just stopped showing up. Figured, if they got a better offer somewhere, they’d do me the courtesy of tellin’ me, ya know?”
“Did they ever have any visitors when they worked for you?”
“Just their sister. She showed up once, maybe a week or two before the boys up and scooted on me.”
Mac paused, then asked, “Did the Muellers ever purchase any lumber from you?”
“I don’t right know,” Zorn replied. “Employees can purchase from us at a pretty good discount, and they may well have done so. I can check if you need.”
“We do,” Mac said. “You said their sister stopped by. Would that be this woman?” He placed a picture of Monica on the picnic table.
“That’s her,” Zorn said. “Pretty girl, I always thought.”
“Have you ever seen this man?” Mac asked, sliding a picture of Smith across the table.
Zorn stared at the picture, as did Mitchell. Mitchell spoke first.
“These boys showed me this picture a few minutes ago and it didn’t hit me, but now for some reason it does. I think I’ve seen that guy before. Doesn’t he look familiar to you, Ray?”
Zorn wrinkled his nose and looked at the picture closer. “You know, I think you’re right there, Pete. He looks familiar. It’s the nose I think. That big knot up there on the bridge is what I remember.”
“Where did we see him?”
Zorn stared at the photo for a moment more, and then his eyes lit up, “We saw him at the Derby.”
“The Derby? What’s The Derby?” Lich asked.
“Restaurant out on County 81,” Chief Mitchell replied. “A dingy old greasy-spoon you passed on the left as you drove into town. It’s an old highway joint, few booths and a counter. Ray and I like to eat lunch there a time or two a week.”
“Pete’s right,” Zorn added. “We saw this feller in there. He was in a booth, the back booth I think, with the Mueller boys.” He shook his head. “Good memory, Pete.”
“When was this?”
“Not long ago,” Miller said. “Few, maybe three weeks ago.”
“Now that you mention it,” Zorn added. “Probably a few days before the boys up and bailed on me.”
Mac and Lich shared a look. “That pretty much locks it up,” Lich said.
“These boys have something to do with that kidnapping in St. Paul?” Miller asked.
Mac nodded.
“Anything else we can do to help?’
“It would help to find out if the Muellers bought any lumber from you.”
“Why would that matter?” Zorn asked, concerned. “I don’t think we did anything wrong.”
“You didn’t Mr. Zorn, you didn’t. But trust me,” Lich replied, “it matters for us to know. It just does.”
“So that gets us down to three stores with the right letters,” Hagen said.
“Hanlin’s in Brainerd, Hankley’s in Grantsburg, up in Wisconsin, or Hanburg’s in Wyoming,” Jupiter replied.
“Damn holiday,” Sally said. “It’ll be a nightmare to try to get hold of these people.” She shook her head.
“Call Mac,” Riles said. “See what he thinks. Sooner or later we need to bring more resources into this.”
“Here we go,” Zorn said as he held up a sheet of paper as they had all crowded into his office at the lumber yard. “Employee purchase form right here. Three weeks ago. They bought heavy plywood, two-by-fours and wood screws.”
“How about PVC piping?” Mac asked.
“Nope. Just the wood and the screws. We don’t sell PVC pipe.”
“But they bought it all about the time Smith met with those boys at the diner,” Lich added.
Mac nodded, but he was getting anxious. He looked at his watch, which now said 4:10 PM. Time was running out and, while they were confirming the players, it wasn’t getting them any closer.
“We know who it is now,” Lich said, pulling Mac to a corner. “We know it’s Brown and the Muellers.”
“Which is great, we’ve figured out who’s behind it. But where are the girls? We’re no closer to answering that.”