“We’re with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension,” Mattsson said. “Where’s Brad?”
Howe cocked his head back and asked, “Cops? He didn’t say anything about the cops looking for him.”
“Well, we are,” Shrake said.
Howe shrugged and shouted, “Hey, Brad, there are some cops here looking for you.”
Two seconds later, a door banged open in the back of the place and Howe said, “Shit, he ran out the back patio…”
Shrake ran toward the sound of the door and Mattsson ran back out the front door and yelled, “He’s running, he’s running…”
–
Virgil had some problems on his side of the house. He’d been standing near the back corner of Howe’s house when a woman screamed from the house next door, “Dan, Dan, there’s a man, there’s a man, there’s a man looking in the bedroom window.”
Virgil turned that way and a man shouted out the window, “What the fuck?”
Virgil said, as quietly as he could, and still be audible, “I’m a cop and I’m not looking in your window…”
The man looked at Virgil’s long blond hair, the band T-shirt, and the cowboy boots and said, “Bullshit you’re a cop.”
The woman, somewhere inside but not visible, shouted, “Get your gun, Dan…”
At that moment, from the front of the house, Mattsson screamed, “He’s running, he’s running…”
Virgil turned to Howe’s backyard and saw Blankenship bolt across the yard, stepping through ankle-deep water in a child’s plastic swimming pool as he went. There was a chain-link fence across the back of Howe’s lot, and he vaulted the waist-high fence with Jenkins, and then Shrake, behind him. Virgil followed as far as the fence, then thought to turn back to the house, in case Howe might be a threat, but a barefoot Howe had come out on the patio with the little girl. He said to Virgil, “He didn’t say nothing about cops looking for him.”
“How long has he been here?” Virgil asked.
“Since yesterday.”
A man ran around the corner of the house. He was carrying a huge shiny revolver, saw Virgil, pointed the pistol generally in Virgil’s direction, and hollered: “Hold it.”
Howe shouted, “What the fuck are you doing, Dan? These are cops.”
The man hesitated, then said, “Oh,” and pointed the gun at the ground.
Virgil said, “There are three other cops here. If they see that gun, they could kill you.”
A woman jogged around the corner of the house in a bathrobe. She stopped behind Dan, pointed at Virgil, and said, “That’s him, Dan.”
Howe said, “They’re cops, Jane. They’re gonna kill you guys if they see that fuckin’ gun.”
Dan said to the woman, “We better get back inside.”
The little girl said to Virgil, “My dad said ‘fuckin’.’”
“That happens, sometimes, honey,” Virgil said. He heard Jenkins shouting something from what seemed to be down the block, but more toward the front yard. Virgil said, “I better get out there.”
–
He ran back down the side of the house and, in the front yard, saw Blankenship sprinting toward his truck, with Jenkins twenty yards behind. Shrake was out of sight somewhere, but Mattsson was standing near the back end of Blankenship’s truck, raking leaves. The rake had the fan-type thin, wide blades made for lawn care, rather than the heavy tangs of a garden rake.
It worked well enough, though, especially when Blankenship tried to run past her, and she lifted the rake and swatted him in the face. He went down on his back, and Jenkins was on top of him before he got reorganized, flipped him over, and snapped on the cuffs. Shrake came puffing up a minute later as Jenkins and Mattsson were putting Blankenship in the back of Virgil’s truck. Blankenship was bleeding from three fan-shaped cuts on his face.
“What happened to him?” Shrake asked.
“Catrin hit him in the face with the rake,” Virgil said, nodding to the rake that was now lying on the neighboring lawn.
“I’m liking this chick better all the time,” Shrake said. He looked down at his tan pants, which had two-foot-long grass stains on the legs. “I fell or I would have been here for it. Goddamnit, I miss all the fun stuff.”
–
Blankenship was cuffed to the ring welded to the floor in the back of Virgil’s truck. He said, “I’m gonna sue you motherfuckers…”
“Shut up,” Virgil said, as he got in the truck, “or I’ll tell all your friends in Mankato that you got your ass kicked by a woman.”
“She ambushed me,” Blankenship said.
“I’d lie about it,” Virgil said. “Now shut up.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up.”
“My face is all cut up. I’m bleeding,” Blankenship said.
“Throw a little dirt on it,” Virgil said.
Mattsson added, “And shut up.”
–
They went by the BCA, and Mattsson picked up her car and followed Virgil over to the Ramsey County jail, where she took Blankenship inside and told Virgil, “Go find the tigers.”
“Yeah. Catrin: thanks. I appreciate what you’ve done.”
He couldn’t decide whether to shake Mattsson’s hand or hug her, but didn’t do either when she simply nodded, stepped back, and said, “Nice working with you, Virgil. Let’s do it again.”
30
Virgil left the jail and, as he headed out of the parking lot, checked his phone. Two missed calls from the same personal number, and he thought it might belong to Sandy, the BCA researcher.
He was right. “Virgil,” she said. She sounded breathless. “Where have you been?”
“Arresting a guy, nothing to do with the tigers. What happened?”
“You know I was tracking that phone that belonged to Hamlet Simonian? Well, I figured it out.”
“Where is it?”
“It was in Oakland, California-at a FedEx place. Whoever sent it, shipped it ground so we’d think somebody was driving it across country,” Sandy said.
“Ah, hell. Is it still there?”
“No, it’s in a truck heading south, toward Los Angeles. It should be there in a couple of hours. But here’s the thing-it’s an iPhone, and iPhones have their location services on by default. That means if we get the phone and if it’s not password protected, and he hasn’t turned off the location services, we can open up the privacy section and see everywhere the phone’s been. Like, if he went to where the tigers were, we would probably get an exact address.”
“We need that. Right now. You think the phone is headed toward LA?”
“Yes. Probably in a semitruck, which would be a huge load of packages, but I talked to FedEx and everything on the truck will be sorted for local delivery, which means we can probably narrow it down to one delivery truck. From there, we ought to be able to find it.”
“Do you have a date this evening?” Virgil asked.
“What?”
“If I get Jon to put you on a plane, are you up for a quick trip to LA?”
“Well… sure. But I gotta tell you, it could be password protected, and Apple doesn’t help you crack those. Even if you’re a cop.”
“I know all about Apple and I also know that when we searched Hamlet Simonian’s room, we found a little book that seems to be full of passwords. Pack your party panties and get out to the airport-you’re going,” Virgil said. “I’ll call Jon right now and get him to authorize a ticket. And a hotel with a pool.”
“Oh my God. All right. I’ll be on my phone.”
–
Virgil called Duncan, who said he’d fix it and put Sandy on the first flight into LAX.
If Sandy could find out where Hamlet Simonian had been, Virgil thought… and then he thought, Wait a minute. We’ve got phones closer than LA.