Robie eased forward in the seat, making the leather squeak slightly. Outside, the investigation continued as the techs tried to find any clue as to who had taken a human being and turned him into a kabob. Robie did not like their odds of success. Killers who guided you to the bodies didn’t usually leave useful clues behind.
He took another sip of the coffee, let it warm his throat, get it lubricated to talk some more. Robie did not normally like to talk. About anything. But tonight he would make an exception to that rule. He needed help.
“There’s something else,” said Robie.
“I thought there might be,” answered Blue Man.
“I thought initially Julie was the target on the bus. Now I believe that I was.”
“Why?”
“Principally it’s a question of timing. The bomb had to have been put on that bus hours before it left. Julie spontaneously decided to get on the bus after the bomb had already been placed. I had reserved a seat using an alias, an alias someone knew who shouldn’t have known. They couldn’t have known she would be on the bus. But they knew I would be. And that bomb had to be placed on the bus before I even got to the Winds’ apartment.”
“But why kill you? What do you know that can hurt them?”
Robie shook his head. “I can’t figure that one out. At least not yet.”
Blue Man said, “You should be dead, you know.”
“You mean from the bomb blast?”
“No, from the shooting at Donnelly’s.”
“I know. They let me live.”
“So they wanted to kill you before, but now they want to let you live?”
“Change in plan.”
“Why? Do they need you for something?”
The way Blue Man said it made Robie look at him.
“You think I’ve been turned too?”
Blue Man stared over Robie’s shoulder at where the forensic work lights were illuminating the remains of what had once been a man.
“Well, if you have been you can certainly see there’s no future in it.”
CHAPTER 57
Robie drove north into Prince George’s County, Maryland. Prince George’s was largely working- and middle-class, with cops, firefighters, and midlevel government types making their homes there. Its more affluent neighbor, Montgomery County, had more than its share of lawyers, bankers, and CEOs who lived in massive houses on relatively small plots of land.
Rick Wind had lived on a narrow street in a neighborhood where people parked their cars and trucks at the curb and filled their garages with things their small homes couldn’t contain.
There was a police presence here, though no crime scene tape was strung, for the simple fact that no crime had been committed here. Blue Man had had his people call ahead, and the officer on duty let Robie pass by after he showed his cred pack.
Since there might technically be usable evidence here, Robie put on latex gloves and shoe covers before entering the house. He passed through the front door and shut it behind him. He turned on the lights and gazed around. Wind’s pawnshop business had obviously not been doing that well. The furniture was old and shabby, the rugs stained and worn. The walls needed painting. The smells that hit Robie were all deep-fried foods. Wind hadn’t been here in a while to cook anything, so Robie assumed these aromas were buried deeply in the bones of the place, never to be eliminated until the house was knocked down.
There was a shelf against one wall. On it were a few books, mostly military thrillers, and a number of framed photographs. Robie picked them up one by one and saw Rick and Jane Wind and the couple’s two sons, only one of whom was still alive.
The family looked happy in the pictures and Robie let his thoughts wander for a moment and wondered what had caused the marriage to break down. He put down the last photo and kept moving. Affairs of the heart were beyond his expertise.
He worked his way from the main floor to the top floor. And found nothing.
He searched the basement and again struck out. All he found was damp and mold and boxes filled with junk.
He stepped outside and entered the single-car garage through the side door. He assumed the police had thoroughly searched inside here, as well as the house, but they might not have been looking for the right things.
As I if I know what I’m looking for either.
A half hour later he sat down in a lawn chair in the middle of the garage and gazed around. Staring back at him was a push mower, cardboard boxes, power tools, a workbench, a weed whacker, lawn and plant food, some sports equipment, and a combat helmet that Wind had obviously kept from his time in the Army.
Hanging from the helmet were Wind’s dog tags. Robie rose and picked them up, read off the information. It was not very useful to him. He set the helmet back down.
This had been a wasted trip. But at least he could check it off his list.
He looked at his watch. It was after eight now. He called Vance.
“Got time for some coffee?” asked Robie. “I’ll buy.”
“And what exactly do you want for that?”
“How do you know I want anything?”
“I’ve finally figured you out. Nothing comes before the mission for you.”
Maybe she does have me figured out.
He said, “Okay, how about the medical examiner’s report on Rick Wind?”
“Why do you want that?”
“It’s a piece of the investigation.”
He heard her sigh. “Where and when?”
He told her, making the location close by for her and not too distant for him.
Robie drove back south, crossing over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, where he ran into rush-hour traffic, but did a decent job threading his way through it. Vance was already there when he arrived at the café on King Street in Old Town Alexandria.
He sat down and noted that she had ordered a coffee for him.
“I know how you like it,” she said, spooning some sugar into her cup. “From when you were at my place,” she added unnecessarily.
“Thanks. Do you have the report?”
She slid a file out of her bag and passed it to him. It was filled both with photos of Wind’s body from every angle and a detailed analysis of his physical condition and cause of death. Robie studied the pages while he drank his coffee.
Vance said, “You look like you’ve been up all night.”
“Not all night. Just most of it.”
“Don’t you need to sleep?”
“I get three solid hours a night just like everybody else.”
She snorted and sipped her coffee. “Find anything interesting?”
“Wind wasn’t in the greatest shape. Heart disease and a bad kidney, and report said his liver and lungs were suspect too.”
“He fought in the Middle East. You know all the crap they used over there? It can do stuff to you.”
“Can it?” asked Robie.
“My older brother fought in the First Gulf War. He died at forty-six. His brain looked like Swiss cheese.”
“Gulf War syndrome?”
“Yep. Never got much traction in the news. Too many defense dollars stacked against it. Truth could never get out.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
Robie put the file down.
She said, “So, you find anything useful?”
“Interesting tattoo on his left forearm.”
He slid the photo of the arm out and showed it to her.
“I know. I wondered what that was,” said Vance.
“You don’t have to wonder anymore. It’s a Spartan warrior in a hoplite battle stance.”
“What?”
“Did you ever see the movie 300?”
“No.”
“It depicted a battle between the Greeks and the Persians. Persia had a far bigger army, but the Greeks used a bottleneck in the terrain to hold off the superior force. A way around this was provided to the Persians by a traitor. The Spartan king sent the vast part of the Greek army away while he stayed back with a small contingent of Spartans to take on the Persians. They were the three hundred depicted in the movie. They used the hoplite battle formation. Close ranks, many rows deep, shields up, spears out. They were killed to a man, but it took the Persians a long time to do it. By then the Greek army had escaped.”