Cole did so.
The deputy named Lou let out a gasp. He said, “That’s the guy who was pretending to live at Treadwell’s place.”
Puller rose. “I thought it might be.”
“How?” asked Lou.
“He matched the description you gave of him earlier. Now we know he’s as good at sniping as he is at killing up close.”
Lou looked at the other wrecked body. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“I killed him,” Puller said simply. “Before he killed me.”
“That was Dickie Strauss back there,” said Cole.
“I know.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Coming to meet me.”
Cole looked at the wounds on the back of the man’s arms. “Your rounds?”
He nodded. “The guy went for his gun. Thought he was trying to get me to kill him. I didn’t. Then he ate his own round. Should have seen that coming. But a guy wants to kill himself and he has a gun handy, not a lot you can do about it.”
“Guess not,” said Cole curtly.
Puller looked around and said, “Let’s secure the crime scenes. Call in Lan Monroe and whoever else you need. Then you and I can go talk.”
“What about?”
“Lots of things.”
CHAPTER
76
Cole was waiting for him at her house. Puller had made one stop at his motel room and then driven over. She greeted him at the front door and he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
“You want a drink?” she asked. “I’m having a beer.”
“I’m good,” he said.
They sat in a back room that overlooked the rear yard. It was hot and humid, and Cole’s wall AC wasn’t much better than the one in his motel room. He thought he could taste the coal in the air, feel his skin turning oily black by just being here.
She sat across from him, her fingers curled around the neck of her Michelob.
“While you were following up some leads,” she began, “I checked out Treadwell’s place of business. The only useful piece of info I got from them is that nothing was missing from their inventory. And they had no idea why he would have tungsten carbide residue in his house. They don’t carry anything like that.”
“So it wasn’t work-related?”
“No.”
“I found the answer to the meth lab.”
“What?”
He told her what he’d discovered at the fire station.
“Damn. The Xanadu club dealing meth?”
“Looks to be,” said Puller. “But doesn’t really get us anywhere. And we’re running out of time.”
“What do you mean?”
He told her about his conversation with Joe Mason. About the pipeline operated by Trent. And the nuclear reactor that was apparently the real target. And finally he told her about Trent’s financial problems.
When he was done, she put her beer down and leaned back in her chair.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” she said. “Jean never told me anything about money problems. And she told you?”
“I think I caught her at a vulnerable moment. And I’m not family. Maybe she just didn’t want you to know. Maybe she was embarrassed that she might be poor again.”
“Are you hungry? I’m suddenly starving.”
“Cole, forget about food. We’ve got less than two-”
She said in a trembling voice, “I need to make sandwiches, Puller. I… I need to do something normal. Or I’m going to lose it. I am. I mean it. I didn’t sign up for something like this. Shit like this is not supposed to happen in places like Drake.”
He said in a soothing tone, “Okay. Okay. How about I help?”
They went to the kitchen and made turkey sandwiches with pickle slices on top and chips as the garnish. They ate standing up at the kitchen sink.
“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.
Puller took a bite of sandwich and followed it with some chips.
“Shooter knew what he was doing. Rifle was first-class, so was his ammo choice. He picked his position well, executed his shot, and nearly made his escape. I had to hustle to beat him and also bagged some luck in the process. And I’m really good at hunting down shooters in pretty much any environment.” He paused. “And he still almost got away. And his partner was good. Not as good as me, but really good.”
“Modest,” said Cole.
“Realistic,” replied Puller. “Underestimating or overestimating your ability can be fatal. There are guys out there better than me. He just wasn’t one of them.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s assume Dickie, Treadwell, and Molly were in on the meth dealing. I said Dickie struck me as a guy who was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He was dealing meth, which he obviously wanted to keep secret, but he had also stumbled onto something else that was far worse.”
“You said he was meeting with you tonight? Any idea what he was going to report?”
“No. Maybe nothing. I was the one who called the meeting.”
She popped the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Deer Park. She handed him one.
“A pipeline and a nuclear reactor,” she said. “And we have two days. That’s nuts, Puller. Nuts.”
“It is what it is.”
“You have to call in the heavy artillery.”
“I’ve tried, Cole. The guys upstairs aren’t budging on this.”
“So they’re just hanging us out to dry?”
They stood there facing each other across a few inches, but it seemed to Puller like miles. He had served his country most of his adult life. And serving your country, in essence, meant serving its citizens. People like the woman staring hopelessly at him right now. He had never felt so conflicted in his life.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Cole. I really don’t.”
She said, “Well, there’s one thing I need to do.”
“What’s that?” Puller asked warily.
“I need to tell Bill Strauss he’s lost his son.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do.”
They rose and left together.
CHAPTER
77
They drove there in Puller’s Malibu. The night air seemed even more stifling than it had been during the day when the temperature had hovered in the nineties with a matching humidity level. The spray of his headlights picked up swarms of mosquitoes just waiting for victims. A deer leapt out from the woods on the left about fifty feet ahead of them. Puller tapped his brakes. A few seconds later what looked like a small mountain lion exploded from the brush, cleared the asphalt in two bounds, and disappeared into the woods on the other side.
Predators, it seemed, were out in force tonight.
“It was hotter than this in the Middle East, but no humidity. This reminds me more of Florida,” said Puller as he piloted his ride along the curvy back roads that seemed to be the only kind Drake had.
“Never been to Florida,” said Cole. “West Virginia is the only place I’ve ever been. This is my home.”
He punched the AC button to max and rubbed a line of sweat off his forehead even as her words stung him.
“Let’s talk it out,” he said.
“This puts me in the mother of all awkward positions, Puller.”
He glanced at her. “I know. You’re an officer of the peace. A public servant. Protect and defend.”
“Right. So what am I supposed to do? Evacuate the county?”
Puller gripped the steering wheel tighter and peered out into the darkness. Cole had been telling him which way to go to get to the Strausses’ home, but apparently they were on a long straightaway, at least long by local standards, and Cole had obviously seized the opportunity to voice her concerns.
“You can try, I guess. But without more to go on, I’m not sure how effective you’ll be.”
“But if you back me up? And the folks up in D.C.?”
“That won’t be happening,” said Puller bluntly.
“Why the hell not?”
Puller decided to tell her the truth. “They see you guys as an opportunity to write a new page in the playbook and nail some bad guys in the process.”