Ramona met with Morris Day, Olsen’s supervisor, who offered her a coffee in a mug bearing the logo of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco amp; Firearms.
“You do training work with law enforcement agencies,” Ramona said. “One of my coworkers took your course on terrorist bomb threats.”
Day, a thirty-something man with curly light-brown hair cut short and a protruding chin below a slightly turned-up nose, nodded. “It’s one of the most popular courses we offer to government entities. We have students from federal agencies, friendly foreign governments, and many state and local police and fire departments who come here to learn antiterrorism and counterterrorism measures pertaining to the use and identification of explosive and incendiary devices.”
“Sounds interesting,” Ramona said. “I’d like to take it.”
“I’ll give you an application packet before you leave,” Day replied.
“That would be great,” Ramona said. “Tell me about Noel Olsen. Did you know he was a convicted felon when you hired him?”
“Of course,” Day replied. “Even though he’s not working in a classified or a security-sensitive job, we did a very thorough background check before we took him on. He came highly recommended by his professors at State and his parole officer. Is he in trouble?”
“I just need to talk to him.”
“My secretary told the other officer who called that he’s on vacation,” Day said as he toyed with his coffee mug. “He asked for leave rather unexpectedly, but it came at a time when we could spare him.”
“Did he say what he planned to do on his vacation?”
“Noel likes to travel, especially to Europe. He said he had a last-minute offer from a friend to go on a hiking tour in Scotland that was too good to pass up.”
“Did he mention the friend’s name?” Ramona asked.
“No.”
“Did he request his leave in person?”
“No, he called me at home on a Friday night about two weeks ago and asked for fifteen workdays off.”
Ramona found that interesting. Why would Olsen, who had planned his crimes so carefully, wait until the last minute to arrange to go on holiday? It didn’t make sense. “Had he ever done that before?” she asked.
“Ask for an unscheduled vacation? No.”
Ramona asked about Olsen’s personality and learned he was well-liked, a hard worker, and had recently been upgraded to senior technician at the explosives mixing facility on the school’s testing grounds. He had no close friends at work, but always showed up for office parties and picnics, and played on the center’s coed volleyball team.
After she finished questioning Day, he drove her out to the facility where she spoke to Olsen’s coworkers, who confirmed that Olsen was a good guy who kept his head into work and his personal life to himself, which meant absolutely nothing. There were any number of sex offenders and murderers who masqueraded as ordinary people until something set them off.
Back at the center, Ramona thanked Day for his time and left, still nagged by the thought of Olsen’s abrupt request for a vacation. Perhaps Olsen had timed his leave to overlap with the arrival of Kerney’s wife, and since he didn’t have an exact date had to play it by ear.
But how did he know, even in a general way, when Sara Brannon would be coming to Santa Fe to have her baby?
In the kitchen, Samuel Green heated up some canned soup, poured it into a bowl, and carried it to his bedroom. He sat on the bed facing the small color television and watched the local noontime news out of Albuquerque. An anchor woman with big hair and bright-red lips smiled into the camera as she read the Teleprompter headline about the protest outside the Santa Fe Police Department.
Green turned down the volume when the picture switched to the intro of Kerney’s statement to the press. The camera panned over the crowd, and Green saw himself standing in the front row next to an old fag holding a JUSTICE FOR ALL sign. He looked good on camera, better then he’d expected.
He hit the mute button on the remote, and thought about how Kerney had to die. He’d done everything possible to make Kerney believe his next victim would be his pregnant wife. But that was not to be the case. In fact, until she delivered, Sara Brannon was in no danger at all.
Above all else, Green wanted Kerney to watch his wife and newborn child die before he killed him.
Chapter 11
T hrough a stream of fax messages and phone calls, the Santa Fe PD had kept Sheriff Paul Hewitt advised of the progress of the investigation. As soon as he got the word that a credible suspect had been identified in Socorro, Hewitt called Clayton Istee, who was with his family at his in-laws’ house. He gave Istee the skinny on the ID of Victoria Drake, her tie-in to Noel Olsen, and the search under way at Olsen’s house.
“They’ve found evidence that connects Olsen to the bombing and all but one of the homicides,” Hewitt added.
“I’m going up there,” Clayton said.
“Stay with your family, Sergeant,” Hewitt said. “They need you.”
“My family’s fine,” Clayton replied. “Grace and the kids are taken care of and well-protected.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not going to sit here and do nothing,” Clayton said heatedly. “One way or the other, I want in on the investigation.”
Hewitt knew arguing wouldn’t change Clayton’s mind and ordering him not to go would be pointless. “Okay, I’m placing you on training leave for the rest of the week. You’re to observe methods and procedures used by the Santa Fe PD major felony unit. Observe is the key word. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
“Thank you,” Clayton said.
“Don’t overstep your bounds, Sergeant,” Hewitt said. “It could cost us both, big time.”
“Who’s the contact in Socorro?” Clayton asked.
“Detective Pino.”
“Ten-four,” Clayton said.
He made the drive to Socorro running a silent code three all the way, trying not to think too much about Grace and the children. Wendell, usually so talkative, had fallen silent. Hannah refused to leave her mother’s side and didn’t understand why she couldn’t go home. Grace vacillated between black despair and frantic bursts of energy, one minute refusing to look at anybody, the next minute whirling through her parents’ living room straightening up the numerous toys that relatives had brought over for the children, especially the Lincoln Log set Wendell kept building into houses and then destroying.
He felt guilty for leaving Grace to do all the phone calling to the bank, the mortgage company, government agencies, and the insurance agent to get their claims started and replace all the important documents that had been destroyed. But in his current state of mind he would have been useless at doing any of it himself.
Last night’s events continued to swirl through Clayton’s head. He forced the images away by concentrating on the fact that there was now a viable suspect. The possibility of being in on the arrest cheered him, even if all he got to do was watch the Santa Fe PD take the SOB down.
He arrived at Olsen’s house, where Ramona Pino, whom he’d met last night, and three men were loading up an evidence trailer.
“Have you found Olsen?” Clayton asked as he approached Pino.
“Not yet, Sergeant,” Ramona replied, eyeing Clayton speculatively, thinking the man needed to be with his family and not playing observer on a case involving himself and his family, which was way outside the rules. She wondered how Clayton had talked his boss into it.
She introduced him around and gave him a rundown on the incriminating evidence that had been seized from the house. “We matched the photo you took of the shoe print on the trail behind your house with a pair of hiking boots from Olsen’s closet,” she added.