“Sergeant Cole?” said Strauss.
They turned, waited.
Strauss and his son walked up to them.
“Hello, Mr. Strauss, what can I do for you?” she asked.
Strauss was about thirty pounds overweight and a sliver under six feet. He wore a Canali pinstripe with a loosened solid blue tie and white dress shirt. His hair was mostly white and longer than his son’s. His face was overly wrinkled, especially around the mouth. His voice was husky and edging toward ravaged. Puller noted the red-and-white pack of Marlboros sticking from his breast coat pocket and the nicotine fingers.
Lung cancer cometh, Mr. Wheezy.
His son’s face was filled out, the cheeks reddened from too much sun. His pecs bulged from too many bench presses, but he’d grown light in the quads, hammies, and the all-important calves from neglecting his lower body. Puller seriously doubted the man could run the Army two-mile in the allotted time. His tat sleeve also caught Puller’s attention.
Strauss said, “I heard about the bodies being found. Molly Bitner worked at my office.”
“That we know.”
“It’s just awful. I can’t believe she was killed. She was a very nice woman.”
“I’m sure she was. Did you know her well?”
“Well, just from the office. She was one of a bunch of gals who worked there, but we never had any issues with her.”
Puller said, “And would you expect to have had issues with her?”
Strauss shifted his gaze to Puller. “I understand you’re with the Army. An investigator?”
Puller nodded but said nothing.
Strauss eyed Cole again. “If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you handling the case?”
“I am. It’s a collaborative investigation, Mr. Strauss. One of the victims was in the military. That’s why Agent Puller is here. It’s standard procedure.”
“I see. Of course. I was just wondering.”
“Did she seem normal over the last few days?” asked Puller. “Anything seem to be bothering her?”
Strauss shrugged. “Again, I didn’t have a lot of contact with her. I have my personal secretary and Molly worked out in the main office area.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“Doing whatever was needed around the office, I suppose. We have an office manager, Mrs. Johnson, who could probably answer your inquiries. She would have had more contact with Molly than I would.”
Puller was listening but no longer watching the older man now. His gaze was on the son. Dickie was eyeing his work boots, big hands stuffed in his worn corduroys.
“Heard you were in the Army,” Puller said.
Dickie nodded but didn’t look up.
“What division?”
“First Infantry.”
“Mechanized man. Fort Riley or Germany?”
“Riley. Never been to Germany.”
“How long were you in?”
“One stint.”
“Didn’t like the Army?”
“Army didn’t much like me.”
“BCD or a DD?”
Strauss broke in. “Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. If we can help in any way, Sergeant Cole.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure we’ll be by your office to talk.”
“Certainly. Let’s go, son.”
As they walked off, Puller said, “Know the man well?”
“One of Drake’s leading citizens. And one of the wealthiest.”
“Right. Number two guy. So in the same league with Trent?”
“The Trents are in a league by themselves. Strauss is just one of his peons. But a very well-compensated peon. His house is smaller than Trent’s but gargantuan by Drake standards.”
“Strauss from Drake?”
“No, he moved here with his family over twenty years ago. He was from the East Coast, at least I think.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what brought him here?”
“Work. He was a business guy and in the energy field. Drake may not look like much, but we do have energy in the form of coal and gas. He started working for Trent and the business really took off. Now what was that DD stuff you mentioned?”
Puller said, “A BCD means Big Chicken Dinner. That stands for a bad conduct discharge. A DD is worse, a dishonorable discharge. Since Dickie’s still walking around free, I’m guessing it wasn’t a DD. They kicked him out for a reason that didn’t involve a court-martial. That’s what he meant when he said the Army didn’t much like him.”
Cole gazed in the direction of the Strausses. “I never knew that.”
“The only reason it might be relevant is that lots of BCDs are tied to drug use that the Army just doesn’t want to screw around with. So they choose kicking guys out instead of prosecuting them.”
“And maybe that ties to the meth lab we found?”
“You noticed it, right?” asked Puller.
She nodded. “Dickie’s tat sleeve is identical to Eric Treadwell’s.”
CHAPTER
21
Puller snagged the laptop and briefcase from the Drake Sheriff’s Office’s evidence room. He had to fill out the necessary paperwork to maintain proper chain of custody.
As they walked out Cole yawned and stretched.
He said, “You should head home and get some sack time. I promise not to call and wake you up.”
She smiled. “I appreciate that.”
“The tat sleeve? Is that a gang deal? Or do people around here just like that particular arm design?”
“I suppose I’ve seen it on Dickie before but never really focused on it. I can ask around.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You really going to be there at 0600?”
“I’ll give you a break, I’ll make it 0630.”
“Oh, I found a doc to do the posts.”
“Who is he?”
“Walter Kellerman. He’s first-rate. Even wrote a textbook on forensic pathology.”
“When is he going to do the posts?”
“Starting tomorrow afternoon. At his office in Drake around two. You want to be there?”
“Yes.” He turned to head back to the motel.
“Hey, Puller, why do I think you’re not really going to bed yet?”
He glanced back. “You need me, you’ve got my number.”
“So I can call and wake you up?”
“Anytime.”
Puller fast-walked back to Annie’s Motel. Cole had been spot-on. He wasn’t going to bed yet. He checked the little traps he always put in his room to make sure no one had been there. Annie’s Motel did not offer maid or room service. One had to police his own space and find his own grub, which suited Puller just fine. He found nothing amiss.
He was on the road within five minutes, his destination the designated DHS drop site. He could kill two birds with one stone with this maneuver. He made a call and arranged for the agent stationed there to meet him. It took fifty minutes on the curvy roads. Normally the drop site was for evidence storage when a CID agent was in the field with no access to secure facilities. It took two agents to log in or log out any evidence, for obvious reasons.
When he got to the site Puller and the agent on duty packaged the laptop and briefcase in special boxes to be sent to the Army’s criminal lab in Atlanta. Puller did not have the technical expertise to break the passcodes and access the laptop. And though he possessed both TS and SCI clearances, he probably didn’t have the specific authorizations to look at what might be on there anyway. Because the laptop and briefcase potentially contained national security information, a commercial shipper could not be used. A special military courier was being summoned to accompany the sealed boxes down on a morning flight out of Charleston, West Virginia. They would be in Atlanta later that day. Puller could have taken the stuff down to Georgia himself, which he’d actually done in the past, but he thought it was more important to remain at the scene.
In the Army you always covered your ass. Thus he’d gotten approval for this plan from his SAC, who had covered his ass by getting necessary approvals all the way up to the one-star level. How the one-star covered her butt Puller didn’t know and didn’t really care.