Authors: Diane Fanning
He clambered in and asked, ‘Who are we checking out?’
‘Ibrahim and Fatima Irfan.’
‘Names sound Pakistani,’ Jake said.
‘Yes. Unfortunately, they are here legally so we can’t call in INS to assist. In fact, they’ve been US citizens for the last eleven years.’
‘Citizens? Doesn’t sound like Muslim extremists to me,’ Jake said.
‘They could be part of a deep-cover sleeper cell.’
Is Connelly stretching the facts to fit some bizarre scenario in his head? Or is he just jerking me around?
‘You really think that?’
‘I think that’s possible,’ Connelly said with a nod.
‘What do you have tying them to the explosion?’
‘A tip, Lovett.’
‘How do you know it’s solid?’ Jake asked.
‘Because the Irfans did not open their convenience store until just after noon last Sunday.’
‘Maybe they do that every Sunday.’
‘Aha! Nope! Sunday mornings, they’re usually there by seven before the churches open their doors. Apparently, a lot of people buy gas on the way to services.’
‘That sounds a little thin. There’s an infinite number of reasons: illness, a family problem, oversleeping …’ Jake said.
‘Thin, Lovett? Thin? They own a red pick-up truck. They are Pakistani. That means they must be Muslim. And they place regular phone calls to Pakistan every month.’
‘Maybe they have family there.’
‘My point exactly. Divided loyalties. The man who called in the tip said he’s heard them making comments denouncing America and that they threw a party after 9/11.’
‘You got a name for that tipster?’
‘Nah. It was anonymous. You know how people are reluctant to get too involved.’
‘There is another possibility, Connelly. Maybe the person responsible for the explosion is trying to divert our attention. Or maybe someone with a beef against the Irfans is using you to get even with them.’
‘You’ve been watching too much TV. Why don’t you just reserve your judgment until we check them out?’
Might as well, Jake thought as they pulled up to a small ramshackle building, whose windows were blocked by new and older, curled advertising posters. Connelly parked between the front door and the gas pumps. An old red pick-up, nearly faded to pink, sat on the side of the building.
‘Does that look like the red pick-up truck we’re looking for?’ Jake asked.
‘Sure looks like it.’
‘Ah, c’mon, Connelly. The witnesses referred to the truck as new and jacked-up.’
‘You know how unreliable eyewitness testimony can be, Lovett. Just relax. We’re not going in there to be confrontational. This is just to size them up. We’ll grab drinks from the cooler as if we’re just two regular customers.’ Connelly led the way inside and Lovett followed.
It looked like hundreds of little mom and pop stores Jake had seen before: tight aisles crammed full of product that left little room to maneuver. It was the kind of place where you could find almost anything if you were willing to look long enough. Behind the counter, a couple stood side by side. Both were in their late fifties or early sixties, of the same short height, with dark skin and black hair. He wore a white short-sleeve shirt and khaki pants on a thin, fragile-looking frame. She was pleasantly stout in a matronly blue, flowered shirtdress and old-fashioned tennis shoes.
‘Welcome, gentlemen,’ Ibrahim Irfan said as they walked past the counter.
Connelly ignored the greeting. Jake said, ‘Good morning.’ They both grabbed a soft drink from the glass-front cabinets that lined the wall.
While they paid for their beverages, Jake noticed a necklace around Fatima Irfan’s neck. A gold chain bore a series of small, round medallions with blue stones set in the center. A solid gold crucifix hung in the middle.
‘Lovely piece, ma’am,’ Jake said pointing to his own neckline. ‘Is it Pakistani?’
A smile crossed Fatima’s face as her fingers touched the chain. ‘This, oh, yes – Kundan, to be precise. Thank you. It was my mother’s.’
‘Unusual for Pakistan, isn’t it?’
‘Not among the Catholics – there are quite a few of us there. Most people in this country, though, are surprised to know there are Christians in our native land.’
‘It is one of the reasons we came to this country,’ Ibrahim added. ‘It is difficult to practice our faith there without fear.’
Jake nodded and said, ‘Have a good day,’ before following Connelly out to the car. ‘Satisfied?’ he asked the other agent.
‘With what?’ Connelly asked.
‘They’re not Muslim – they’re Catholic.’
‘Nice cover story for a pair of terrorists, don’t you think?’
‘Next you’ll be saying Fred Garcia was a suicide bomber.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lovett. With a name like Garcia, the dead groundskeeper had to have been a Catholic – they have serious prohibitions against suicide. His faith would not allow him to set off a bomb that would take his own life. Besides, he’s Mexican, isn’t he?’
‘Actually, I think he is an American citizen just like the Irfans. American and Catholic, Connelly.’
‘Don’t be a PC monkey, Lovett. It’s blinding you to the facts before your eyes. We still don’t know why the Irfans didn’t open their store Sunday morning. Until we find that out, they are suspects. We’ll put the possibility that Fred Garcia’s death was a Mexican mafia hit on the theoretical list. Right now, we need to focus on the Mohammed factor and the whereabouts of the Irfans at the time of the incident.’
‘Oh, Jeez,’ Jake said as he got out of the car and headed back into the store. Approaching the counter, he said, ‘Excuse me. I meant to ask you about your hours of operation.’
‘You did not see them listed on the door?’ Ibrahim asked.
‘Oh yeah,’ Jake said. ‘But, you see, it says you open at seven on Sunday mornings and when I stopped by here last Sunday morning, you were closed.’
‘I am sorry for your inconvenience, sir,’ Ibrahim said. ‘We were both ill. We think it was the food we picked up for our dinner on our way home from the store Saturday night. We had a neighbor put up a sign on her way to church that morning. You must have arrived before she did.’
‘It was around eight thirty, I think.’
‘You must have just missed her. Again, I apologize for your inconvenience.’
‘No problem,’ Jake said, flashing a smile. ‘I wanted to know just in case I was out this way again on a Sunday morning. Thanks.’
Sliding back into the car, Jake said, ‘They had a bit of food poisoning last Sunday morning. And before you dismiss it as convenient, they do have a witness – a neighbor who put a sign up on the door.’
‘I still think we need to get a tap on their phone line.’
‘I won’t support you in that warrant request, Connelly. In fact, I’m telling you up front, if you ask for one, I’ll argue against it. These are grandparents who came here seeking religious freedom. Sounds like a pretty all-American story to me. And considering the details of the incident at the high school, the idea of it being the work of Muslim extremists strikes me as pretty loony.’
‘Loony? Don’t get on your high horse, Lovett. Although I am aware that we have plenty of lunatic fringe domestic terrorist groups out there, I know all Muslims harbor the ability to commit violent acts of terrorism.’
‘Why are you insisting that it’s an act of terrorism?’ Jake asked.
‘It’s obvious, Lovett, that’s why. And I am going to uncover the terrorist plot that led to this tragedy. If you don’t want to assist, that’s fine. I won’t have to share the glory. But I am determined to get to the bottom of a terrorist plot before I retire, and that’s coming real soon – I won’t let you get in my way.’
‘Relax, Connelly, I’m here, aren’t I?’ Jake said. The ATF agent’s strange logic made sense to Jake now. Connelly was consumed by his career bucket list and knew his time was limited. Until he scratched that item off of his list, he’d be seeing terrorist plots everywhere. Jake hoped that Lucinda was making progress on a more productive line of inquiry and could carry through to the end before someone shut her down.
L
ucinda returned to the Justice Center and went straight to Captain Holland’s office. Holland was on the phone but when he saw her standing in the doorway, he waved her inside and gestured to a chair.
Lucinda could tell from his end of the conversation that Holland was squabbling with someone over budgetary over-runs. She hoped that financial concerns would not limit her ability to investigate.
After hanging up, Holland muttered about bean counters and asked, ‘You find something?’
‘Yes, sir. I—’
‘Shut the door,’ Holland ordered.
Lucinda rose, closed it and returned to the chair. She explained the connection between David Baynes and Todd Matthews as well as the presence of a red pick-up truck. Holland nodded through her explanations of those two overlaps but then winced when she told him about the notes she’d found in David’s room.
‘Dangerous, Pierce.’
‘Necessary, Captain.’
Holland put his hands on the desk, interlaced his fingers and stared down at the surface. When he raised his head, he said, ‘Is that it?’
Lucinda said, ‘You asked me to find any link between Todd’s apparent suicide and the explosion at the high school and report back to you.’
‘Yes, but they all seem to be rather nebulous connections, don’t you think?’
Lucinda looked over his face, trying to read his thoughts. Holland’s countenance was placid with no signs of anger or disappointment. What was going on here? ‘Sir, maybe I wasn’t that clear.’
‘Oh yes, you were very clear, Pierce. I appreciate you reporting back to me as I requested but, as you can see, the vagueness that is still present in your findings strongly indicates the need for you to continue to follow up on your leads.’
A smile slowly slipped across Lucinda’s face. It sounded as if the captain was justifying her continued investigation. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we cannot conclusively determine whether or not it was a suicide until we have the toxicology results.’
Holland nodded, smiling back at her. ‘Of course you can’t. We’ve seen our share of homicides staged to look like suicides and because of that you need to keep working on this case. We sure wouldn’t want to get so enthused about these coincidences that we leap to premature conclusions, would we?’
‘No, sir,’ Lucinda said. She wanted to jump up and click her heels together but she remained seated with a rigid control on her decorum. The captain had her back after all.
‘Where do you need to go from here?’ Holland asked.
‘The big question, as you’ve pointed out, sir, is whether or not this was an actual suicide. That will largely mean simply waiting for results from the lab. But, in the meantime, I want to find out more about the relationship between Todd and David and whether or not they saw each other on Saturday night or Sunday morning – computer data and information from cell phones would help. We also need to know who picked up David the night before the explosion and who, then, is presumably the owner of the red pick-up truck. Maybe “E” who wrote the note to David is also a friend of Todd’s – or perhaps the “Kev” she mentioned is a vital part of the equation. Could Kev be the driver of the truck?’
‘Take tonight to plan out your course of action. We don’t want to rattle any cages with unwarranted speculation and we don’t want anyone outside of this department to think we are overly enthused about any particular theory, if you know what I mean.’
‘Absolutely, sir. I will keep the whole situation as low-key as possible until you decide we need outside assistance.’
‘Keep me in the loop, Pierce. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. If the crap hits the fan, I need to know where to find the off switch.’
‘You got it, Captain.’ Lucinda was relieved but exhausted. The day had felt much longer than it had been. Tonight, she needed to brainstorm with Jake. She hoped he got home in time to do that and to relax with her over a bottle of wine afterwards. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet.
T
he first thing Lucinda saw when she opened the door to her apartment was Chester flying over the back of the sofa and heading her way. Next, she saw two heads pop up from the same spot. She instantly recognized one of them. ‘Charley?’
‘Hi, Lucy,’ Charley said, jumping to her feet. ‘I want you to meet my friend Amber.’
The other girl rose cautiously and slowly faced Lucinda. Amber had a solemn face framed by a short haircut. She wore a striped polo that Lucinda thought looked like a hand-me-down from an older brother. Amber’s jeans were loose and rolled up at the ankles – more passed-along duds?
Lucinda stepped forward and held out her hand, ‘Hello, Amber.’
Amber wedged her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and didn’t look up.
Charley looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure of what to do. ‘Amber, this is the police I told you about who can help you, who can keep everybody from getting hurt. This is Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce.’
‘’Lo,’ Amber mumbled without raising her eyes.
‘Charley,’ Lucinda said, ‘come help me get some drinks for all of us. Then we can all sit out on the balcony and relax. Amber, you can wait right here or go out and wait for us there. We have a lovely view of the river.’
In the kitchen, Lucinda asked, ‘What is going on here, Charley?’
‘Amber has a problem. She needs your help.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I can’t tell you. I promised.’
‘Is Amber in danger?’
‘Yes. It’s serious, Lucy.’
‘Charley, listen to me. It is not always good to keep a promise of silence if, by doing so, you’ll leave the other person exposed to harm.’
‘I know,’ Charley said with a sob. ‘That’s why I begged and pleaded with her to talk to you. And she said she would. And I got her away from her house – at least for the weekend. Daddy said she could spend it with us.’
‘Is Amber being abused at home?’
‘I can’t answer that without breaking my promise. Please don’t make me break my promise,’ Charley pleaded.
‘I might have to, Charley. I’ll try not to but I may not have a choice. C’mon, here’s three glasses, fill them with ice and take them out to the table on the balcony. I’ll grab the iced tea and the ginger ale.’