Hunting.
I downloaded the photo and emailed it to Milo along with a message:Another brick.
I got my answer forty minutes later:Just got to H. Muchas gr. Keep at it. Eat fish, maybe? Supposed to be brain food.
Chapter
43
Day Four he called at eight fifty p.m. and said, “If it’s too late to bop over, tell me.”
Robin was back in her studio, French-polishing the top of another vintage classical guitar, a hundred-year-old Simplicio with a gorgeous carved headstock. More repetitive work with the pad and the spirit varnish. She finds it relaxing and sometimes saves it for quiet nights.
I returned to the house, called Milo, and said, “Bop.”
He was at my door half an hour later.
—
This time he beelined to the fridge, peered inside as if examining a crime scene, then reached in and drew out half a turkey breast, roast beef nearing the end of its shelf-life, dry Genoa salami, tomatoes, lettuce, mustard, and mayo. Adding rye bread from the bin, he set about constructing a monumental sandwich.
Humming.
I said, “You got a ballistics match.”
His feet performed a little shuffling dance as he built a tower of intemperance.
“Coupla hours ago. Fast-tracked the arrest warrant and a search warrant for Flick’s house and his car. So why am I here?”
“Sharing good news with a pal.”
He brought the sandwich to the table. “I want to take him into custody with minimal risk to us, his landlady, neighbors. Him, too. Figured you might have some wisdom on that.Ifyou’ve been eating finny critters, as I suggested.”
“Sorry, tonight was turkey. Where’s Flick now?”
“Home. Petra and Raul have been on him since three, now they’re sitting on his block since he got home at six ten after five tutoring gigs. Hopefully nearly a grand’s worth of fees will keep him mellow for the night and we can grab him when he walks to his car tomorrow morning.”
“Too many guns in his house to go frontal.”
“And it’s a tough layout, only one way to his door, way too much time for him to prepare.”
He sat down, tucked a napkin under his collar, chomped, wiped his chin, took another bite. “Delicious. Especially the turkey.”
Two bites later:
“He registered his pistols but not the rifle, so yeah, who knows what kind of arsenal he has in there. Also, your comment about the Unabomber got me thinking. What if he’s also stockpiled lunatic stuff? Grenades, explosives, has the place booby-trapped. So the plan is to box him in the moment we see him. I’ll be there with all the kids.”
I said, “No SWAT guys. Too conspicuous and likely to set off a war.”
“That was my thought. You agree?”
“I do.”
“Any other suggestions?”
“If he’s carrying his rifle or any other weapon, wait until he’s inside the car and you can see that his hands are clear. Then move in as quickly as possible. He’s a planner so maybe not great with surprises.”
He thought about that. “Okay, then, it’s set. I’ll finish this repast and notify the troops about tomorrow.”
