“We’ll do that. Most of the places around here would have had air-conditioning, so nobody heard any shots. Or any screaming, for that matter—they took their time with Arnold,” Hart said. “The thing that had us wondering about the head shots is that they didn’t go through. Big hole in the back of their heads, but no exit wound. That said to me that they were using low-power cartridges, maybe.45s with very light loads. Not much noise.”
Bob said, “Professionals. Rolling their own.”
Hart nodded. “I thought that might be the situation, but didn’t know who or why until you guys showed up.”
—
ARNOLD WASa mess. His legs were taped with gaffer’s tape, tough fibrous stuff that he wouldn’t have been able to rip off, even with all the power in his heavily muscled arms and legs. There was no tape around his mouth, but traces of tape adhesives. After they bound him, they gagged him and then began torturing him, with saws and what might have been a propane torch. Both of his legshad been partially severed below the knee, and his genitals had been burned off.
When they were done with him, they’d fired a single round through his forehead.
They hadn’t touched the bird, which shuffled silently back and forth on its perch, Arnold’s tiny Angel looking at a little piece of hell.
Lucas looked over the scene, turned to Bob and Rae: they both nodded, and Lucas said to Hart, “It’s the same two. I can’t tell you who the shooter is, but the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation has identikit pictures of the woman. Pretty good ones.”
“Motherfuckers,” Bob said. “Don’t quote me, but they desperately need to be shot.”
“Nobody gonna argue with that,” Hart said.
Lucas asked, “Do you have a time on this?”
“The crew says probably about four in the morning, give or take. The blood wasn’t completely dry, and they can tell by... the stickiness, I guess... about how long it’s been pooled there.”
Rae said to Lucas, “If they knew we were flying down to Dallas, if they knew about the time the tickets were bought, they’d have time to drive here. I don’t think they would have flown with specialty weapons like that.45, and you said they shot you up with an automatic weapon.”
“Makes them harder to find, too,” Bob said. “If they’d flown, we might be able to find a rental car.”
Lucas said to Hart, “We’ll leave this with you, Don. There’s nothing here for us—we’ll coordinate with you. The main thing we needto figure out is where the leak is. Somebody had to tell them exactly where we were going, tell them about Arnold and give them the address...”
Then Lucas stepped through the door, outside, cupped his mouth and nose in his hands, stood with his face looking down toward his shoes. He muttered, “Holy fuck.”
Rae, behind him, asked, “What?”
Lucas walked a circle around the yard, head down, Bob, Rae, and Hart looking at him. When he got back, he said to Bob and Rae, “It’s us. We told them. No, wait.Itold them.”
Bob: “What?”
Lucas looked up now: “Listen, we know they’ve got a line into law enforcement files. That’s the only way they could have started tracking Poole. But an inside source wouldn’t know whatwe’redoing, not minute by minute. Bob told his SOG guy about Arnold, but says that guy wouldn’t talk.”
“He wouldn’t,” Bob said. “I’ve known him for fifteen years. He would not.”
Lucas: “But if they have a hacker... if they have a hacker, and he’s a good one... I mean, I know a guy up in Minnesota who can pull files out of the NCIS all day long, who can look at Verizon computers anytime he wants. There might be a lot of guys who can do that. They’ve got one. Somewhere along the line, they identified me—maybe saw my license plate number. They’ve been followingmyphone, like I tracked Stiner down to Florida.”
“Sonofabitch,” Bob said.
“That sounds kinda far-fetched,” Hart said.
“Doesn’t to me,” Rae said. “Think about all the files that have been hacked during the presidential campaign and how high up the hackers got. Seems like everybody can hack everybody... you just gotta know the right hacker. With the way things are now, a drug cartel is gonna have hackers. Maybe a lot of them.”
“What are you going to do?” Hart asked Lucas. “If you’re right, you gotta get rid of your phone, first thing.”
Lucas’s hands were still cupped across his mouth, still head down. “Can’t help the Bennetts or Arnold,” he said. “But I’m not getting rid of my phone. We can still use it.”
Bob: “We’re gonna suck them in.”
“That’s what we’re gonna do,” Lucas said, lifting his head. “I’m gonna kill the motherfuckers.”
—
