"Quieter," said Puller. "But you still have problems."
"Like what?"
"Shotgun blast even in a basement in the middle of the night might attract attention. And you have to control the other captives. They hear the shot, they panic, start screaming, trying to get away, knowing they'll probably be next."
Monroe snapped his fingers, unlocked a metal evidence box he'd previously brought into the house, and pulled out some sealed, labeled evidence bags.
"I was wondering why I found these things in those places. But what you just said may explain it."
Puller took up the bags one by one. "Tell me what you've got here."
"That bit of gray fuzz came from the girl's left ear. The white thread I found inside the boy's mouth. Found a similar one hung up on the mom's left molar."
Cole looked at them over Puller's shoulder.
Puller said, "The white thread in the mouth? Gag?"
"And the thing in the ear?" asked Cole.
Monroe said, "I'm thinking it's a piece of an ear bud. Like from headphones to an iPod or MP3 player."
Puller said, "They were blasting music into their ears when they were shooting people. So they couldn't hear it."
"That's pretty hardcore," added Monroe.
Puller said, "But that doesn't explain the shotgun use. Maybe they couldn't hear it, but some of the neighbors might have."
Cole rose and went over to the window and looked out. She whirled back around.
"You said blasted."
Puller handed the bags back to Monroe and turned to her. "Yeah. So?"
"Trent Exploration. They might've blasted blasted on Sunday night. And this neighborhood is only a couple miles away from where they're doing it." on Sunday night. And this neighborhood is only a couple miles away from where they're doing it."
CHAPTER
15
PULLER WAS STARING at Cole. "Okay, but would the blast be loud enough to cover a fired shotgun from being heard in another house?" at Cole. "Okay, but would the blast be loud enough to cover a fired shotgun from being heard in another house?"
"From a basement, I'd say so. If you're close enough to them, some of those explosions can lift you right out of your bed."
"You say they might've might've blasted. You don't know for certain?" blasted. You don't know for certain?"
"No, I live pretty far from here. But the sound of a blast reaching this neighborhood had to come from a Trent operation. It's the only one nearby."
Monroe said slowly, "Wait a minute. I was out late that night with my girlfriend. About two miles from here but in another direction. I remember hearing it."
Puller said quickly, "Do you recall the time of the explosion?"
He thought for a few moments. "Between midnight and one, I'd say."
"That mirrors the timeline established by the body deterioration," said Puller. "But having a tighter time window helps us in one respect."
"Alibis, or lack thereof," noted Cole, and he nodded in agreement.
Puller said, "But then we have to wonder why they shotgunned the parents and not the kids. Or why not blunt force to all of them and you don't have to worry about the sound of a gun?"
Neither Cole nor Monroe had a ready answer to those queries.
Puller looked at the tech. "You get elimination prints from the victims and the wife's parents?"
"Yeah. That's where I was early this morning before I went to scrub the car."
"You didn't tell them what had happened, though?" Cole said quickly.
"Well, the mom's had a stroke. I just printed her while she was unconscious, so I couldn't tell her anything. The dad goes in and out. I made it a game so he wouldn't catch on."
"Dementia?" said Puller, and Cole nodded.
"Does he have lucid moments?"
She said, "I think so, sometimes. You think he might be helpful?"
Puller shrugged. "Well, if somebody local killed these folks he might know something. Here're the possibilities as I see them. One, they were killed because of Colonel Reynolds's employment with DIA. Two, something connected to the mom. Three, something connected to the kids. Four, something connected to the wife's parents. Or five, something we don't see as yet."
"Could be a random burglary," noted Monroe.
Puller shook his head. "They left a late-model Lexus, a laptop computer, and the wife's wedding ring. No other valuables known to be missing. And random burglars seldom take the time to interrogate their victims."
Cole added, "The wife's parents probably don't have an enemy in the world. And the wife and kids were just here for the summer. I doubt they had time to make any enemies. That leaves Colonel Reynolds."
"Maybe. Still have to check it all out." Puller rose. "Any other prints here that didn't match the eliminated ones from the first responders?"
"The mailman's. A caregiver who works at the nursing home. Got her latent on the fridge. She was here to help Mr. Halverson before he went in the nursing home. And two EMTs who were called here when the old lady had her stroke."
"No others?"
"There were two. On the living room wall and one on the kitchen counter. I'm running the prints through our database."
Puller said, "Let me have copies and I'll get them run through the federal databases too."
"Thanks."
Puller said, "How did the killers know when the mine blasts would take place? Is that public knowledge?"
"Yes," said Cole. "There's a bunch of regulations about surface mining blasting. You have to get proper permits and have a blasting plan in place. You have to post blasting schedules in the local papers well in advance. People close to the blast get personal notification. You have to use a certified blaster. There are limits on noise, so they have to monitor the decibels of the blast. They also have to measure ground vibration. And they often separate the blast charges by eight milliseconds."
"Why?" asked Monroe, who looked fascinated by the discussion. He caught Puller gazing at him. "Went to WVU but I'm not from around here."
Cole said, "The eight milliseconds allow enough separation to keep the air blast noise and ground vibration under control."
Puller gazed at her. "You obviously know a lot about all this. How come?"
She shrugged. "West Virginia gal. Whole state's one big mine. At least that's what it feels like sometimes."
"And didn't your dad work for Trent Exploration?" asked Monroe.
Cole shot a quick glance at Puller, who was staring at her even more intently. "He did," she said quietly. "Not anymore."
"Why not?" asked Puller.
"He's dead."
"Sorry to hear that." He paused for a few moments. "What explosives do they use to do the blasting?"
"Usually ANFO, combination of ammonium nitrate-fertilizer, really-and diesel fuel. They scrape the topsoil and subsoil layers and then drill holes in the rock to lay their charges. The goal is to fracture the rock layers. Then they bring in heavy equipment to expose the coal seam."
"Why do they blow it up instead of digging tunnels?"
"Decades ago they did tunnel. But getting to the coal that's left won't allow tunneling. Softness of the rock. Or so they claim. It's funny, though."
"What?" asked Puller.
"Typically blasting has to take place between sunrise and sunset, Monday through Saturday. Trent must've gotten a special permit to blast at night and on a Sunday."
"So the blasting schedule is public knowledge," said Puller. "Doesn't help narrow down the list of possible suspects. But tell me about Trent Exploration."
"Trent is by far the biggest employer in the county."
"Well-liked outfit?" asked Puller.
Cole pursed her lips. "Nobody loves coal companies, Puller. And the way Trent does it has resulted in entire valleys being filled up with debris. It causes flooding and a host of other environmental issues, not to mention that blowing the tops off mountains leaves the countryside pretty damn ugly. But it's a hell of a lot cheaper for the company to do it that way. They're enormously profitable."
"But it still provides jobs," added Monroe. "My cousin works at Trent as a geological engineer. Makes a decent living."
Cole continued. "Roger Trent is sole owner of the company. He's had his share of code violations and accidents where people have died. And it doesn't help that he lives in a big mansion behind big gates and gets his water piped in nice and clean because his operations have screwed up the water tables."
"And folks around here just let that happen?"
"He has junkyard-dog lawyers on retainer, and even though the state's trying to clean up the judicial sector, he's still bought up half the judges in the state. But he keeps people employed, pays fair, and gives to charities, and so he's tolerated. But a few more mining accidents and a few more cancer diagnoses because of all the pollution, and he might get ridden out of here on a rail."
Puller looked over at the bodies. "How long had the Reynoldses been staying here?"
Cole said, "About five weeks according to folks we talked to."
"And the colonel was coming and going from D.C.," added Puller. He looked out the window. "You've canvassed the neighbors?"
Cole said, "Seven other homes and we've talked to everyone. Got zip."
"That's a little hard to believe," said Puller. "Killers right next door and nobody sees or hears anything? And then a cop gets killed and someone drives off in his cruiser and again, nothing?"
"All I can tell you is what they said."
"Then I think it might be time to check with everyone again."
CHAPTER
16
PULLER WALKED DOWN the front steps and kept going until he was in the middle of the yard of fried grass. Cole had followed him outside. Lan Monroe had stayed inside to finish bagging evidence. the front steps and kept going until he was in the middle of the yard of fried grass. Cole had followed him outside. Lan Monroe had stayed inside to finish bagging evidence.
Puller looked right, left, and then forward again. The day had passed rapidly. The sun had long ago begun its descent, but it was still uncomfortably hot. There was no wind. The humidity pressed in from all sides like solid walls of water.
"Puller, you want to split up the houses?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
What he was seeing had to be deciphered and put into its proper perspective. There were eight homes on the street, four on each side, including the one where the murders had occurred. At six of the houses there were people out front. A few men, several women, and some little kids. They were all ostensibly doing everyday activities-washing a car, cutting the grass, getting the mail, playing ball, or just chatting. What they were really doing was satisfying their morbid curiosity by surreptitiously staring at the house where violent death had occurred.
Puller's immediate task was to separate the obvious and normal from its antithesis. He focused on the house directly across the street. Two cars and a big Harley highway bike were in the driveway. But no one was outside. No gawkers at all.
He pointed. "Did you talk to the people in that house?"
Cole looked at where he was indicating. She called over her shoulder to one of the uniforms standing guard at the crime scene. "Lou, you talked to those folks, right?"
Lou came forward. He was the chubby cop. His leather belt squeaked as he walked.