"Who?"
"The murdered family was named Reynolds."
"Oh." Reed considered this, took his time, and treated himself to another deliberate sip of coffee.
Puller noted the wedding band on the man's gnarled finger. Married but eating his breakfast out at half past five? Maybe that's where the hopeless look came from.
"Saw the girl one time. She was out in the front yard when I was delivering. Never saw the man. Maybe saw the woman once passing by in her car when I was coming through."
"Did you know the Halversons?"
"The folks who lived there?"
"Yeah."
Reed waggled his head from side to side. "Never did see them. Wouldn't have gone up to the house, but I needed a signature for the package I was delivering. Certified mail, return receipt requested. Were they killed too?"
"No. They weren't there at the time." Puller remained silent for a few moments. "What happened to the package?" he asked.
"The package?" Reed's cup was halfway to his lips.
"Yeah, the one that required the signature."
Reed put his cup down and placed a finger against his cracked and dry lips. "I went in the house with it." He shuddered and gripped the laminated tabletop. "Then I saw..."
"Right, I know what you saw. But focus for me please. Package in hand. Then you turned and ran back out. Hit the door, broke the glass against the banister." Puller had learned all this from Cole.
Reed looked alarmed. "Am I gonna have to pay for that door? I didn't mean to break it, but I ain't never seen anything like that in my life. And hope to God I never do again."
"Don't worry about the door. Focus on the package. Was it addressed to the Halversons?"
Reed nodded. "Yep, I remember seeing the name on there."
Puller didn't respond. He just let the man think about it, picture the package in his mind. The mind was a funny thing. Give it time and something fresh usually popped.
Reed's eyes widened slightly. "Now I think about it, it was a C/O."
"Care of?"
"Right, right," Reed replied excitedly. He slid his hands along the tabletop, bumping against his empty plate. He didn't look hopeless anymore. He looked engaged. Maybe for the first time in years, thought Puller.
Puller reasoned, "So it wasn't meant for the Halversons really? It was just sent to their house. Was there any other name on it? The Reynoldses? They were the only ones staying there."
Reed remained silent, his gaze pointing slightly upward as he thought it through. Puller said nothing. He didn't want to break the man's focus. He took a drink of his own coffee, now lukewarm. He performed a long visual sweep of the diner. More than half the heads there were turned his way.
He didn't flinch when he saw tat boy. Dickie Strauss was sitting at the far end of the diner, facing Puller's way. He had a much bigger man with him. The second guy had sleeves, so Puller couldn't tell if the arms were inked in a similar way or not. They were watching him while trying very hard to seem not to. It was pathetic really. Dickie must've forgotten all his military training, thought Puller.
He refocused on Reed to find the man staring at him. "I can't remember," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry. Do remember the C/O, though."
"That's okay," said Puller. "The package? Was it big, small?"
"Size of a piece of paper."
"Okay. Do you recall who sent it? Or where it was mailed from?"
"Not offhand, but I can maybe find out."
Puller slid across a contact card. "Any of those numbers or emails will get to me. Now, do you remember what happened to it? You ran out of the house, kicked open the door."
Reed looked away from his plate. For a moment Puller was afraid the man was going to throw up his breakfast.
"I... I must've dropped it."
"In the house? Outside the house? Sure it's not in your mail truck?"
"No, it's not in the truck." He paused. "Yeah, must've been in the house. Had to be. Dropped it there. I ran out and it wasn't in my hand. See that now. Clear as day."
"Okay, I'm sure it'll turn up. Anything else you can tell me?"
"I don't know. I mean, I ain't never been involved in anything like this before. Don't know what's important and what's not."
"House right across the street? Notice anything funny over there?"
"Treadwell's place?"
"Right. He lived there with Molly Bitner. You know them?" In Cole's report, Reed had stated that he didn't know anybody in the neighborhood, but Puller preferred to hear it for himself.
Reed shook his head. "Naw. Only know the name 'cuz I'm the mailman. He gets lots of biker magazines. Has a Harley. Parks it out front."
Puller shifted in his chair. He didn't know if Reed was aware that Treadwell and Bitner were dead. "Anything else?"
"Just the usual stuff. Nothing that sticks out. I mean, I just deliver the mail. Just check the addresses. I don't really do more than that."
"That's fine, Mr. Reed. I appreciate your time." He tapped his contact card. "When you find out who sent the package, please get in touch."
Puller rose. Reed looked up at him.
Reed said, "Lot of damn mean people in the world."
"Yes, sir, there are."
"Know it for a fact."
Puller leveled his gaze on the man, waited.
"Yep. Know it for a fact." He paused, his mouth working but no words coming out for a few seconds. "I'm married to one."
After Puller walked outside Dickie Strauss and his large friend followed.
Puller had been pretty sure they would.
CHAPTER
27
PULLER JIGGLED the car keys in his pocket, leaned against his Malibu, and waited for them. the car keys in his pocket, leaned against his Malibu, and waited for them.
Dickie and his friend stopped on the pavement a few feet away.
"What can I do for you?" asked Puller.
Dickie said, "It wasn't a Big Chicken Dinner. And it wasn't a DD."
"Good to know. But if you're lying I can find out in about five minutes. Just a few keystrokes to get a reply back from the Army Records Center. So what was it?"
"A parting of the ways."
"Why?"
Dickie looked at his friend, who was keeping his gaze on Puller.
"It's personal. And it wasn't nothing bad."
His friend added, "And it's none of your damn business."
"So what can I do for you?" Puller asked again.
"I hear Eric Treadwell got killed."
"You know him?"
"Yeah."
Puller eyed the tatted arm. He pointed to it. "Where'd you get that done?"
"Place here in town."
"Treadwell had one just like it."
"Not just like it. Little different. But I used his as a model."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"That's not really an answer."
The bigger guy stepped forward. He was an inch taller than Puller and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. He looked like a former Division I defensive lineman. Not good enough for the pros but decent enough for four years of college on a full-ride scholarship.
"It's his his answer," said the guy. answer," said the guy.
Puller swiveled his gaze to the man. "And you are?"
"Frank."
"Okay, Frank. I thought this discussion was between Dickie and me."
"Well, maybe you need to rethink things."
"I don't see a reason to do that."
Puller watched as Frank pulled his hand from his pockets and balled up his fists. He also saw what was in the man's hand, although Frank was trying to hide it.
"I got two pretty good ones right here," said Frank, holding up his knotty fists.
"No you don't, Frank, you really don't," Puller said evenly as he stood straight and also took his hands from his pockets. Puller had nothing in his hands, but he didn't need to.
"I know you got a gun. Saw it in the Crib," said Frank.
"I won't be needing it."
Frank said, "I outweigh you by forty pounds."
"More like fifty."
"Okay. So do you get the point?"
Dickie said nervously, "Hey, guys, it's cool." He put a restraining arm on his friend. "Frank, don't, man. Ain't worth the hassle."
Puller said, "Your bud is making sense, Frank. I don't want to hurt you. But if what I'm seeing in your body language gets transferred into action, you will get hurt. The only question is how badly."
Frank snorted and attempted a confident grin. "You think just because you're in the Army you can kick everybody's ass?"
"No. But I know I can kick your ass."
Frank's right hand swung, but Puller had already launched. The top of his head hit the other man flush in the face. Puller's skull was far harder than the other man's nose. A stunned 280-pound Frank whipsawed backward, his face bloody. Puller took hold of Frank's left arm, windmilling it back and torquing the limb nearly to the breaking point. He slid a foot behind Frank's left leg and the big man went straight down to the pavement. Puller had knelt along with the falling Frank, cupping his head with his free hand before it hit the ground so the man's skull wouldn't crack.
Puller dug the roll of quarters out of Frank's fist, dropped it on the pavement, rose, and looked down. When Frank, who was holding his broken nose and trying to dig the blood out of his eyes with his knuckles, tried to stand, Puller put a foot on his chest and nudged him back down.