I winced at the “ma’am.” “I’m Samantha Pederson. May I sit down?”
“Sure.” She waved at the chair on her left. “You’re the one who’s been asking everyone about Duncan.” It wasn’t a question.
“I am. Is it alright if I ask you some questions about him?” I watched Jo for a sign of hesitancy but saw none.
Jo smiled again. “I was wondering when you were going to get to me. Go ahead.”
I allowed a slight frown of puzzlement. “You don’t seem to be too upset about Duncan’s death. I was told you were his girlfriend.”
“Upset? Not really. Yes, I was sleeping with him, but he was helping me pass some tough classes. Call it a mutual support situation.” She gave me a crooked smile. “I was about to break it off anyway.”
I was fleetingly taken aback by her lack of empathy, but it fit if their relationship was purely for convenience. “Okay …, but you were at the frat party where coach Bednarik got in Duncan’s face, right?”
A series of emotions played across her face. “Scared the hell out of me. Why?”
“I need to know exactly what happened.”
She answered without hesitating. “When Coach Bednarik found Duncan at the party, he wasn’t merely pissed, he was raging. He roared at Duncan for getting him fired and said he was going to report Duncan to the dean and get him expelled.” A shadow crossed her face, and she continued. “I’ll tell you, he really scared me. I still can’t get that scene out of my head. I thought he was ready to kill Duncan right then and there. But then Duncan couldn’t resist making it worse. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a wicked smile. He looked positively evil.” She shuddered. “He said, ‘You know you can’t do that. You’ll never get a job at another school if you do, not even as an assistant coach.’”
I said, “Ouch. Sounds like Duncan was deliberately provoking him, almost like he was intentionally asking for trouble.”
She frowned. “He certainly succeeded. Bednarik got so worked up he grabbed Duncan by the throat and lifted him off the floor and slammed him into a wall. He yelled at him that he was dead meat and shook him. By then everybody in the room had stopped what they were doing and were staring at Bednarik. When he saw them looking at him, he slammed Duncan into the wall again and stomped out of the house. You know what was even creepier? When Duncan finally caught his breath, he smiled that same evil smile only there was blood on his teeth.” She shuddered again.
My heart was beating as fast as if I had been there. “Wow. Reid must have had a death wish.”
She shook her head. “No, he was just that arrogant.”
On that count she was absolutely right, but I still needed more information. “As loud as that had to have been, there must have been others who heard what was said. Can you give me some names?”
“Several people, Dave Runyon, Jamal Najdzion, Sue Mecklen … I could go on.”
I wrote down those names and three others she gave me. “Are these all students?”
Jo nodded. “Do you need anything else? I have to get back to my homework.”
I was still breathless. I shook my head and murmured, “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I left feeling dazed. If Bednarik was the killer, I could almost – almost – sympathize with him.
Chapter 31
Harold Logan, WSKY News: “This just in: Police are reporting an explosion at the Varnum Community Church. The report says the bomber warned the congregation to get out before setting off the bomb. Wait … I’m just hearing from our reporter on the scene. Marv, you’re on the air.”
Waters: “This is Marvin Waters reporting from Varnum Community Church. The fire department has just gotten the fire in the church under control. I’m talking with fire captain Lewis Olsen.…”
WSKY News
Day 14, 7:00AM
Sometimes I wonder how with a better than average IQ I can make such stupid mistakes. This time it was a whopper. It was Sunday morning. Phil and his cohorts had managed to track down Caldera, so he called me and arranged to meet at Caldera’s place of business. Only, Phil wasn’t there when I arrived. When he didn’t show for quite a while, I grew more impatient with each minute I waited. I waited nearly half an hour for him to show up, call, or text me but heard nothing. My temper got the best of me.
I had been tapping my fingers irritably on the dash for several minutes when I made up my mind. If Phil wasn’t going to show, he could at least have called to tell me. Caldera might have the information I needed, and I wasn’t about to let him disappear again.—Are you beginning to get the picture? I said it was a stupid mistake.—I climbed out of the car and headed down the street toward the building he was supposed to be in.
By pressing my face against the dirty glass in the door and shielding my eyes from the sun, I could see stairs inside that led upward. I tried the battered knob and the door opened. I took a quick look around and went in, my annoyance overriding my common sense. The wooden stairs were covered with traction strips so old they had mostly worn away. The paint on the walls may have originally been gray, judging by the chips on the stair, but disuse and air pollution had stained them a dirty tan. A single light at the top of the stairs glared at the end of an electric cord that had seen better days.
I hesitated. Maybe my better instincts were coming into play. I was definitely beginning to feel uncomfortable, but I took out my digital recorder and turned it on. Then, shoving it into a jacket pocket, I made my way up the stairs, cringing at every creak they made. I stopped in front of the only door. What do I do now? I heard the sound of feet approaching the door. Run! I headed down the stairs, hating the fact that there was no handrail.
Before I got halfway down, the door at the top opened. Someone shouted, “Hey!” I looked back, another mistake. I missed a step and stumbled forward toward the landing, unable to recover my balance. Luckily, just then the street door opened, and I literally fell into the arms of the man who was coming in, a burly giant wearing a gray cashmere coat. If he hadn’t caught me, I would have probably suffered another concussion or worse.
“Well, well, well.” He helped me get into a standing position. “What have we here?”
A voice from the top of the stairs said, “Bring her up, boss. She was snooping.”
The giant released his grip on me and gallantly offered his arm. “Come, my dear. It seems we have something to talk about.” He smiled pleasantly as he said it, but I had the distinct feeling I wouldn’t get two steps if I tried to run again.
The room was every bit as dingy as the stairwell, and not as well-lit despite a row of grimy windows on the street side. Another door was ajar in the opposite wall. A desk and chair on the far side of the room were positioned with a clear view of the door we came in. Two men in non-descript suits stood watching us as we came in. The taller one with black hair had been the one who came to the door before I could get away.
My escort led me to a tattered easy chair and said, “Have a seat please.” He continued to smile as if I were a welcome guest. As I sat down, my heart stuttering, I thought, Get hold of yourself. You weren’t this scared with mortars falling around you during that attack in Afghanistan. I willed my heart to slow down and looked at him. This had to be Reymundo Caldera. He was a bear of a man, tall but beefy with a round face, a graying mustache, and a shock of neatly barbered thick black hair. His expression suggested mild amusement.
He returned my stare. His voice was unemotional as he simply asked, “Well, pretty lady, who are you, and what brings you here?” He undid his coat, hanging it on a hook on the only clean wall in the room.
How could I answer that? If I told the truth, I might not come out of here alive, but I didn’t think my chances were much better if I evaded. I decided to try what had worked on Hank. The problem was that I didn’t have an effective heavy like Phil with me. That thought triggered a moment of regret. Idiot! Why hadn’t I just kept waiting? I told him an edited version of the truth about visiting Hank and asking if he had seen Bednarik and that he ha
d told me about sending him to see someone named Caldera.
Caldera snorted, probably suppressing a laugh. “I remember the guy. He had some cockamamie story about blowing up tree stumps. I sent him on his way.” He shrugged and held hands palm up next to his shoulders. “Where would I get C4?” He continued to stare at me as he pulled an aluminum tube from his inside jacket pocket. He unscrewed a cap from the tube and withdrew a cigar. “Mind if I smoke?”
I felt a surge of relief, which I ruined by saying, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Stunned by my own audaciousness, I was even more dumbfounded by his laughter. He bit the end off the cigar and spit it on the floor. He stuck it in his mouth and began chewing on it. “As you wish,” he said, still smiling. Then his expression turned dark. “You see, we have a problem. Hank had no business telling you about me. He really disappointed me. We had to do something about that.”
Was he talking about having Hank killed? That didn’t bode well for me. Damn! Once again I wished I had waited for Phil.
He scowled at me. “Now, I need you to tell me what this is all about. Are you DEA?”
I hesitated briefly and continued with my edited facts. “No. I’m investigating that explosion the other night that killed Duncan Reid and a bunch of media people. I believe it was murder and that Bednarik did it.”
He frowned slightly and shifted the cigar to the side of his mouth. “What do you get out of this?”
One of the hoods standing by the window interrupted. “Boss, there’s a guy outside. He just looked in her car, and he’s heading our way.”
For some reason I said, “That’d be Phil. He’s supposed to be my bodyguard, only I didn’t wait for him.”
“Bodyguard?” Caldera frowned. It chilled me to the bone.
“I’m not a professional detective, and the guy I asked for help didn’t want me getting in trouble, so he got me a bodyguard.”
Caldera nodded. “That guy was smart. Too bad you weren’t.” He took his coat of the hook and turned to his cronies. “I’m leaving. Take care of her and get out of here.”
That didn’t sound good. In fact it sounded deadly. I had to do something, but I knew even Caldera alone was more than I could handle. I waited until he walked through the other door and closed it behind him. Then I stood and gave what I hoped looked like a relaxed smile. “It’s okay, guys. I can take care of myself.”
As I had hoped, the nearest one reached out to push me back into the chair. I grabbed his wrist and yanked. Turning away from him, I took advantage of his forward momentum and pulled him off his feet and onto my shoulder. I staggered under the load—he was heavier than I expected, and I was out of practice—but I managed to pull him over me and slammed him down on his back.
The other hood hesitated a second too long before he charged. I had time to swing my foot up in a sweeping arc that caught him on the side of his head. He flew across the room and slammed into the wall, dropping to the floor.
I could tell neither of them would be down for long, but they were slow getting up. I raced across the room, yanked open the door to the stairwell, and rushed out headlong… right into Phil, nearly knocking him down the stairs. He caught me and said, “Whoa there, Red. What’s going on?”
He stopped abruptly. His eyes widened, and he drew his Glock. I looked behind me. Both goons slid to a halt before reaching the door onto the landing. In unison they turned and sprinted for the other door. Phil started after them, but I grabbed his arm. “Hey, don’t bother. Nothing I recorded is incriminating. Besides they’re both armed and might decide to stop running.”
He pulled up, put both hands on my shoulders, and peered down at me intently. “Are you alright?”
In that instant I felt like a misbehaving child being reprimanded by my father, but I couldn’t help smirking. “I didn’t get a scratch. They got the worst of it.”
He didn’t smile; he growled at me, “What the hell were you thinking? I told you to wait for me.”
I glared back at him. “I did wait for you, more than half an hour. Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
“I did, but your phone went straight to voicemail.” He wasn’t placated. “Who were you talking to?”
I got a queasy feeling and looked at my phone. It was dead. I realized I had been using it the last few days without charging it. I felt my color rising. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I said, “Let’s get out of here,” and headed down the stairs.
◆◆◆
Day 14, 7:30AM
“So, besides risking your neck unnecessarily, did you learn anything?” Phil asked. We were seated in his SUV. He had brought coffee for both of us. That precious cardboard cup was warming my hands and calming me down.
I looked up at him. “I’m fairly certain I was looking at the real Caldera, and if I read him right, he practically admitted to getting rid of Hank. I don’t think that explosion was an accident.”
“Makes sense. Hank fingered him. You don’t do that in his community. Terminating snitches discourages anyone else from doing it and keeps them from giving away more information.” He paused. “Homeland will need your description. You don’t mind, do you?” He started the engine and put his cup in a holder. Pulling away from the curb he said, “I’ll bring you back to your car when we get through. Did you notice anything else?”
“He did say he turned Bednarik away. How truthful he was I don’t know.”
In the few times I sat in Phil’s SUV, I hadn’t even realized it had a radio. It chose this instant to come to life. “All units in the vicinity of 16th and Varnum, check in.”
“That’s us,” Phil said, reaching for the mic. “This is unit 73, Agent Kaminski. What’s up, dispatch?”
“We have a report of an explosion at the Varnum Community Church. Details are sketchy. Fire department is responding. We need Homeland presence on scene ASAP.”
“We’re on our way. ETA five minutes.” He flipped a couple of switches. The light bar behind the windshield lit up, and the siren came on. The SUV leapt forward.
A horrible thought occurred to me. It was Sunday morning, and an explosion in a church could mean a whole congregation was taken out. I sat in queasy silence as we rushed toward it. I wondered if this was Bednarik trying for some misdirection – to make the Reid’s explosion seem like another possible terrorist attack. Had he heard I was investigating him?
Several blocks from the church I saw black smoke rising above the roof tops in that direction, and my queasy feeling got stronger. I held my breath when we turned onto Varnum. From that distance I could see a crowd of people milling around outside the building. They must have been the congregation because that many curiosity seekers wouldn’t get that close to where an explosion had just taken place. If those were members of the congregation, a large number of them had survived. In fact from that distance no one appeared to be hurt. I exhaled loudly. I later found out I was overly optimistic.
As we drew closer, smoke was pouring out of the church through the windows and the entrance doors. I began to notice people kneeling on the grass—the snow had all but melted—working on what were obviously the injured or dead. Then two men, one after the other, burst out the chapel doors with bodies across their shoulders in fireman carry. Whether their cargos were alive or dead, I couldn’t tell. Still the number who were obviously alive and looked unhurt was encouraging. I had to wonder if they had merely been lucky.
Phil pulled over to the curb. He picked up the mic and flipped the switch over to loud speaker. “Attention please. Everyone move this way from the building in case there’s another explosion and get out of the street. Fire trucks will be here any moment.” Most of the heads turned our way, and people began to move in our direction.
Phil turned off the engine but left the light bar flashing, and we both got out of the SUV. He pointed to a group clustered together coming toward us on the grass. “We need to find out what happened before they decide to head for their cars. How about talking to that group?”
I approached them and showed my ID. Looking to see who the leader of the group was, I pulled out a scratch pad. “Can someone tell me what happened?”
A big man – he was almost as big as Phil – with long blond hair and wearing a dark blue suit stepped forward. His eyes were wide, and he spoke hesitantly. “When we were listening to the sermon, a man I’d never seen before came into the church. He walked straight up to the podium and started crying. He was hard to understand, but he said something about they were making him do it. He looked inside his jacket and appeared shocked. Then he shouted, ‘Get out. Get out. I’m wearing an explosive vest and it’s going to blow up in three minutes.’ He opened his jacket, and we could see he had explosives strapped to his torso. We were all tripping over each other in our panic, but somehow most of us got out before it blew.”
A woman who was being supported by a man and another woman sobbed quietly, “Everett didn’t get out.”
Her male companion spoke up, “He’s … he was her husband, Reverend Everett Crane. He stayed behind to try to get the man out of the vest.” He glanced at the woman. “We had to drag Violet out.”
The story slowly came out as I scrawled everything onto the pad. The bomber had burst into the sanctuary and stalked up to the pulpit. He shoved the minister aside and broke down sobbing. He started by saying he was being forced to tell everyone that Allah was displeased with them. Then he opened his jacket to show the explosives. When he looked at the vest, he apparently saw the timer was running. He started yelling that the vest was going blow up and they had less than three minutes to get out. Reverend Crane pushed the bomber aside and called for calm.
The companion concluded with, “There was something about Crane. I mean I was already in a panic, but his words reassured us somehow. The ushers and several other members of the congregation held the doors open and helped people calmly but quickly get out the front entrance. I last saw Crane shoving the bomber to the floor and falling on top of him. His action undoubtedly saved a bunch of lives.”
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