Blow Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Violet walked toward her. “Could we talk a minute?” She was likely uncomfortable jumping right into the subject of the visit, but Emmaline didn’t take the hint to invite us inside. She stepped off the porch. “Is something wrong?”

  Violet cleared her throat and held the basket out to her. “I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to sell these in the salon any longer. Maybe try Cooper or Branson?”

  Emmaline took the basket from Violet. “I take it Bella’s back from the hospital.”

  Violet nodded. “Mom won’t allow it. Your products aren’t backed by the FDA and if someone had an allergic reaction or something, we’d be liable.”

  An annoyed flicker moved across Emmaline’s face. “I’ve never had a problem with allergic reactions, but as you wish.”

  I almost asked if my lack of energy and appetite was a side effect from the tea, but banished that thought. It was helping me sleep and keeping the nightmares at bay.

  Violet pointed to an envelope tucked into the side of the basket. “I included a list of the women who’ve bought your products and their phone numbers in case you’d like to contact them.”

  Emmaline said, “Remember, I don’t have a telephone.”

  Violet’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “Well, then. Good luck.”

  No “thank you” for all Violet had done for her, or offer to refund the money Violet paid her up front? A shape moving past a curtained window on the second floor caught my eye. Emmaline saw me glance up. I asked, “Are we keeping you from company?”

  She shepherded us toward our car, smiling at Violet. “I understand the situation and want to thank you for your help. Let’s keep in touch.”

  She waved from the yard until we were gone.

  Violet didn’t say much on the drive home other than to thank me for taking her. “You were good moral support, Britt. I really let her down and she was so gracious. I shouldn’t have gone against Mom’s wishes in the first place.”

  Like a dieter, my resolve to mind my own business disappeared at the first sight of a tasty morsel of information. “Do you know if Emmaline has anyone living with her?”

  Violet blinked a couple of times. “She’s never mentioned anyone. I’ve never seen her with anyone. Why?”

  “I saw movement in an upstairs window.”

  “I’d ask Emmaline, but I doubt if she’ll come into the salon again.” Violet’s rosebud mouth puckered. “At least I returned those products before Mom had a chance to tear into Emmaline herself.”

  *

  It had been a day since I’d asked Sebastian to check into Brian’s Internet activities. Taking the usual precautions, I booted up the computer in my secret office. He’d responded two hours ago.

  –This kid has checked out bomb making and weaponized drones on the dark web. He regularly speaks to Abdul Farid, a known ISIS recruiter. This activity began about six months ago. He was supposed to take part in a project last week. It’s all in code, so I can’t say for sure, but it seems to be about the college bombing. Then all references to the project stopped. Emails from a week ago made it look like Brian was getting ready to leave the country.

  I thanked him, shut down the computer and locked the secret office, not sure what to do with what I’d learned. The dark web was a shadow platform used primarily by criminals, although the military and law enforcement were also on it. That’s where people like Sebastian, once bad boy hackers, were now major assets.

  Robyn Barry was aware of Brian’s ties to ISIS. Sebastian’s information kept me up to speed, but I couldn’t ask her or Ben if they were aware Brian’s sister might have been radicalized. There was no way to rationalize having that kind of information. Barry said she’d throw me in jail for impeding the investigation. I’d already gone over the line by talking to Brian, but I felt justified. The BCA’s first concern wasn’t about helping the kid before he went too far. They were using him. Still uneasy about Jenna, I’d work her name into a conversation with Ben, then ask if they’d checked her out.

  Ben called early that evening.

  “Robyn wants you at BCA headquarters by eleven tomorrow. Sorry for the abrupt call, but she’d rather I not talk about it on the phone.”

  I’d hoped for a cozy chat, but he was all business. I said I’d be there. The last thing I wanted to do was follow them around like a third wheel, but I’d try to lobby on Brian’s behalf if it came up, and mention Jenna.

  Ben’s tone softened before he hung up. “I’m sorry for the quick call, but we’re onto something here and I need to get back to it.”

  He’d sounded excited. I’d have to curb my curiosity until tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Barry wanted to see me.

  *

  I walked in at eleven o’clock as requested, camera bag over my shoulder, ready for a day covering the BCA. Barry and her team, along with a guy wearing an FBI jacket and another with the Homeland Security insignia on his cap, were in a huddle at Carpenter’s desk. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

  She beckoned to me. “We were able to connect Brian with your bearded guy, Abdul Farid, through their emails. Today’s likely the day he begins his overseas journey to join ISIS. He has a meeting at one with Farid. We have information that confirms he intends to provide Brian with a plane ticket and passport. We want discreet photos of the exchange. We’ll follow and stop him when he boards the plane. I want each step documented. That’s where you come in.” Her gaze rested on me. “Why aren’t you surprised at any of this information? Maybe Ben keeps you informed?”

  I said, “It’s my inscrutable journalist face. Ben hasn’t told me anything.” Inwardly excited that Barry wanted me to do more than fake photo ops with her as the star, I waited for more information.

  Barry said to me, “I’d like to talk with you in my office before we head out. Cory’s bringing in lunch for everyone.”

  Cory made a face like a teenager in a snit. “I’ll get the usual.” He didn’t bother to ask what anyone wanted.

  Barry gestured toward her office and when we were both inside, shut the door. She sat behind her desk and I took a seat across from her. She wouldn’t shut the door to talk about logistics.

  She leaned back and crossed her arms. “We’re allies of a sort, right? We’re both women in male-dominated fields trying to make our marks, but I expect you to understand I still had to do some background checking before bringing you in. Homeland Security and the FBI are coordinating with us. We need to go by the book.”

  That was code for she’d thoroughly vetted me. My body language must have mirrored my thoughts because she said, “Let me start that over. I’ve recently learned some information about you that concerns me.”

  My hackles rose. My voice neutral, I said, “In what way?”

  She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. “This isn’t personal, in fact, I’m about ten years older than you so I hope you see me more as a mentor, someone who has your best interest at heart. But I am concerned.”

  She must have been talking to Sheriff Wilcox. I jabbed my index finger on the desk. “I stand behind every so-called reckless action I’ve taken on things that have happened in Spirit Lake. Without my involvement, Wilcox might have sent the wrong person to jail for that coed’s murder, and three months ago when that maniac wanted to destroy my family, if I hadn’t kept digging, my brother might have been killed. Lars nearly was.” I slammed my body back against the seat. “What else you got?”

  “We followed up on a rumor that you kicked your father out of a car in a blizzard and left him to die.”

  That one rattled me. Only a few people knew those details. I mumbled. “There’s more to the story.”

  “That action says something about temperament.”

  I jumped up. “You called me. Do you want my help or not?”

  “Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to insult you. I hoped you’d fill in the details for me.”

  I’d relived the memory too many times. My jaw tightened. “Why don’t you tell me what you think you know?”
/>   She watched my face as she talked. “You were sixteen. There was a snowstorm. You’d picked up your drunk father from a tavern. Someone told him Little, then twelve, was seen holding hands with a boy. Your father threatened to hurt your brother and you couldn’t let it happen again. You shoved your father out of the car, drove away, your car hit black ice, rammed into a tree and you were knocked out. When they found you, you had a concussion and your father had been hit by a truck while wandering drunk down the middle of the highway. He didn’t survive.”

  She’d said it as if reciting a grocery list. Hearing it that way knocked the wind out of me. I lifted out of my body and felt myself hovering over the scene that day: His fist raised, drunken ranting about what he intended to do to Little. My hot anger, pulling over, reaching across the seat to open his door, drawing my legs up, shoving him into a snow-filled ditch. Driving away.

  I blinked and came back to Barry. I said, “You’ve done your homework.” How did she know? Last year when I finally had the courage to tell Little what really happened all those years ago, he’d insisted I’d have gone back for our dad, but I’m not sure I would have. An impenetrable black spot had taken up residence in my soul, hiding parts of me from myself.

  She said, “Ben was against bringing you in on this. That’s why he’s out in the field. I can’t trust him to keep his mind on his job if you’re on the scene.”

  I stared down at her out of what felt like hundred-year-old eyes. She might never in her career see what I had seen and I wouldn’t wish it on her. “Either you trust me or you don’t.”

  She fiddled with the papers on her desk. “I need to be sure you can do what’s asked with no second guessing, even if things don’t go as expected.”

  Head cocked, I asked, “You’re worried about violence? Isn’t this a document-money exchange?”

  “If these are the people who blew up a building and killed someone, you need to be cool under pressure.”

  I almost snorted. She had no idea who she was talking to. I’d been embedded with military on dangerous operations countless times and managed to handle it. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Cory knocked on the door with our sandwiches and that was the end of the conversation. Never great at the subtleties of human deception, I wondered if Barry’s real objective was to unbalance me. How would that serve her? Was this some BCA test? Did Ben really tell her he didn’t want me involved? I forced myself to nibble a few bites of the tuna sandwich, a poor substitute for the delicacy my brother would have prepared.

  After lunch, Barry gathered everyone and ran though the plan again. Brian and Farid were supposed to meet in the same location I’d first seen them. Carpenter would be disguised as campus parking security making slow loops through the rows of cars, and Cory with a backpack slung over his shoulder would be walking through the parking lot. A couple of sheriff’s deputies and Ben would be stationed nearby. The FBI and Homeland were letting Barry’s team take the lead but would have their own people on site.

  Outside, Barry beckoned to me. “You’re with me. Stay close.” She got behind the wheel.

  When we were in position, she radioed her team to remind them not to move when Farid handed over the ticket and passport. They were only to take action if something unexpected happened and only at her command.

  One o’clock came and went. The sky darkened with sleeting rain. We fidgeted until two. Barry was on her radio to Ben. “You and your guys check the other locations where they’ve met on campus. Everyone else hold your places.” We waited another half hour. Ben called in to report they’d had no luck. The rain cloud moved south but left a damp cold hanging over the parking lot.

  As if he’d been waiting for the rain to end, a figure walked in our direction from the west end of the parking lot. Barry grabbed my arm and raised her binocs. “It’s Brian.”

  Head down, Brian hurried across the lot.

  Leather jacket zipped, hoodie covering my head, I slipped out of Barry’s van and followed, using the parked cars as cover. Pretending to be hunting for my car, I filmed as Farid slid out of his hatchback and joined Brian. They had a short, heated conversation. Brian shook his head, Farid grabbed Brian by his shirt and said something. Fists flailing, Brian tore into the bearded man. Bigger and more muscular, Farid shoved Brian against a parked car, setting off the alarm. Brian ran from the parking lot, backpack dangling from his fist. Farid jumped back in his dented Mazda and gunned it after Brian, but he’d slipped through the hedges. Farid had to drive to the exit and circle around. My bet was that Brian got away.

  Barry was on the radio when I returned to the SUV. “Ben and Janet, don’t let Farid out of your sights. Cory and Micah, stay on Brian.”

  I said, “If Farid got seriously violent with Brian, your guys would have stepped in, right?” She ignored me. I showed her the film. “They didn’t notice me and I didn’t see a handoff. I wasn’t close enough to pick up their words, but I’d have run too at the murderous expression on Farid’s face after Brian hit him.”

  She gave the camera back to me and smacked the steering wheel with an open palm. A few minutes later we pulled up to my car. Her expression grim, she said, “Thanks, good work. Send me that video.”

  “Done.” I stepped out, then leaned into the open door. “Have you told Brian’s parents about this?”

  “And take a chance they’ll try to convince him to stop what he’s doing? We’d lose an opportunity to bring in the people who recruited him.”

  “Big picture, right?”

  “That’s how professionals work.” She pointed a finger at me. “Do not get in our way.”

  “You called me, remember?” I shut the car door and almost lost the hand I’d wrapped around the handle as she tore away.

  The BCA was all over the ISIS connection and it needed to be stopped, but to sacrifice Brian and maybe his sister without trying to help them didn’t seem right to me. I sat in my car drumming my fingers on the wheel.

  That strange, angry phone conversation I’d overheard between Brian and someone just after the Branson bombing raised other questions. Why the angry and confused expression? That didn’t fit. Horror, fear, maybe anger, but why confusion? The BCA still couldn’t connect Brian to the bombing and his family hadn’t yet moved to Minnesota when Summer Fest was bombed. So if the two events were connected, Brian wasn’t the guy.

  Still, I hoped Barry’s sting hadn’t gone sour because I’d talked to him about his sister. They’d been surveilling Brian and his family; wouldn’t they be aware of Jenna’s interest in ISIS? I headed toward Spirit Lake, vowing to stay away from the BCA’s investigation.

  *

  I watched the video over and over. Their body language showed Brian telling Farid something he didn’t want to hear, possibly that he was unwilling to go through with his plans to throw in with ISIS. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking. Then Farid said something that infuriated Brian, they fought, Farid turned the tables and went after Brian, exactly the way it had appeared to me in the moment. I snapped my laptop shut. Now what?

  Unable to stand inactivity when there were so many unanswered questions, I paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, then threw myself into an overstuffed chair and stared out the window at the lake. Duane Weldon was off limits. I’d be jailed if I interfered with the BCA’s ISIS investigation.

  Knees bouncing, fingers tapping the armrest, my ever-unsettled brain switched gears again, locking on yesterday’s visit to Emmaline with Violet. Who was in that upstairs window? For a trained observer, it seemed like too many odd incidents were connected to the woman. At the very least finding out more about her would keep me from obsessing on the college bombing.

  Aware my behavior bordered on frenetic, at two a.m., dressed in black, I left behind a disappointed Rock and jounced down the rutted road to Emmaline’s for the second time in two days. Most likely, I’d end up discovering nothing illegal was going on, but my suspicion was like a bad case of poison ivy that needed scratching.


  Foolish or not, I parked the SUV on the road about a quarter mile from the turnoff and hiked through the woods to her place. The house was dark, but bright yellow lights shining through every window and crack in the barn brought me up short.

  The first time I’d visited her, loud noises had come from the barn. Emmaline said it was cats. I set out to get a closer look at those cats.

  Chapter 16

  I hesitated at the edge of the woods watching the barn. The smart move would be to go home. The dumb move would be to take a quick peek. I blew out a gust of air. Knowing the sheriff wouldn’t have just cause to come out here, I decided to chance it. If something nefarious like a drug operation was going on, I’d tell Ben. I hated to leave my camouflaged position under the trees, but crossing the open field was the only way to get close to the barn. Hoodie covering my light hair and camera secured under my jacket, I sprinted, fully visible to anyone who might be watching.

  A few yards from the barn I heard whirring, then a muffled thud. As I darted toward one of the high windows by the back door all noises stopped and the lights went out. Heart hammering, I ran at a crouch toward low bushes about ten yards from the barn. My foot caught on a rock, I scrambled to catch myself, failed and rolled down an embankment, frantically grabbing at foliage to stop the momentum. Halting at the edge of a creek, the damp earth pungent in my nostrils, I rose to a squat and winced at a pain just under my breastbone where my camera rested.

  The sound of shoes swishing through the brush above me sent me into another panicky scramble behind a boulder sitting partially in the creek. Water swirled over my ankle boots and soaked my jeans. A beam of light moving toward the bank played back and forth. I wrapped my fingers around the wolf agate in my pocket. My ears pricked up and my breathing slowed.

  Emmaline could have a weapon. Knowing I should show myself and admit to trespassing, the coward in me would almost rather get shot than explain myself to Ben and Sheriff Wilcox.