Serena nodded. “True, but I’m betting he used the front door, anyway.”
“Why?”
“If I’m carrying a fifty-pound bomb on my shoulder, I don’t want to walk all the way across the store with it and hang out where the staff can see me. I want to stand outside the shop until Eagle does his thing. Then I slip in, plant it, and slip out. Twenty or thirty seconds max.”
Stride put himself in the mind of the bomber.
The less time inside the store, the better.
“Okay, go check it out,” he told Serena. “I’ll talk to Durkin, and you talk to the marathon people. Let’s see who showed up on their camera on Tuesday night.”
* * *
As she headed back to her Mustang, Serena stopped to check on Cat. The girl leaned against a tree and chewed her fingernails, and her face was streaked with tears. Serena didn’t say anything. She simply walked up to Cat and put her arms around her and held her tightly.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I feel like that kid in The Sixth Sense,” Cat murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“Everywhere I go, I see dead people.”
Serena smiled. If Cat could joke about it, even a little, that was a good thing. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve seen more than your share.”
“I don’t know how you and Stride deal with it, you know?”
“It doesn’t get easier, the more you see it,” Serena told her.
“Do you have any idea who killed Eagle?”
“Not yet.”
“He was a good guy,” Cat said. “He had problems, but he was okay.”
“I know.” Serena hesitated, and then she went on, “I wish you’d called me rather than going in there yourself. This isn’t a safe place. It’s private property, too, and you shouldn’t be trespassing.”
“I’ve been here before.”
“Maybe so, but we’re in the middle of a dangerous situation. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Serena didn’t want to chide her, but she worried that the girl’s impulsive behavior would catch up with her sooner or later.
“I also want to know why Curt called you, not me,” Serena added.
The girl’s eyes shifted to her feet. “You know Curt.”
“Yes, I do. That’s what worries me. What did he want from you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what did Curt want you to do for him in exchange for information about Eagle?”
Cat shrugged. “Nothing.”
Serena took the girl’s chin and lifted it up until their eyes met. “Hey. This is me. Don’t lie.”
“He wants me to go to a party tonight with some rich guys over on Congdon,” Cat said. “It’s a lot of money.”
“Curt’s paying you to show up at a party?” Serena asked.
“Not to do anything. Not for sex or crap like that. Just to look pretty and hang out.”
A private party. For money. Cat talked about it like it was no big deal. Serena took a deep breath and tried not to scream at her. She realized that this was a Mom thing, and she still wasn’t used to being a Mom. She could tell the girl not to go and hope she obeyed, but Cat typically didn’t follow orders. If you told her what to do, she did the opposite.
Serena decided to try something different. Mom to daughter.
She would trust her.
“Okay, you can go or not go,” Serena said. “This is your call.”
The girl stared at her. It was the last thing she’d expected Serena to say. “What? What do you mean?”
“You decide for yourself.”
“Come on, I know you don’t want me to go,” Cat said.
“What I want isn’t the issue. You’re seventeen years old. You’re smart as hell. You know what’s right, and you know what’s wrong, so don’t pretend you need me or Stride to tell you what to do. We’re done with that. It’s up to you, Cat.”
Serena kissed the girl’s head, and then she walked away without another word.
She hoped that she hadn’t made an awful mistake.
37
Khan beat his fists on the wooden floor and cried, but nothing brought his family back.
For hours, he wailed to Allah, looking for answers where there were none. Malik kept trying to quiet him, because he was afraid the neighbors would hear. Khan didn’t care. He thought: Let the police come. Let them draw their guns and kill me. His life was as good as over. He thought about strapping on the awful vest that Malik had built. End everything in a brilliant flash of light, rather than face the long, empty years of loneliness ahead of him. Even so, he couldn’t do it. He sat in a corner of the deserted house, surrounded by dust and darkness, with no idea how to go on.
Khan was devastated, but Malik was angry.
“Now do you understand?” his friend demanded of him, his face reddening with outrage. “Now do you see what I’ve been saying for months? This country hates us. It would murder us simply for who we are. All your talk of peace—what did it get you? You thought you could hide in your little town, your little neighborhood, your little house, but you can’t.”
Khan had nothing to say, but this time, he knew Malik was right. There was no place to hide. He’d run from Pakistan. He’d run from Chicago. He’d asked nothing from life except to live in tranquility with his wife, his son, and his God. But no. You can’t run forever. Sooner or later, the monster always finds you.
“Don’t you see the truth now?” Malik went on. “Muslim is tattooed on your forehead, Khan. It’s all they see. You can never be a part of them; you can only be a part of us.”
Khan stared at his friend from red-rimmed eyes. “Who is us?”
“Those who would fight and die for Allah,” Malik said.
Khan shook his head wearily. “What does violence do? Violence solves nothing.”
“So what, you’re afraid of them calling you a terrorist? They’ll do that, anyway. Meanwhile, the real terrorists are right here. The terrorists are the ones who murdered Ahdia and Pak last night.”
“Don’t even speak their names,” Khan told him.
Malik took a slow breath. He slid down the wall and sat next to Khan. “I know. I’m so sorry for your loss. This tragedy is beyond anything a man should have to bear.”
“The wound will never close,” Khan replied. “Never. I keep thinking about what they went through. I can feel the fire on my own skin. I choke on the black smoke. I should have been able to save them, Malik. I should have sacrificed myself, and instead, I was a coward.”
“Nonsense.”
“I wasn’t strong enough,” Khan murmured, mostly to himself. “The fire drove me back. I should have been stronger.”
“Even if you’d made it inside, all three of you would be dead. There was no way out.”
“Then I wish we’d all died together.”
Malik grabbed Khan’s hand. “I know you have to grieve, but you also have to think about what comes next. You don’t have the luxury of mourning them in peace. You don’t have time.”
“I don’t care what comes next.”
“So instead, you walk outside and let the police fill you with bullets? That may sound preferable right now, but is that what Ahdia would want? For you to give up?”
Khan felt the tears again. He stared at the ceiling in resignation. “What do you want from me, Malik?”
“I want you to get angry. Underneath your grief, anger boils. This was your wife! Your son! These people took them away from you. Murdered them. If you give up, they win.”
“Nothing boils inside me,” Khan said. “I can’t feel anger. I can’t feel anything. Don’t you see that? I’m dead inside. I’m going to walk out that door with my hands up. If they shoot me, so be it.”
Malik squeezed Khan’s hand until his fingers hurt. “No. I won’t let you do that. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“How? There’s a police car not even fifty yards away. Two police officers watching the street.”
; “We wait until dark, like last night,” Malik said.
“There are still streetlights. We’re not invisible.”
“I’ll draw the police away somehow. Once they leave, you’ll be able to escape.”
“And then what? Where do I go? You said it yourself. There’s nowhere to hide. Sooner or later, they’ll find me.”
Malik pushed himself off the floor. They were in the living room, hidden in shadows. Outside, just beyond the window glass, Khan could hear the trill of a cardinal. The red birds with their tufted hats had been Ahdia’s favorites. She’d put up a feeder and bought food to attract them, but it seemed as if cardinals couldn’t be tempted by easy offerings. They kept their distance, even when their song was in the trees; they showed up only on rare occasions to grace the humans with their presence. It made every sighting special.
He wondered if Ahdia had sent the cardinal to him now and what message she wanted him to hear.
What would you tell me to do, my love?
“I’ll set up an underground railroad for you,” Malik said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll make contact with my friends in Minneapolis. They’ll arrange a meeting point and a safe house. From there, someone will drive you out of state. You can take refuge in another city. Chicago. New York. Los Angeles. If necessary, if it comes to that, they can find a way to smuggle you out of the country.”
“My home is here,” Khan said.
“Your home was here. You have no home now—don’t you realize that?”
Khan took a deep breath. Malik made it sound so easy to pick up and go. He found it hard to imagine a world outside Duluth, where he’d always assumed he would spend the rest of his life. But Malik was right. His home wasn’t this city. His home had been his wife and child, and now his home was gone. It didn’t matter where he went. He had nothing to leave behind.
“Assuming I left,” Khan said, “how would that even happen? How would we get from here to Minneapolis? As soon as we tried to run, we’d be spotted.”
“We’ll stick to back roads. We avoid the freeways.”
“You don’t think they’ve thought of that? There will be roadblocks. They’ll have the entire city in a box. As long as the search goes on, we’re marked men.”
Malik nodded thoughtfully. He looked like an engineer contemplating a design flaw that seemed impossible to solve. “True. You’re right.”
“So what do we do?”
His friend shook his head. “I’ll worry about that part of the plan later. First things first. I need to make sure the car I was using is still safe. It’s not registered to me, but any car that’s been parked in the same place for a while may have attracted the attention of the police. If they found it and they’re watching it, then I need to find something different.”
“How will you get to the car without being seen?”
“Carefully,” Malik said, smiling. “Don’t worry, I can slither on my belly when I need to. Once I reach the car, assuming it’s safe, I can map out our route and arrange a welcome from my friends in Minneapolis.”
“And what do I do in the meantime? Sit here alone?”
Malik squatted in front of him. “For now, yes. Get some sleep if you can.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.”
“Well, try to rest, anyway. It’s going to be a long night. And listen to me, Khan. Whatever happens, don’t be foolish. These people would put a bullet between your eyes on sight. To them, you’re a cop killer. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand anything,” Khan replied. “Nothing makes sense.”
“Well, I can’t leave unless you give me your word that you will stay put. Do not walk out that door. You may think you’re alone, but I’m here to help you, and others will do the same.”
Khan glanced around the shut-up house, which already felt like a prison. Two days here had been an eternity. A life sentence. Inside or out, he was an innocent man in jail.
“And what do I do if you don’t return?” he asked.
“I will.”
Khan put both hands on Malik’s face. “Not if you’re dead, my friend.”
“Okay, if the night passes and I don’t come back, assume I’m dead or arrested. There’s a backup plan—a plumber named Abdul who lives in Chester Park. Call him and tell him you have a flood in your basement and give him this address. Tell him there is so much water, you thought you heard Noah pleading with his son not to stay with the Unbelievers.”
Khan’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“It’s a code. Abdul will understand. He’ll know it’s an emergency. He’ll find a way to get you out.”
“Malik, this is crazy,” Khan said.
“The world is crazy. I’ll leave you an extra phone, but don’t use it unless you need to reach Abdul. That should be your one and only call. And assume that somewhere a federal agent will be listening. Act natural, and don’t use your name or mine. It’s just a call about a leaky basement. Understand?”
Khan felt overwhelmed. “Yes.”
“One more thing,” Malik said. He got up and retrieved a small shoulder satchel from the other side of the room. He dug inside and found a silver flip phone, which he tossed to Khan. Then he brought out something else and cupped it in his hand. It was a gun. A pistol with a black barrel and wooden handle.
Khan shook his head. “No.”
“I have a gun,” Malik said. “You need one, too.”
“I’ve never fired a gun in my life. I don’t even know how.”
“I’ll show you.”
“No. No gun. If I have a gun, then I become exactly what they say I am—don’t you see that?”
Malik acted as if Khan hadn’t said a word. He picked up the gun and demonstrated how to prep it, taking the magazine in and out, cycling the slide, and loading a cartridge. How to aim. How to fire. Then he reversed the process, emptying the weapon. He did it twice and made sure Khan was watching the whole time.
“See? That’s all you do.”
“Under no circumstances will I ever fire a gun,” Khan said. “Take it with you.”
Malik ignored him. Khan’s protests meant nothing. He put the gun on the floor next to Khan and yanked the satchel over his shoulder. “Hopefully, you won’t need it, but I’m leaving it here for you, anyway. Do you understand the plan?”
Khan nodded without replying.
“Good,” Malik said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll have a way out of Duluth for you. Trust me, my friend.”
Malik left, but Khan barely heard him go.
All he could do was stare at the gun on the floor.
38
Maggie blew the black bangs out of her eyes.
“Minnesota is just not a donut state,” she said to Guppo, pressing pause on the video feed. “What’s that about, anyway?”
“What are you talking about?” Guppo replied. “I love donuts. I can plow through a dozen chocolate cake donuts in a sitting.”
The two of them sat on opposite sides of a conference table in front of computer monitors. They’d already spent hours reviewing footage of people buying gas in Duluth in a five-mile radius around the site of the gallery firebombing. Watching identical clips of cars and trucks coming and going from the pumps had made them punchy.
“Yeah, okay, but where do you buy your donuts?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t know. Super One sometimes. Holiday or SA, if I’m filling up.”
“See, that’s my point. Grocery stores and gas stations do not sell donuts. Donut shops sell donuts. Go anywhere else in the country, and there are actual donut shops that sell actual donuts. Duluth is a donut wasteland. The whole state is a donut wasteland.”
Guppo, who resembled an enormous filled donut himself, leaned back in the chair, which groaned precariously under his weight. “Yeah, I still miss House of Donuts. Those were the days.”
“You and Stride and House of Donuts,” Maggie said with a sigh. “How many decades ago was
that? Anyway, at least Dunkin’ finally came back to town. That’s progress. And don’t get me started on the lack of pancake houses, either. When Troy and I went to Chicago in the spring, we passed pancake houses every other block. Up here? Nothing. I mean, I love Duluth Grill, but I also want a place that sells Swedish pancakes and silver dollar pancakes and Dutch apple pancakes and blueberry pancakes and buckwheat pancakes. And I want them to have a logo of a pancake with a happy face on it. That’s a pancake house.”
“You sound crabby,” Guppo said.
“I’m sick of watching people buy gas.”
“Well, here’s another guy filling up a portable gas tank,” Guppo told her. “Monday afternoon, 3:45 p.m. at the Spur on Central Entrance.”
“Just one tank?”
“Yeah.”
“What does he look like?”
“I think he’s about eighty,” Guppo said. “He’s wearing a short-sleeve plaid shirt, shorts, and sneakers with black socks.”
“I’m going to take a gamble that our firebug is not a great-grandfather, but print it out, tag the feed, and add it to the stack.”
“Done.”
Maggie rolled the feed on her laptop again, reviewing footage from a Holiday station on Arrowhead Road. Each store had multiple cameras; each camera had multiple hours of video, starting from Monday morning. It was a long job. They’d found dozens of people filling up portable tanks, and they’d kept records on each purchase, but so far, they hadn’t identified anyone whose behavior looked suspicious.
Eventually, she knew they would have to run down each buyer individually, in order to cross them off the suspect list. She also knew that she and Max might be heading down a dead-end road. Someone planning a firebombing might have been smart enough to use gas stations outside the city, where there was less likelihood of being spotted. Or maybe they had gallons of gas already stored in their garage for lawn mowers and snowblowers. Even so, for now, this was their best chance at finding a lead. If the bomber was angry enough and emotional enough to lash out violently on the spur of the moment, then maybe he wasn’t overly careful about covering his tracks.
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