Troy’s face was unhappy. “Look, you know me. I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body.”
“I know that.”
“The thing is, I was thinking about the groups that were in here on Tuesday.”
“Okay,” Serena said.
Troy hesitated. He shook his head, as if he was angry with himself.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she urged him.
“Well, part of our marketing effort is diversity, okay? This year, members of the local mosque reached out to us to expand the representation of Muslims running in the race. It was very successful. We had almost forty new Muslim participants, and we worked with local sponsors to make sure they had housing and that we were attuned to any special religious or dietary concerns.”
“And on Tuesday?” Serena asked.
“We met with several members of the mosque for a final check-in about the needs of the Muslim runners,” Troy replied. “They were all in the marathon office upstairs.”
40
Maggie found Shelly Baker in her hospital bed. Wade Ralston sat in a chair beside her. Talking to witnesses never bothered Maggie, but this time, she had to gin up the courage to go inside. She knew that Shelly had suffered grievous injuries in the marathon bombing, and she was reluctant to add to her burden by telling her that her brother, Travis, was now a suspect in a double homicide.
In the doorway, she cleared her throat, and the two people looked up. For Maggie, that first split second with someone always told the tale. Shelly’s expression was blank, but Wade Ralston’s eyes darted back and forth with beady, nervous alarm. That was as good as a confession.
He knew exactly why Maggie was there.
“Mr. Ralston, I’m glad to see you up and about,” she said. “Ms. Baker, my name is Maggie Bei. I’m a Sergeant with the Duluth Police. I’m sorry to bother you during your recovery.”
The woman in bed looked drained of energy. “What do you want?”
“I’m trying to find your brother, Travis. Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Travis? At my place, probably. I have a Central Hillside apartment, and he usually stays with me. He doesn’t have a place of his own.”
“No, he’s not there. I already checked. When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Shelly replied. “What is this about, Sergeant? Why are you looking for Travis?”
“I just need to ask him a few questions. Can you think of anywhere else your brother might be?”
“At Wade’s house, I guess,” Shelly said, turning to Ralston with a curious expression. “Have you talked to Travis today, Wade?”
Ralston’s face was suddenly as empty as a fresh sheet of paper. “Nope.”
“Travis works for your company, doesn’t he, Mr. Ralston?” Maggie asked.
“That’s right.”
“Does he ever drive your white van?”
“Yes, he does. It’s got a big logo for The Bug Zappers on the side. Termites, cockroaches, ants, rodents, wasps, Asian beetles. If you have any critter issues, we’re the ones to call. You can count on us to kill ’em all.” He said it with a grim smile, as if he was reciting the copy from a television ad.
“When did you last see Travis?” Maggie asked him.
“Same as Shelly. Yesterday afternoon, here in the hospital.”
“Have you talked to him today?”
She could read Ralston’s eyes and the twitch in his mouth, and she knew he was about to lie.
“I haven’t, no.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive,” Ralston said.
“Would he be driving your company van?”
“Probably. I like him to ride around in the van. It’s good advertising.”
“Was he working on any jobs for you today?” Maggie asked.
“No, not unless somebody called with an emergency. This was my first day out of the hospital. I cancelled all of our jobs. I’m sure we’ll be back at work tomorrow, though, crawling into the basements downtown. It’s a glamorous job, but somebody has to do it.” His mouth bent into a sarcastic grin.
“I wonder if you’d mind calling Travis for me,” Maggie said. “Maybe he’ll answer the phone for you.”
“Sure, if you’d like.”
He dug into his pocket for a phone, and he turned on the power. He dialed a number but then immediately ended the call.
“It went straight to voice mail,” he said. “Sorry. Do you want me to call back and leave a message?”
“No, that’s fine. Where is your business located, Mr. Ralston?”
“I run it out of my house on Five Corners Road. Shelly is our accountant and scheduler. Travis and I do the dirty work.”
“Have you been home today?”
“Yes. Got out this morning, went straight home. I took a nap. I was pretty worn out. I’ve been through a lot.”
“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss. Did you see Travis while you were there? Did he come to the house?”
“I already said no,” Ralston replied. “Unless he stopped by while I was asleep.”
“Tell me something. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the extermination business. Do you require supplies of gasoline in your line of work?”
Ralston’s face was frozen. “Gasoline? No, we don’t kill bugs with gasoline.”
“These seem like very odd questions,” Shelly Baker interrupted. “Do you suspect Travis of doing something wrong, Sergeant?”
“Well, as I said, we’d just like to talk to him,” Maggie replied. “Can you think of anywhere else that he might go, other than to your apartment or to Mr. Ralston’s house?”
“He has a lot of friends,” Shelly replied.
“Mostly women friends,” Ralston added. “You’ve never met a bigger horndog than Travis. Kid loves to drink and party, and his body is nothing but muscles and tats. Girls go for that sort of thing, I guess. It’s not his brains they’re after, that’s for sure.”
Shelly shot Ralston an impenetrable look, and Ralston smiled back at her with no warmth at all.
“Does he have a specific girlfriend he might stay with?” Maggie asked.
“No, he’ll go home with whoever happens to be at Curly’s on any given night,” Ralston replied.
“Ms. Baker, when you talked to your brother yesterday, did he mention any plans he had?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he tell you what he was going to do last night?” Maggie asked.
“No.”
“Was he angry about what happened to you?”
“Yes, he was very upset. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Of course. Mr. Ralston, what about you? Did Travis talk about any plans with you?”
“Travis isn’t much for plans,” Ralston replied. “He’s a spur of the moment guy. He does whatever pops into his head. Was he angry? Yeah, he was angry. We’re all angry. We’re all pretty frustrated, too, because you people don’t seem any closer to catching the bomber.”
“As soon as we know anything, we’ll be communicating with all the victims and their families,” Maggie said. “In the meantime, if you do see Travis, or if he contacts either one of you, please ask him to get in touch with the police immediately.”
“We’ll do that,” Ralston replied.
Maggie turned and left the hospital room before they could ask her anything else. Being there made her claustrophobic. She walked to the end of the hallway, where the windows of a patient lounge looked out on the lake. It was almost dark. She checked her phone to read an update from Guppo, but the white van hadn’t been spotted yet.
Travis Baker was out there somewhere, probably holed up for the night.
She knew he was guilty of killing Ahdia and Pak Rashid and burning down the art gallery. And so did Wade Ralston.
* * *
Silence hung like a suffocating pillow over the hospital room. Wade didn’t say a word, but he felt Shelly watching him and waiting for him to look back at her. He got up an
d stretched. The surgical incision still hurt. He turned on the television without the sound. He stood watching it, his back to the hospital bed.
“Wade?” Shelly called to him. “What was that all about?”
“Hell if I know,” he murmured.
“I think you do know. I could see it in your face. What’s going on?”
Wade scowled and turned around. “Nothing.”
“Where’s Travis?”
“I have no idea.”
He’d told the kid to lay low, which had turned out to be good advice. He wasn’t surprised that the cops had zeroed in on Travis already. The kid always left a trail a mile wide whenever he did something stupid.
“Why are they looking for Travis?” Shelly asked.
Wade returned to the chair and sat down next to her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably nothing.”
“He’s my brother. Of course, I’m worried. You know what he’s like. Travis doesn’t think before he does things.”
Wade fired back at her. He didn’t care what he said anymore. “Maybe if you held him accountable for his stupid shit once in a while, instead of making excuses and telling him that God loves him no matter what he does, he wouldn’t be in such a mess.”
He could see her heart rate escalate on the monitor.
“Wade, please tell me what’s going on,” she said.
He said nothing.
Shelly began to protest, but then her eyes widened as she stared at the television screen. He glanced over his shoulder and saw video footage on CNN of the burnt-out Woodland gallery behind him. He swore under his breath. He didn’t need to connect the dots for her. She could do that all by herself.
“Gasoline,” Shelly murmured. “That policewoman asked about gasoline.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“They think Travis did this!” she went on. “Wade, did he? Did Travis burn down that building and kill those people?”
“We shouldn’t be talking about it, Shelly.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, Travis, what did you do? Wade, did you put this awful idea into his head? Was it you? He wouldn’t come up with a plan like this on his own. He does whatever you tell him.”
Wade hissed at her to be quiet as her voice rose. He got up and quickly closed the door to the hospital room. “Shut the hell up, Shelly. I had nothing to do with this, do you hear me? Nothing. This is all your baby brother’s fault. He got himself into this shit on his own, and now it’s too late.”
Tears crept down Shelly’s pale face. “He only did this to avenge what happened to me and Joni. You know that. If they catch him, he’ll go to prison for the rest of his life. Is that what you want?”
Wade couldn’t keep the harshness out of his voice. “No, that’s not what I want. I never said I wanted him in prison.”
“The terrorists are the real criminals. Not Travis. They did this to me. They killed your wife.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Wade said. “The police don’t care.”
Shelly closed her eyes, and he heard her murmuring a prayer, calling on Jesus as if he were in the next room and could stop by to work out a plan. Religious people were so naïve. They didn’t live in the real world.
“Praying won’t help him,” Wade told her. “You’re kidding yourself. Even God can’t help Travis now. It’s too late for that.”
Shelly opened her eyes again. “Then you have to help him, Wade.”
41
Malik arrived back at the house after dark. He slipped silently through the rear door and then fell back against it, breathing heavily. He looked hopped up and jittery, and his face was bleeding.
“What happened?” Khan asked, pointing at the blood. “You’re hurt.”
His friend wiped his cheek with a sleeve. “It’s nothing. I made my way through the woods to avoid being seen. Thorns scratched me.”
Malik went into the living room and paced nervously. He couldn’t seem to stay still. His muscles twitched, and he rubbed his hands together. He kept going to the curtains and looking outside, despite his own warnings that it wasn’t safe to do so.
“Are you all right?” Khan asked.
“Don’t worry about me.”
Khan let his friend bounce from wall to wall like a pinball until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and then he blocked him with his hands firmly on his shoulders. “You’re hyperventilating. Stop and relax.”
Malik closed his eyes. His chest swelled with a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right.”
“Something’s wrong,” Khan said. “What is it?”
“Nothing is wrong. I’m fine. I know what to do. I have a plan.”
“Well, good. What’s happening outside? Can we escape?”
Malik laughed, which sounded strange and inappropriate, like a joke told in a cemetery. “Oh, no. Escape is impossible right now.”
“The police?”
“They’re everywhere. Squad cars are going up and down the streets. I don’t know if the mayor declared a curfew after dark or whether people are simply scared, but the entire neighborhood seems to be sheltered in place. I was lucky to get back here unseen. One of the police cars used a spotlight on the woods, and I ducked down just before it lit me up.”
“And yet you have a plan,” Khan said dubiously.
“Yes, trust me. The good news is that the car appears to be safe. It’s not being watched.” Malik dug in his pocket and found a set of keys, which he shoved into Khan’s hand.
“Why are you giving me these?” Khan asked.
Malik ignored him and paced again. “It will be best for you to leave around midnight, I think. It should be safe then, but you’ll know if it is. You’ll be able to tell. The car is a burgundy Taurus parked in the woods at the dead end of Gordon Street on the other side of the golf course. You can’t see it unless you hike into the trees. There’s a house near there, but the owners appear to be gone, so no one should see you.”
“I don’t understand,” Khan said.
“Then listen! Pay attention! It’s important. There’s a GPS navigator in the glove compartment of the car. Stay off the freeway. My advice is that you go west to the town of McGregor and then head south on Highway 65. They won’t be watching out there. Start making your way to Minneapolis. You don’t need to go all the way. If you want to rest for a couple of hours in one of the parks, that should be okay. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Khan stared into his friend’s dark eyes. “What about you?”
Malik shook his head. “This is your journey, Khan. I can’t go with you.”
“You’re sending me alone?”
“It’s the only way. Be alert, because we don’t have much time. Even outside Duluth, you’re still recognizable. Your photo has been everywhere. I found an old baseball cap for you. Keep it on. If you find a convenience store where it looks safe, buy a razor, shaving cream, and some other sundries so it doesn’t look suspicious, and shave off your beard. Get sunglasses, too, for the morning.”
“Where do I go?”
“Drive to West River Parkway in Minneapolis. Go to a place called Mill Ruins Park near the Mississippi. Park there by ten in the morning, and wait. A man will approach you. Go with him, and leave the Taurus and the keys behind. Someone else will take care of the car. After that, you’re in their hands. That’s the start of your new life, Khan.”
Khan laced his hands on top of his head. He could feel the sweat of his own anxiety gathering on his skin. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Not without you,” Khan said.
“It has to be this way.”
Khan walked to the front window and nudged the curtains aside an inch. He could see that Malik was right. The swirling lights of a police cruiser lit up the night where it was parked at the end of the street, near the golf course. Another police car swept past the house, even as he watched. They were in a box. He aligned the curtains again and shook his head.
“I’ll never make it,” Khan said.
“They’ll grab me as soon as I leave.”
“Let me worry about that. I told you, I have a plan.”
“What is it?”
Malik didn’t answer. He crossed the room and embraced Khan tightly. He put both hands on Khan’s cheeks. “I know you never wanted to be in this position. Right now, the pain seems like it will never end, but someday it will get better.”
“Unlikely.”
“Think of the winds that scatter,” Malik told him, quoting the Qur’an. “They lift and bear away heavy weights.”
“I’d like to feel those winds. Right now, the burden feels impossible to carry. I’m lost.”
“Well, you’ll have time to find yourself, after tomorrow. Don’t forget what I told you. Wait until midnight. By then it should be safe to go to the car and make your escape.”
“Why?” Khan asked. “How can it be safe?”
“Because by then they will no longer be looking for you,” Malik said with a mysterious, serene smile. “At least not for a day or more. It will give you time.”
“How is that possible?”
“I told you, trust me. And remember to take the gun with you.”
Khan scowled. The last thing he wanted was to hold a gun in his hand. He couldn’t imagine it. He could never point it at another human being. The thought of it was immoral.
“No gun,” he insisted.
Malik sighed long and hard, as if Khan, who was years older, was as foolish as a little child. “Fine, give it back to me, then. I just hope you never need it.”
The gun was exactly where Malik had left it hours earlier, on the floor near a corner of the dusty room. Khan walked toward it, and Malik followed as closely as a shadow. Khan bent down to retrieve the weapon, although he was reluctant even to take it in his hand. The gun was an ugly thing. Behind him, he could hear the quick, nervous rush of Malik’s breathing and the rustle of his clothes.
“I’m very sorry, my friend,” Malik murmured in his ear.
Over his head, Khan felt rather than heard a rush of air.
Then something hard crashed down onto the bone of his skull, which erupted like a bomb of pain and light. His jaw clamped shut; he bit his tongue. His scalp burned. The room spun before his eyes. It was over in an instant. He didn’t feel himself falling into an abyss. He was already unconscious by the time his body collapsed to the floor.
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