Shock Wave Read Free

beer was cold and the world smelled so damn good on a great summer day. . . . And he was off.
    The fact was, the only reason that Davenport would call was that somebody had gotten his or her ass murdered somewhere. Virgil was already late getting there—he was always the last to know—so another few hours wouldn’t make any difference. The powers that be in St. Paul would want him to go anyway, because it’d look good.
    He popped the door on the truck, dropped the phone on the front seat, locked the door, and went back to the 5B.
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    VIRGIL WAS BASED IN MANKATO, Minnesota, two hours southwest of St. Paul, depending on road conditions and the thickness of the highway patrol. He routinely covered the southern part of the state. On non-routine cases, he’d be picked up by Davenport’s team and moved to wherever Davenport thought he should go.
    A couple of hours after Davenport first called, Virgil left Johnson at the 5B, romancing the volleyball player. Their attachment was such that Virgil would not be required to drive Johnson back to his truck, so he headed home, across the river into Mankato.
    Once on the road, he picked up his phone and pushed the “call” button, and two seconds later, was talking to Davenport.
    â€œWe got a bomb early this morning,” Davenport said. “One killed, one injured, in Butternut Falls. We need you to get up there.”
    â€œWhat’s the deal?”
    Davenport told him about the explosion and the casualties, and said that the ATF would be on the scene now, or shortly.
    â€œI’ll be on my way in an hour,” Virgil said. “Wasn’t there another PyeMart bomb, killed somebody in Michigan a couple weeks back?”
    â€œYeah. Killed one, injured one. If it’d gone off twenty minutes later, it would have taken out the board of directors along with Pye himself,” Davenport said. “This guy is serious, whoever he is.”
    â€œBut if he started in Michigan, he could be a traveler. Unless we’ve got fingerprints or DNA.”
    â€œWe’ve got two things on that,” Davenport said. “The first thing is, the explosives are tagged by the manufacturer. The ATF has already identified the tags in the Michigan bomb as Pelex, which is TNT mixed with some other stuff, and is mostly used in quarries. In April, somebody cracked a quarry shed up by Cold Spring—that’s about an hour northeast of Butternut Falls—and two boxes of Pelex were taken. Other than the theft in Cold Spring, the ATF doesn’t have any other reports of Pelex theft in the last couple of years. So, the bomber’s probably local.”
    â€œOkay,” Virgil said. “What’s the other thing?”
    â€œButternut is having a civil war over the PyeMart. People are saying the mayor and city council were bought, and the Department of Natural Resources is being sued by a trout-fishing group that says some trout stream is going to be hurt by the runoff. Lot of angry stuff going on. Over-the-top stuff. Threats.”
    â€œThere’s runoff going into the Butternut? Man, that’s not just a crime, that’s a mortal sin,” Virgil said.
    â€œWhatever,” Davenport said. “In any case, the DNR okayed their environmental impact statement. I guess they’re already building the store.”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œThat’s all I got,” Davenport said. “Interesting case, though. I didn’t want to take you away from your sheriff. . . .”
    â€œAh, she’s out in LA, being a consultant,” Virgil said. “Having dinner with producers. Guys with suits like yours.”
    â€œSounds like the bloom has gone off the rose,” Davenport said.
    â€œMaybe,” Virgil conceded.
    â€œI can hear your heart breaking from here,” Davenport said. “Have a good time in Butternut.”
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    VIRGIL LIVED IN A SMALL white house in Mankato, two bedrooms, one