Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [81]
And we were off and running.
Seventeen
THE FIRST REALLY difficult problem we had was that none of the suspects we had in custody would say anything.
Herman Stritch, who we pretty well had to take for the leader, was kept in a separate cell area from his son William. We’re talking fifteen feet apart here, by the way, so communications between them were quite possible. For that reason, the television in the main cell containing William was kept on, with the sound up, twenty-four hours a day. If Herman wanted to talk to him, he’d have to yell.
Mrs. Nola Stritch, loyal wife and mother, was kept in our third block of cells, nearly forty feet from either her husband or her son. She could probably communicate too, but since she couldn’t see either of them from her location, it was pretty difficult.
They had their act together, though. It was very typical of the extreme right . . . deny any recognition of the U.S. government, but claim constitutional rights under that government if they got in trouble. Slick. They thought of it as a win-win situation. We thought a little differently.
Nola Stritch was sort of unique, at least in that group. In the first place, after she had showered and put on a fresh orange jail uniform, it turned out that she was very, very attractive. I don’t know, maybe orange was just ‘‘her color.’’ With the salt-and-pepper hair in a ponytail, and the two-piece jail uniform turned into shorts and a top by the simple expedient of rolling up the legs and tying the top in a knot above the navel, she was as close to a knockout as we’d ever had in our jail.
Questions she asked the staff very quickly revealed a sharp, intelligent woman who was remarkably self-possessed. She’d asked for a couple of books from her home, and we’d provided them. One of poems by Walt Whitman and one textbook entitled The Calculus of One Variable. Turned out she was currently enrolled in a mathematics course and was studying. Whitman was for relaxing. The dispatchers, who watched her on the surveillance cameras in her cell, said that she kept busy and seemed very calm. She also did an exercise routine that involved abdominal crunches and pull-ups on the edge of the shower stall.
Herman, on the other hand, was now simply staring at the wall or the TV. When asked if he wanted something to read, he merely said something about not reading much. He ate quite a bit, and didn’t seem to show the expected signs of depression; he slept well, seemed energetic enough when he was taken out for exercise and fresh air, and was pretty good with the staff. His son was a regular chip off the old block.
The upshot of this was that it was almost immediately apparent that, if Herman was to be considered the ‘‘brains’’ of the group, you’d have to completely ignore his wife. Yet, from all accounts, she did not lead them. Interesting.
Hester and I, as the team investigating the shooting of Rumsford, had one very large problem. We knew the shots had come from the house. We just didn’t know who’d fired them. Autopsy results wouldn’t be available for a couple of days, but preliminary examination of his body showed that he’d been shot twice in the chest, both times with what was apparently a 7.62 mm projectile. Easy so far. Now, just check the ballistics on any weapon of similar caliber at the scene. Yeah. The subsequent search of the Herman Stritch residence had turned up the following rifles, according to the Seized Property Receipt:
[212-217] Six (6) Chinese-made SKS rifles, caliber 7.62 mm
[233-235] Three (3) Chinese-made AK-47 rifles, caliber 7.62 mm
[249] One (1) Soviet-made Dragunov SVD rifle, caliber 7.62 mm
[255] One (1) German Heckler & Koch G3 full-auto rifle, caliber 7.62 mm
[258] One (1) U.S. M-14 rifle, caliber 7.62 mm
[261] One (1) U.S. M-1 Garand, caliber .30 (virtually 7.62 mm)
[270-272] Three (3) U.S. Colt AR-15 rifles, caliber 5.56 mm
[388] One (1) U.S. Remington bolt-action single-shot, .22 caliber
Hester