The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [64]
“George?”
“Yes … Houseman?” He sounded very surprised. He should have. I think this might have been the second time in five years that we’d called him at home.
“Yep. Got a second for a strange one?”
“Oh, no. Now what?” He knew the Nation County Sheriff’s Department pretty well.
“Well, it appears that we may have arrested a federal agent …”
“What?!”
I chuckled. “Well, somebody who’s claiming to be one, anyway.”
“My God. For what?”
“That,” I said, “is pretty much going to depend on whether or not he’s a real FBI agent.”
There was a small groan on the other end. “An FBI agent…” George cleared his throat. “I was assuming it was some other agency …”
“Nope. Fucking Big Indian, as they used to say.”
“What are the charges?”
“Well, if he isn’t one, then we start with impersonation, and go down the list to concealed weapons, eluding pursuit, and reckless driving. If he is, we just got reckless and eluding pursuit.”
“My God,” whispered George. “Do you have his car?”
“No,” I said, unable to suppress a grin, “but I got his snowmobile.”
Twelve
Wednesday, January 14, 1998, 2337
Who is it?” asked George, with an air of fatality. “I probably know him …”
“A Norman John Brandenburg,” I said. “According to his ID.”
“You have his ID?”
“Sure do,” I said. “Retrieved it when we stripped him. You recognize the name?”
There was a profound silence. Then, “No. No, I don’t. Look, let me get right back to you, all right?”
“Yep. But make sure it’s you. Tell whoever you talk to that we deal with you only, because we’re having a tough time trusting this dude.”
I caught a waving motion out of the corner of my eye. Sally, waving me over to the bank of camera monitors.
“I will,” said George.
I hung up the phone, and went over to the monitors. “What?”
“Look at this,” she said, her voice up an octave. Very unusual for Sally. She pointed to screen three, which showed the rear of the office and jail; and then to screen eight, which showed the corner of the jail and the edge of the parking lot.
I looked, and didn’t see anything. “What?”
“Right here!” she said, tapping the screen. “There, see, he moved!”
By God. There appeared to be a figure moving around the back of the building, in the shadows thrown by the yard lights. It paused, then moved into contact with the building.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s looking in the window,” I said. “Call Twenty-five to the office, fast but quiet. Gary and I will try to get this dude.”
I went flying back into the booking room. “Gary! Intruder out back, we can get to him through the kitchen door, come on!”
John started to move, and realized that somebody had to stay with the prisoner. He looked so frustrated it was almost funny.
Gary and I thundered back to the kitchen, through it, and onto the little service porch where we kept the washer and dryer. I picked up my walkie-talkie mike.
“Okay, where’s he at now?”
“He just moved,” said Sally, in a near whisper, “and he’s just around the corner from the kitchen door. He might be trying to look in that back window by the old pantry…”
Our jail is over 100 years old, and has too damned many nooks and crannies.
Gary and I carefully opened the outside door, and slipped through. So quiet. The air was unbelievably cold, and I almost instantly started to shiver. I think it was the cold.
I just pointed to the wall to our left, and eased my way toward it. Our target ought to be just on the other side. Putting slowly increasing pressure on the thumb break of my holster, I silently unsnapped the restraining strap, and slipped my handgun free of the holster. I tried to get right against the wall, but drifted snow kept me about three feet away from the massive limestone blocks. We were at the edge of the shadow from the backyard light, but the bright moonlight illuminated us wherever we were in that little yard. We’d have to move very fast, around the corner, and try to get him before he heard us coming. It was going to be difficult.
Suddenly, there was a squeaking from the parking lot, as Twenty-five, the Maitland officer, drove up, responding