The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [88]
“Hubert Frederick Brainerd,” said Nancy, slowly. Sally and I wrote it down. Nancy had known enough to get a middle name. “And he’s from near Waterloo.” She smiled. “And don’t forget to tell them he’s about fifty.”
“Yeah, like she says,” said Shamrock. “So I walk up to him, and I go, ‘We heard other people say there really were two cops that got it on Sunday’ and I go, ‘so we want to talk to you again.’” She looked at Nancy, who threw her an encouraging smile. “So he goes, ‘I told you so, didn’t I, sweetie,’” said Shamrock, in her deepest voice, and tittered just a bit. “He gives me this look, and then says, ‘You might want to look into the ATF records on this,’ and I go, ‘No kidding, the ATF?’”
“That’s a direct quote. ‘You might want to look into the ATF records,’” said Nancy. “We don’t have a clue on that one. Just what he said.”
“How in the hell…” I couldn’t believe he’d said that. Or that he thought a reporter would be able to go to the ATF and check their records, for that matter.
“Don’t know,” she replied. “Just what he said. Go on, Shamrock.”
“He says that the ATF has been hanging around for a long time, ever since that other cop got killed up in the park, and then that undercover cop got killed. He means Nancy’s previous photographer, we think. And that the cops have been trying to get even, and that they fly over all the time, and that they send vans all over with listening devices.” Her eyes were wide. “Really. ‘Helicopters, jets, and reconnaissance satellites’ is what he said.”
“Oh, boy.” It was all I could say. I guess I’d been secretly afraid of this, ever since I’d seen the survivalist and antigovernment books at Borglan’s house. The same old problem: How do you prove that something isn’t there? Tough. But when people get excited about it, it gets a lot tougher.
“He told me all about taxes, and how you really didn’t have to pay them. How it was a conspiracy to take everybody’s money and give it to the rich and the Jews, and the Chinese, and things like that.” She glanced up at me. “Anyway … he said that the media was being fed lots of lies by the government, and that we should check out our sources better. I think that’s about it.”
“He took quite a liking to Shamrock,” said Nancy, dryly. “Almost like I wasn’t there at all.” She addressed her photographer. “Tell Mr. Houseman about the little buildings…”
“Oh, yeah. He also said that there was a secret government listening station right near there, with a satellite communications antenna, and that it was where the ATF went to send their reports to Washington. He showed it to us, it’s just over the bridge, it’s gray and a little building. Only it says ‘U.S. Geological Survey’ on it. Has an antenna, though.”
She was right about the USGS station. They had set several in place over the last few years, and improved flood control considerably. Of course, if you’re paranoid enough, you can concoct just about anything.
“Well, I didn’t know what to say, because I know he’s full of shit on that one, and then he goes, ‘I got it right from the mouth of the horse.’”
“That’s ‘horse’s mouth,’ dear,” said Nancy, with a wicked little grin.
“Right. Anyhow, he goes, ‘We know it was cops.’ And I go how does he know that, and he goes, ‘Because the owner of the house knows. He don’t lie.’ Just like that, he said it!” Shamrock took a big gulp of coffee, and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s what he said.”
“That is what he said.” Nancy got up, went to the sink, and poured a little cold water in her coffee cup.
“I’m sure.” I pushed my chair back. “Well, you’ve done really well, here.”
“Just wait,” said Nancy. She sat back down, cup in hand. “Tell him.” She glanced at Sally and me. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Shamrock just sparkled. “I asked him if I could take his picture. He goes, ‘Sure, how about over here,’ and he stands in front of the mailbox. So I go, ‘How about you pointing at something for me?’ and I take the first shots. And he goes,