The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [89]
“April 19,” both Nancy and I said, at the same time.
“Oh? Well, okay …” said Shamrock.
“Couple of bad things happened on April 19,” I said. “A lot of Branch Davidians died in Waco, Texas, on that date, and a couple of years later, the Murrah Federal Office Building was blown up in Oklahoma City. Lot of people died there, too.”
“Oh, sure,” said Shamrock. “I know about those. Sure.”
“The sticker say anything else?” I asked.
“Not that I remember,” said Nancy. “But you’ll get a photo of it.” She gestured with her hand held out, like a traffic cop telling me to stop. “Just a second. Don’t go anywhere. It gets still better.”
“Three of his buds came out of the house,” said Shamrock. “Two men and a woman. I got them on film, behind him, and I don’t think they know I did. Good shots, I think.”
“They politely asked us who we were,” said Nancy, “and then politely asked us to leave.”
“The one with the gun looked scary,” announced Shamrock, “but I think I got a shot of it, too.”
“What kind of gun?”
“Assault rifle,” said Nancy. “You people up around here seem to have lots of them.”
Well. “I can’t believe you got that,” I said. “Good job. More than a fair trade for an autopsy.” I looked at Shamrock. “I wish I knew how to get information like that.”
“You start,” said Nancy, dryly, “with walking around with your coat unzipped, a jersey shirt, no bra, batting your eyes, and saying, ‘Oh, golly gee’ as often as you can.” She reached out and put her hand on Shamrock’s shoulder. “Faked him right out of his bib overalls. She’s like the daughter I never had.”
Shamrock laughed. “Yeah, right.” She was blushing.
“Well, maybe the bratty little sister, then.” Nancy patted Shamrock. “Whatever, you’ll do until some young stud with a camera shows up.”
“Shamrock, why don’t you come with me to the local newspaper office? They can develop prints there. You can use their facilities.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me,” I said.
I had the damp prints in my hand by 1040. There they were, big as life. I recognized Linda Grossman right off, and I recognized one of the men with her as having been behind Cletus Borglan in the doorway when Davies and I were out at the house on Wednesday. Chunky, about forty or so. He was the one with the weapon. Looked an awful lot like an SKS or AK-47. I could just see the middle part of the barrel clearly. Way toward the rear, and partially hidden by Harvey Grossman, was a white male, looked about fifty, taller than Harvey, so I’d guess about six feet. Didn’t recognize him, but since I’d never actually seen Gabriel, it didn’t mean much. Nancy thought she had, and I was prepared to take her word for it. I didn’t see any weapons other than the one SKS.
It was the only photo showing the unknown male. The rest were of a portly fellow who just had to be Mr. Brainerd.
I was standing damn near on top of Shamrock, peering intently at the photos. “They aren’t looking at you, are they?”
“No. I don’t think they knew we were there right away.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Good old Hubert had walked us down the lane for a ways. They couldn’t see us from the house. When they came up the lane, on foot, I don’t think they were aware we were where we were.” She stopped. “That wasn’t very clear, was it?”
“I got the gist,” I said. I was looking at the next photo. “This must be Hubert.”
“Yep.”
“Looks friendly enough.”
“Oh, he’s friendly, all right. Downright gushy”
I laughed. “Wiles are one thing, but you gotta learn to use them in increments. You don’t want Hubert asking you to marry him.”
“Good photos, aren’t they?” she asked.
“They’re great! Really good.”
“Thank you.” She smiled very sincerely.
I got back to the office just before lunch, and almost literally bumped into Art in the entrance.
He greeted me with “You know when I forgot to tell you about the lab finding a shell casing?”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Well, anyway, they did, as you know. A strange one,