“No idea,” Skarda said.
“Well, we’re early, otherwise the place would be swarming with cops. Tell me, Dave, did you know that Silver Bay had its own police department?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “No,” Skarda said. “I thought—we thought a small town like this would get police service from the county sheriff. How did you know?”
“We just drove past it. Given Silver Bay’s population, I figure a half-dozen officers counting part-timers. If they’re halfway professional, and that’s always a smart bet, I’d say they have a response time of about, oh, sixty seconds.”
“Christ.”
“I doubt there’s any deity wants a part of this mess.”
I brought the binoculars up to my eyes and looked through them. The grocery store was large and spacious, and I guessed that it served a great many more customers than those that lived in Silver Bay. It wouldn’t have been a bad target if the cop shop weren’t less than five hundred yards away. After a few minutes, I handed the glasses to Skarda. There was a café behind us that offered free Wi-Fi, and I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. Skarda said he did and would be happy to retrieve it.
“I’ll get it,” I said. “Remember, you’re not actually doing anything illegal, so don’t act like it. Whatever happens, just sit here. Calmly.”
“Calmly,” Skarda repeated, as if he weren’t sure what the word meant.
I walked to the café. There were cars parked in the spaces in front of it, including a red Toyota Corolla with its windows rolled down. There was a man who looked too old to drive inside listening to the radio, something by Roy Clark, while he sipped from a travel mug. I went into the café and ordered two coffees to go from a woman who seemed happy to serve me. While she poured, I pulled the prepaid cell phone from my pocket after first making sure Skarda couldn’t see me. Jimmy hadn’t picked it up when he ran the frequency finder over me because it wasn’t turned on—it wasn’t transmitting or receiving—and apparently Skarda forgot I had it. I have a lousy memory for phone numbers, so after I inputted the 612 area code for Minneapolis, I substituted letters on the keypad that equaled Chad Bullert’s phone number—LUNATIC. The phone rang just twice before he answered.
“It’s me,” I said.
“You okay?” Bullert asked. “We tracked the GPS transmitter in Skarda’s shoe to a cabin near Krueger, but there’s been no movement since.”
“So far, so good. The boys and girls are using the cabin as a base of operations. If you want to take them, that’s the place to go. If nothing else you can arrest them for trespassing.”
“What about the guns?”
“They were acquired by an ex-army named Roy Cepek. He’s carrying an AK-47 with him right now.”
“Where did he get it?”
“Don’t know. He’s being pretty closed mouth, not only to me, but to his crew as well. He sure as hell didn’t buy it at Walmart. I’m guessing he’d spill his guts if you picked him up.”
“On what charge?”
“Aggravated robbery. In a few minutes he and the rest of the Iron Range Bandits are going to hit a grocery store in Silver Bay.”
“Christ,” Bullert said. “Tell me you’re not in on it.”
“You’re another one who tosses that name around carelessly. No, I’m not in on it. I’m what you would call a material witness. Listen, the cop shop is a brisk five-minute walk from where I’m standing…”
“No, don’t do anything. Let it play out.”
“Let it play out?”
“The guns are the important thing, McKenzie. We can get the Iron Range Bandits anytime, but the guns—McKenzie, as a private citizen you are under no legal obligation to report any crime you witness.”
“I don’t know if that’s entirely true since I am working with law enforcement. Besides, what if someone gets shot?”
“You just do your job and we’ll take care of the rest.”
Sure you will, my inner voice said. That’s why Nina insisted that I protect myself.
