Daredevil Riders

36

Birdman said, “Okay. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes and we’ll go talk to the folks where that tree came from.”

Herbert moved around beside him and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Wilder,” he said. “And from your reaction, it seems clear you don’t know anything about it. But you may be able to help us nonetheless. Now take a couple of deep breaths and try to relax.” He squeezed the man’s shoulder.

Wilder finally calmed and nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I mean that. I’m a patriot down to my bones. I’ve been NRA all my life. Hell, my daddy was a union man.”

Birdman sat down across from him while Herbert remained standing. Herbert said, “Tell us about each of the people who work here.”

For the next twenty minutes, Wilder pulled out employment records and went over each worker with them.

“That’s it,” he said when he’d finished. “And there’s not one on that list that’s smart enough to do anything with no bomb. Hard enough to get them to hold the right end of a shovel. Although that may be because my español’s not too good.”

Herbert put his finger on one name on the list. “John Kravitz. He doesn’t sound Latino.”

“Well, he’s not, of course. But you’re barking up the wrong tree there. No pun intended,” he added hurriedly.

“Why?” asked Herbert.

“He’s college educated.”

“I thought you intimated they were all stupid. And nothing against your line of work, but why is a college grad digging up trees?”

“We do more than that here. John’s degree’s in landscape design, horticulture, stuff like that. He’s a good arborist. Sees stuff no one else does. Why we hired him.”

“How long has he been with you?” asked Anthony.

“About seven months. Didn’t expect him to stay that long, but he seems content.”

“Has he been in to work this week?”

“Every day like clockwork.”

“Where is he now? Here?”

Wilder checked the clock on the wall. “He’ll be here in about thirty minutes. He only lives about five miles down the road in a little trailer park off the highway.”

“What else can you tell us about him?” asked Birdman.

“He’s about thirty, thin, tall as you,” he said, pointing at Herbert. “With brown hair and a goatee.”

“He get along with everybody?”

“Look, the other guys can barely put two words of English together and I’m not sure they’re even literate in their own language. Like I said, John is a college boy. He usually spends his lunch hour reading.”

“Know anything about his personal life? Political beliefs?” asked Birdman.

“No. But I’m telling you John is no bomber.”

“Does he play basketball by any chance?” asked Birdman.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“He told me he played in high school. We have a hoop out back. Boys play at lunchtime if they’re not out making a delivery.”

“Whose ball do you use?” asked Herbert.

“Ball? We’ve got a couple around here. John I know has one.” Wilder looked flustered. “What’s a basketball got to do with a damn bomb?”

“We’re going to wait for John. When he gets here you have him come back to your office, okay?” said Birdman.

“Do we really have to—”

“Okay?” Birdman said firmly.

Wilder managed to whisper, “Okay.”

WHILE THEY WERE WAITING for John Kravitz to arrive, Herbert and Anthony explored the grounds. A few Latino workers watched them warily from a distance, probably fearing they were from ICE. Herbert didn’t pay much attention to them. But something did capture his interest. Over a building behind the office, there were some holes in the wood and the outline of what once had been bolted there. Herbert pointed to it, but Anthony only looked quizzical.

“Basketball hoop,” said Herbert. “Or where one used to be.”

“So someone took it down?”

“But didn’t fill in the holes or paint over it.”

When they went back inside and asked Wilder about it, he professed to know nothing about the missing hoop.

“I know it was up yesterday. Some of the guys were playing.”

Thirty minutes passed, and while a half dozen other people arrived for work, Kravitz was not among them.

“We’ll need his address now,” said Birdman.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Wilder.

Herbert pulled Birdman to the side. “Anthony and I will pay him a visit while you stay here with Wilder.”

“You think he’s in on it?”

“I’m not sure what to think right now, so we have to assume he is.”

Wilder said, “I can call him at home, see if he’s okay. Tell him to come on in.”

“No,” said Herbert. “No calls. Just sit tight with Agent Birdman.”

Herbert nodded at Birdman and the FBI agent’s hand dipped to the butt of the g*n in his belt holster, while Wilder, seeing this, started hyperventilating anew.

Birdman said, “You want me to get some LEOs as backup for you?”

“Some local cops wouldn’t hurt,” said Herbert. “Just tell them no sirens and to stay back until we signal them.”

Birdman nodded. “Good luck.”

A minute later Herbert and Anthony were in the Crown Vic on the way to the trailer park. Herbert was driving. The sedan streaked down the highway. They passed a police cruiser going the same way. The cop driving was about to hit his lights at the speeding car when Herbert slowed, dropped back and held his badge out the window. The cop in the passenger side slid down his window.

“You the LEOs they called in for us as backup?” Herbert asked.

The cop nodded. “Possible suspect in the Lafayette Park bombing?”

Herbert nodded. “Just follow our lead. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” said the obviously excited young deputy.

Herbert rolled his window back up and hit the gas.

Anthony glanced over and saw the g*n in a shoulder holster Herbert was wearing.

“What are you carrying?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t recognize it.”

“Why not?”