Heat Lightning

photographs and gave them to Virgil. Virgil stepped back, checked them, put them in his pocket. “If I see those fuckin’ things on TV . . .”
    “You won’t see them on TV until they’re admitted into evidence somewhere, and then you can argue with the judge,” Virgil said.
    “If you let those out . . .”
    “What’re you gonna do?” Jenkins asked. “Fire us some more?”
    “Keep laughin’ motherfucker.”
    “You call me a motherfucker one more fuckin’ time and I’m gonna break your head like a fuckin’ cantaloupe,” Jenkins said.
    Randy: “Hey, hey . . . Mr. Warren, you better take off.”
    “We’ll be back in touch,” Virgil told Warren. “We’re taking evidence from a witness to the murders shown here, who says that you committed them. If the evidence is found to be credible, we will turn the photos over to the responsible federal authorities, and they can decide what to do,” Virgil said. “In the meantime, stay away from Carl Knox.”
    Warren erupted again. “Knox is the one! Knox is the one! Knox did all this shit! He was right there! Right there! He’s the guy who did all this shit—he’s the one who’s killing everybody, he’s the goddamn Mafia, you moron. Why do you think I’ve got security guys all over the place? It’s Knox, you dummy!”
    Virgil said, “We want some DNA from you. A blood sample. We have some DNA from the killer. You want to give us some?”
    “Fuck you.”
    “We’re also considering charges of willful obstruction of justice and possibly accessory after the fact to murder—I have notes from our first interview, when you said that you didn’t know the other men who went to Vietnam, and we have photos that say you knew them very well. Your obstruction may have resulted in the death of Ray Bunton.”
    Warren’s attitude stepped down. “My obstruction . . . I’ll give some DNA. I’ll give some blood. Not to you, asshole, because you’re gonna get fired. But I’ll give some DNA to whoever fills your job.”
    “I’m taking you at your word,” Virgil said. “We’ll have a guy come around tomorrow.”
    “Fuck you.” Warren pulled his shirt cuffs down, adjusted his tie, turned to his security man, and said, “We’re outa here.”
     
 
WHEN THEY WERE GONE, Randy said, “This ain’t going down in the annals of fine police work. For any of us.”
    They all half laughed, and Virgil said, “He sounded for real. When did he get in touch with your guys?”
     
 
THEY FIGURED OUT that he’d called Minneapolis a half hour after Andreno had called Warren. “So they talked it over,” Virgil said.
    “For a while,” Randy said. “We had to run like hell to set this up. Jesus—we had like twelve minutes.”
    “But by calling you in, he’s putting the pictures in the hands of the cops,” Virgil said, confused.
    “Maybe he figured the pictures were gonna get out there. Maybe he figured he could finesse the pictures,” Shrake said. “Pictures from Carl Knox are gonna be a little shaky. If Knox would even testify. And without him testifying, the pictures don’t mean jack-shit.”
    “How about this?” Andreno said. “Maybe he thought he could find out where Knox is by squeezing me.”
    “Maybe,” Virgil said, fists on his hips. “Ah, man, it’s all screwed up. I gotta have some time. I gotta think.”

21
    VIRGIL CALLED Davenport and told him what happened. Davenport said, “You’re fired.”
    “Yeah, well . . .”
    “Do get the DNA. We’ll run it through every bank in the country,” Davenport said. “Chances are small, but if he’s really nuts . . .”
    “I don’t care about that. Wait a minute—I do care about that. What bothers me is, I bought everything that Knox said about Warren,” Virgil said. “Warren’s an asshole. But you know what? I bought everything Warren said about Knox, too. I don’t think you could fake it.”
    “But we’ve established that Warren’s a killer,” Davenport said. “That’s one fact to keep in mind.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind,” Virgil said. “You got anything else for me?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do,” Davenport said. “Some advice.”
    “Like what?”
    “Go fishing. I know a guy who lives out on the St. Croix, about a mile south of the I-94 bridge. He’s got a twenty-foot Lund and he hardly ever uses it. I can borrow the boat for you.”
    Virgil thought it over for a second, then said, “Not a bad idea. I’ve got all these snaky ideas in my head. If I could get out