Shock Wave

Davenport at home. “I’ve got the sheriff here, and he’s got a request. We’re cracking the city council, big-time. Here, talk to him.”
    Ahlquist took the phone, explained the situation—that he worried about the appearance of a conflict of interest—nodded a few times, and said, “We’ll be in touch, then. Virgil or me.”
    He handed the phone back to Virgil, who told Davenport, “We’re also going to need some tech support, if we manage to flip Pat Shepard. I got a name and number for you, a Shirley Good Thunder.”
    “Not a problem,” Davenport said, and took down the information. He was too cheerful about it, and Virgil said so.
    “What you’re doing, is proving that we’re worth the money the taxpayers give us,” Davenport said. “That’s always good. Anyway, I’ll call Good Thunder, and send Jack Thompson down with the equipment. When you’re ready to move, I can have Shrake and Jenkins down there in two hours. I’ll call everybody and get them cocked and locked.”
    Virgil said, “Ten-four. Say hello to your old lady for me.”
     
     
    BACK WITH PECK, Ahlquist took his turn looking at Virgil’s list. “Heck of a list. You got some serious people on there, important people, and every one of them is a sociopath,” Ahlquist said. “But don’t quote me.”
    “Are any of them instructors at the college?”
    “Mmm . . . no. Not regular instructors, anyway, not that I know of,” Peck said. “Somebody might be a part-timer. There’s all kinds of guys teach a class from time to time. I do myself, photography and Photoshop.”
    “This guy here . . . he’s pretty far down, John Haden, he teaches there,” Ahlquist said, tapping the screen. “He’s on the staff. And this guy, Bill Wyatt.”
    Haden had been nominated twice, Wyatt, three times.
    “Gotta look at them. And the top eighteen,” Virgil said.
    “Tonight?”
    “Tomorrow,” Virgil said. “And pray to God that there’s not another bomb.”
    “You’re wasting your time,” Peck said. “There is no God, and why an intelligent person would think so, I cannot fathom.”
     
     
    AS THEY BROKE UP for the evening, Virgil said, “Listen, guys, do me a favor. Ask yourself, ‘Why would the bomber try to blow up Virgil Flowers?’ Because it’s a lot more interesting question than you might expect. If we could figure that out, it might help.”
    They said they’d think about it, and Virgil went back to the Holiday Inn, where he carefully parked his truck in a no-parking zone directly in front of the front window, where the desk clerk would be looking straight out at it.
    He went in the lobby, to explain, and Thor came out of the back room.
    He said, “Hey, Virg.”
    “I parked my truck there so nobody would put a bomb in it. Keep an eye on it, would you?”
    “No problem. I’m going off in an hour, I’ll tell the night girl.” Then, “So, you talk to Mrs. Shepard?”
    Virgil said, “Thor . . .” He sighed, shook his head, and said, “I need some sleep.”
    “Hot damn, you did! I’m going over there.”
    “She’s not over there,” Virgil said. “She moved out.”
    Thor thought for one second, or less, then said, “She’s at her sister’s. I’m going over there .”
    “If you mention my name in any way . . .”
    “You’ll kill me. Got it.”
    “She’s in pretty delicate shape,” Virgil began.
    “So am I,” Thor said. “You wouldn’t believe how delicate a shape I’m in. And don’t worry about it, dude. I’m not gonna go in there and jump her. I’m gonna offer her my friendship.”
    “And a pizza.”
    “Well, yeah. A meat lover’s.”
     
     
    VIRGIL WENT UP TO BED, undressed, lay in the dark, and asked God, “Why did the bomber try to kill me? And how did he sneak into the Pye building? You can answer this question either as a sudden revelation, or you could write it up in the sky, or whisper it to Thor, your namesake. Okay? Deal? I’m going to sleep now, God. Please answer before anybody else gets hurt. Oh—and keep an eye on Mrs. Shepard. She seems like a nice-enough lady. And Thor. Keep an eye on Thor.”
    Satisfied, he went to sleep, and slept well, for a man who’d almost been blown up.
    The last thing he thought of, as he drifted off, was that Lee Coakley hadn’t called.

15
    THE BOMBER WAS WORRIED. He’d missed twice in a row, once with Pye, once with the cop. The misses weren’t really the problem. His intention with the cop was to pull more cops into town, to bring more