Shock Wave

an eye on things. I should have been off three hours ago.”
    “I was having a beer when they called me,” Virgil said. “Watching some young women playing beach volleyball.”
    “That’s better’n what I was going to do,” the male said. “I was just gonna mow my yard.”
    They still seemed a little standoffish, so Virgil said, “Let me get you that ID.”
    He went back to the truck, got his ID case, came over, and flipped it open to show the woman, who seemed to be the senior cop. She nodded and said her name was something O’Hara, and that the other deputy was Tom Mack. Virgil stuck the case in his back pocket and asked, “So where’d this guy get killed? Right here?”
    Mack nodded, and faced off to his left, pointed behind the yellow tape. “Right over there. You can still see a little blood. That’s where most of him was. His head was over there—popped right off, like they do. There were other pieces around. The guy who was wounded, he soaked up quite a bit of the body.”
    “He still in the hospital?” Virgil asked.
    “Yeah, he was crazy hysterical, I guess,” O’Hara said. “He’s not right yet. They gave him a bunch of drugs, trying to straighten him out. Not hurt bad. Can’t hear anything, but there’re no holes in him.”
    At that moment, a business jet flew overhead, low, and Mack said, “That must be Pye. Willard T. Pye. They said he was coming in.”
    “Good, that’ll help,” Virgil said.
    O’Hara showed a hint of a smile and said, “Nothing like a multibillionaire looking over your shoulder, when you’re trying to work.”
    “So, you said the guy’s head popped off, like they do ,” Virgil said to Mack. “You know about bombs or something? I don’t know anything.”
    Mack shrugged. “I did two tours in Iraq with the Guard. That’s what you always heard about suicide bombers—they’d pull the trigger, and their heads would go straight up, like basketballs. Think if there’s a big blast, and you’re close to it, well, your skull is a pretty solid unit, and it hangs together, but it comes loose of your neck. So . . . that’s what I heard. But I don’t really know.” He looked at O’Hara. “You hear that?”
    “Yeah, I think everybody did. But maybe it was from some movie. I don’t know that it’s a fact.”
    “You in the Guard, too?” Virgil asked.
    She nodded. “Yeah, I did a tour with a Black Hawk unit. I was a crew chief and door gunner.”
    “I did some time in the army, but I was a cop, and never had much to do with bombs,” Virgil said. They traded a few war stories, and then Mack nodded toward the road. “Here comes the VIP convoy. That’d be the sheriff in front, and that big black Tahoe is the ATF, and I don’t know who-all behind that. They’ve been having a meeting at the courthouse.”
    “Good thing I’m late,” Virgil said. “I might’ve had to go to it.... You got media?”
    “Yeah, and there they are,” O’Hara said. “Right behind the convoy. Tell you what, and don’t mention I said it, but you don’t want to be standing between the sheriff and a TV camera, unless you want cleat marks up your ass.”
    Virgil saw a white truck, followed by another white truck, and then a third one. “Ah, man. I forgot to wash my hair this morning.”
    “Forgot to bring your gun, too,” Mack said.
    “Oh, I got a gun,” Virgil said. “I just forgot where it is.”
     
     
    THE KANDIYOHI COUNTY SHERIFF was a tall beefy Swede named Earl Ahlquist, a known imperialist. Four years past, he’d pointed out to a money-desperate city council that there was a lot of police-work duplication in Kandiyohi County, and they could cut their policing costs in half by firing their own department and hiring him to do the city’s police work. There was some jumping up and down, but when the dust settled, the two departments had merged and Ahlquist was king.
    Ahlquist climbed out of his car, nodded at Virgil, and said, “I hate that shirt.”
    “It’s what I wear on my day off,” Virgil said. “How you doing, Earl?”
    “Other than the fact that a guy got murdered this morning, and we got a mad bomber roaming around loose, and I missed both lunch and dinner, and I’m running on three Snickers bars and some Ding Dongs, I’m just fine.”
    “I had some pretty good barbeque and a few beers this afternoon, before I was called on my day off,” Virgil said. “I was watching some good-looking women play beach volleyball.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I got