Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(39)

Puller reasoned, “So it wasn’t meant for the Halversons really? It was just sent to their house. Was there any other name on it? The Reynoldses? They were the only ones staying there.”

Reed remained silent, his gaze pointing slightly upward as he thought it through. Puller said nothing. He didn’t want to break the man’s focus. He took a drink of his own coffee, now lukewarm. He performed a long visual sweep of the diner. More than half the heads there were turned his way.

He didn’t flinch when he saw tat boy. Dickie Strauss was sitting at the far end of the diner, facing Puller’s way. He had a much bigger man with him. The second guy had sleeves, so Puller couldn’t tell if the arms were inked in a similar way or not. They were watching him while trying very hard to seem not to. It was pathetic really. Dickie must’ve forgotten all his military training, thought Puller.

He refocused on Reed to find the man staring at him. “I can’t remember,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry. Do remember the C/O, though.”

“That’s okay,” said Puller. “The package? Was it big, small?”

“Size of a piece of paper.”

“Okay. Do you recall who sent it? Or where it was mailed from?”

“Not offhand, but I can maybe find out.”

Puller slid across a contact card. “Any of those numbers or emails will get to me. Now, do you remember what happened to it? You ran out of the house, kicked open the door.”

Reed looked away from his plate. For a moment Puller was afraid the man was going to throw up his breakfast.

“I… I must’ve dropped it.”

“In the house? Outside the house? Sure it’s not in your mail truck?”

“No, it’s not in the truck.” He paused. “Yeah, must’ve been in the house. Had to be. Dropped it there. I ran out and it wasn’t in my hand. See that now. Clear as day.”

“Okay, I’m sure it’ll turn up. Anything else you can tell me?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I ain’t never been involved in anything like this before. Don’t know what’s important and what’s not.”

“House right across the street? Notice anything funny over there?”

“Treadwell’s place?”

“Right. He lived there with Molly Bitner. You know them?” In Cole’s report, Reed had stated that he didn’t know anybody in the neighborhood, but Puller preferred to hear it for himself.

Reed shook his head. “Naw. Only know the name ’cuz I’m the mailman. He gets lots of biker magazines. Has a Harley. Parks it out front.”

Puller shifted in his chair. He didn’t know if Reed was aware that Treadwell and Bitner were dead. “Anything else?”

“Just the usual stuff. Nothing that sticks out. I mean, I just deliver the mail. Just check the addresses. I don’t really do more than that.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Reed. I appreciate your time.” He tapped his contact card. “When you find out who sent the package, please get in touch.”

Puller rose. Reed looked up at him.

Reed said, “Lot of damn mean people in the world.”

“Yes, sir, there are.”

“Know it for a fact.”

Puller leveled his gaze on the man, waited.

“Yep. Know it for a fact.” He paused, his mouth working but no words coming out for a few seconds. “I’m married to one.”

After Puller walked outside Dickie Strauss and his large friend followed.

Puller had been pretty sure they would.

CHAPTER

27


PULLER JIGGLED the car keys in his pocket, leaned against his Malibu, and waited for them.

Dickie and his friend stopped on the pavement a few feet away.

“What can I do for you?” asked Puller.

Dickie said, “It wasn’t a Big Chicken Dinner. And it wasn’t a DD.”

“Good to know. But if you’re lying I can find out in about five minutes. Just a few keystrokes to get a reply back from the Army Records Center. So what was it?”

“A parting of the ways.”

“Why?”

Dickie looked at his friend, who was keeping his gaze on Puller.

“It’s personal. And it wasn’t nothing bad.”

His friend added, “And it’s none of your damn business.”

“So what can I do for you?” Puller asked again.

“I hear Eric Treadwell got killed.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah.”

Puller eyed the tatted arm. He pointed to it. “Where’d you get that done?”

“Place here in town.”

“Treadwell had one just like it.”

“Not just like it. Little different. But I used his as a model.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not really an answer.”

The bigger guy stepped forward. He was an inch taller than Puller and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. He looked like a former Division I defensive lineman. Not good enough for the pros but decent enough for four years of college on a full-ride scholarship.

“It’s his answer,” said the guy.

Puller swiveled his gaze to the man. “And you are?”