Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(44)

“Guess so.”

Puller eyed the Bunker and saw the rusted fencing with barbed wire topper that ran around the facility. In between the structure and the neighborhood was a stand of trees. Next, Puller shifted his gaze to a little boy and girl who were playing in the front yard of one of the houses. The boy was running around in a circle while the girl attempted to catch him. They both fell down in a tangle of arms and legs.

“You have kids?”

Puller turned to see her gazing at him. She had slowed the car to a crawl while she too watched the children.

“No,” he replied. “Never married.”

“When I was a little girl only thing I wanted to be was a mom.”

“So what happened?”

She hit the accelerator. “Life. Life happened.”

CHAPTER

31


PULLER’S EYE GAUGED IT to be about fifteen thousand square feet with a central block and two wings emanating from that core. It looked like a Parisian cathedral dropped in the middle of West Virginia. The Trent mansion was on the very top of a hill that apparently held no coal deposits, because the land was still intact. The road up was laid with heavy cobblestone-style pavers. A gate awaited them at the entrance to the formal grounds that were enclosed by a six-foot-high wrought iron fence. There was an armed guard at the gate. He looked like a long-retired cop, Puller thought. Fat and slow. But he could probably still shoot halfway straight.

As Cole slowed the cruiser Puller said, “Gates and guards. Man needs protection?”

“Like I said, coal companies are never popular, least at the places where the coal comes out. I’m sure they’re a lot more popular where there aren’t any mines or lopped-off mountaintops.”

The guard must’ve been informed of their arrival, because he opened the gates and waved them through.

“Good thing we’re not here to kill the guy,” said Puller. “The rental cop just made it pretty easy.”

“He takes his orders from Trent. Like most folks around here.”

“You trying to tell me something?”

She said, “I said most folks, not all. And certainly not me.”

Up close the house looked twice as big as it did from a distance. A maid in a domestic’s uniform opened the front door. Puller half expected her to curtsey. She was Asian and young, with delicate features and dark hair that was tied back in a neat braid. She escorted them along a hallway of immense proportions. It was wood-paneled with large portraits professionally hung on the walls. For a second Puller thought he was actually in a museum. The floor was tumbled marble in a maze of colors. Cole’s cop boots clicked on its surface. Puller’s combat boots absorbed all the sound of his footfalls as they were designed to do.

He said to Cole, “I thought you said he was rich. I was expecting a much nicer place than this.”

Cole obviously didn’t appreciate his humor and didn’t answer, keeping her gaze straight ahead. They passed a staircase. Puller’s gaze slid up it in time to catch a teenage girl staring back at him from the top of the stairs. Her face was plump, her cheeks crimson. Her hair was a tangled mess of highlighted blonde tresses. An instant later she was gone from his view.

“The Trents have kids?”

“Two. Teenage girl and eleven-year-old boy.”

“I take it Mom and Dad aren’t exactly ready for Social Security.”

“Trent is forty-seven. His wife is thirty-eight.”

“I’m glad they’re young enough to enjoy their money.”

“Oh, they enjoy it.”

The maid opened a door and directed them inside. She closed the door behind them. Puller could hear her timid footsteps pitter-pattering down the hall.

The walls were upholstered in a dark green fabric. The floor was cherry wood with a satin finish. Two squares of oriental rugs covered parts of it. The chairs and couches were leather. The window treatments blocked most of the light from outside. The chandelier was bronze, held a dozen bulbs, and looked to weigh a ton. A large table sat in the middle of the room with an enormous flower display in a crystal vase resting on top of it. More paintings were on the wall here. They looked old, original, and expensive.

Everything was tastefully done. It had been a careful eye that had coordinated all of this, thought Puller.

“Have you been here before?”

“A few times. Social occasions. The Trents have a lot of parties.”

“So they invite the working class to their soirees?”

Before Cole could respond to this the door opened and they turned toward it.

Roger Trent was six-one and quickly eating himself to obese status. His neck was thick, his chin had a twin, and his expensive suit could not hide the width of his waist. The room was cool and yet he was sweating.

Maybe from the long walk down the hall, thought Puller.

“Hello, Roger,” said Cole as she put out a hand for him to shake.

Puller shot her a glance that she ignored.

Roger?

Trent snarled, “I’m getting tired of this shit, you know that?”

“Well, death threats are pretty serious,” said Cole.

The coal baron glanced up at Puller. “Who the hell are you?”

“This is Special Agent John Puller from the Army CID back in Virginia,” answered Cole hastily.

Puller put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Roger.” He glanced at Cole in time to see her grimace.