Shoreline Page 6

  “God, here’s the part where we need facial recognition technology.”

  “Someday reality will match the movies,” Abe said with an old-man chuckle. “But you have to admit they’re plucky, right? No bandannas, no panty hose, no Halloween masks. Just the faces God gave ’em.”

  “Plucky. Right,” Sheila said. “At the very least let’s zero in on the door frame, catch the height markers?”

  Nora watched as Pete used the mouse to select parts of the screen to zoom in on. Security measures in banks and businesses dictated that subtle markers be notched into the doorframes for just these occasions. Now Anna, Abe, and Sheila were squinting at the screen.

  “6 feet,” said Pete, zooming out now from the first man. He allowed the video to advance a few milliseconds. “5'9-ish, right?… 5'11,” he said at last. The group jotted this down.

  Abe interjected, “The last one is weighted down, slumping, you know. With the duffle bag. He’ll be slightly taller as he exits.”

  “Are your guys going to be able to get us pieces of that bag?” Sheila asked.

  “The bag? Maybe a scrap of metal if we’re lucky. If our crime scene isn’t contaminated too badly.”

  “It’s locked down,” said Sheila assuredly. “Just keep your boys focused. But we are going to need speed. The Roar brings millions of dollars to the local economy. We have to sort this out immediately.” Nora thought she saw Abe and Anna actually roll their eyes at each other, but it was so subtle and quick that she couldn’t be sure. Sheila continued, “Can we figure out a source for the ammonium nitrate?”

  Abe laughed out loud. “Sure, every farm supply store in the region.”

  Pete said, “That will be about a thousand.”

  They all ingested this as Abe said, “Unless it’s clear that someone is amassing ammonium nitrate in vast quantities, the farm supply stores have no obligation to keep a record. If I want to stockpile, I can go from one store to the next and just buy one bag.” He stood at this point, stretching. “Alright, I’ve got to get back to my team.”

  “We’ll be back down to the bank in a bit,” said Sheila. “Thanks for coming up, Abe. Thanks for pulling in whoever got us this tape so fast.”

  Abe gave a grin that fell largely on Anna. “I live to serve,” he said.

  * * *

  “Well, they can’t have just disappeared,” Anna was saying into the phone.

  Pete looked at Nora. He stage whispered, “That sort of statement usually means that’s exactly what happened.”

  Nora nodded, waiting.

  Anna sighed and pulled her BlackBerry away from her ear. “Nothing.”

  “The chopper?” Pete asked.

  “The chopper, state police, sheriff, PD, no one’s got even a lead.”

  Pete hopped up on his desk, his long legs dangling. “You know, they get a lot of credit. Those are some bold bank robbers … robbing our little hamlet in broad daylight like this.”

  “Bold? Desperate?”

  Anna harrumphed. “Probably both.”

  “Men on a mission,” Nora surmised.

  Her partners turned to look at her.

  She shrugged. “They want to show strength, not sneakiness. They want to look badass in a way that attracts others—which is why they robbed a downtown bank in the middle of a motorcycle festival … on motorcycles. That heist was advertising.”

  The two were silent. Then Pete said, “Hey, Philadelphia. You sound like some kinda college girl.”

  Nora shook her head, but suppressed a smile just the same.

  Anna stood. “I have to go with Sheila to oversee the evidence-gathering at the bank. Nora, how are you holding up, all those burns?”

  Nora shrugged. She hadn’t been thinking about them and suddenly felt vaguely uncomfortable. “Nothing, Anna. Really, I’m fine.”

  “Ok. Then head out with Pete. Sort out where those motorcycles went.”

  Pete was nodding. Gingerly he said, “It’s getting dark outside, Anna.”

  She put on her angry face, and both Pete and Nora were slightly taken aback. “Use a fucking flashlight, Peter. And don’t come back until you have an answer.”

  She stalked off to Sheila’s office without another word.

  * * *

  “I was just sayin’,” Pete defended himself.

  Nora shrugged. “She’s in crisis mode. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Crisis mode,” he repeated, leading her to his car.

  “Shouldn’t we walk?” she was asking.

  “You do understand that it’s like a thousand degrees outside,” Pete retorted.

  “Peter, as your accent clearly indicates, you are from the south. Why are you giving me a hard time? This is your climate.”

  “Was. Was my climate. Now I like air conditioning. I like snow tires. Sweat is…”

  “Cramps your style?”

  “Cramps my style,” he affirmed.

  “Doesn’t help get the honeys?”

  “Cramps my style,” he said again. “And you sound ridiculous when you use words like that.”

  “Okay, we can take the car at least to where they disappeared from our line of vision, but then we need to start entertaining the idea that they ditched the bikes and are hiding, or that they hid the bikes somewhere nearby. It’s just not possible that they got far.”

  “Fine,” he said grudgingly, cranking the AC for the eight-block ride. He plopped the flashing light down on the roof of the steel gray Ford Fusion, and Nora recalled Ben’s old car with a pang. She wondered why the Bureau kept giving its agents small cars that could be easily crushed. In the movies everyone got tank-like SUVs that shone like black mirrors.

  Pete guided the car out onto State Street from the garage. They did not get very far until they were forced over to French by the impassable swarm of emergency vehicles. Some onlookers lingered as well; despite the fact that the bomb squad had issued an order to clear the area, some of the festival-goers, beer-emboldened, could not be daunted.

  “What did you think that walking was going to achieve?”

  Nora glanced at him and then at her own place as they passed it going the wrong way. “Look, in Philly I walked or ran everywhere … I felt like I knew the city better than the guys who were always in their squad cars, or their … whatever, their Bureau-issued vehicles.”

  Pete considered this. “I like my car.”

  “I know you do. But you don’t really know the city, right?”

  “I’m trying not to.” He shrugged. “Also, this isn’t really a city.”

  “Dude, it has a mayor. Come on.”

  But Pete only snorted.

  Nora looked at him. She realized suddenly that Pete was biding his time as much as she was. “What’s your ideal post, Peter?”

  He looked at her wistfully. “Aw, now…”

  “You can tell me. I know you’re wishing you were somewhere else.” She thought for a moment, then admitted, “So do I.”

  Pete inhaled then said, “Well, I’ve always wanted to live in California.”

  “Really?” Nora asked.

  Pete nodded. “Yeah. Just, you know, live the dream a little. My family … well, my family isn’t very well off. So.”

  The way he spoke these words left Nora assured that they were a massive understatement. She regarded him thoughtfully as he drove. “So Cali is the answer?” she asked.

  “Nah. But I thought it’d be cool to have one of those Hollywood girls. You know, just once.”

  “Some hard-core beer-drinking girl?” Nora teased.

  “Hell yeah,” he said, grinning.

  “I’m pretty sure Hollywood girls like sweet drinks in pretty glasses,” Nora said. “I saw it in the movies, brother.”

  Pete threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t believe everything you see, Miss Nora. The girl who loves beer and former quarterbacks—”

  “Crime-fighting former quarterbacks, mind you,” Nora interjected.

  “Yes, crime-fighting former quarte
rbacks … she’s out there.”

  Nora smiled. “I do believe that she is. That said, what do you see here?”

  They had looped around to the east side of the hospital and were now overlooking the bay. They lingered for a moment at the traffic light, their eyes scanning the view. The bay stretched out, dark blue-gray in the twilight. The road descended toward the Maritime Museum, the library and harbor, the convention center and its hotel, and the small bayside restaurants.

  Nora tilted her head, her eyes scanning the water. “Could they have gotten on a boat?”

  Pete glanced at her. “With their bikes or without?”

  Nora shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He considered for a moment, then said, “They could have shoved their bikes into the bay and jumped on a boat. Sure. The scenario where they get motorcycles onto a boat would be … I don’t know, unwieldy at worst and attention-getting at best.” He pulled the car into the Erie Sand and Gravel Works. He slid the gear shift into park and they descended into the evening’s heat.

  “I mean, they could have headed to Canada, right?” Nora said. “It’s only, what, twenty-five miles away?”

  “Canadian bank robbers?”

  “It’d be funny, right? Canadian bank robbers. Dressed up like prototypical American alpha males?”

  Pete laughed out loud. “On behalf of the prototypical American alpha male, I’m offended that such an absurdity could even flit across your brain.”

  A squat-looking administrative building seemed ill at ease holding sway over what looked like acres of gravel piles stretching as far as the eye could see. A long, empty road meandered between the piles.

  Pete looked from the road to Nora. “Dump trucks take the gravel all over the city,” he said thoughtfully. “But also to the end of this road for loading onto barges.”

  “Well, who do you call for warrants to search the gravel company?”

  It turns out that John M. Finch, owner of the Erie Sand and Gravel Company, was more than welcoming, and no warrant was necessary at all. But there were also no abandoned motorcycles and no employees who’d seen any boats approaching the docks.

  Anna narrowed her eyes at them when they returned after 10 P.M. empty-handed.

  “Not even a track?”

  Pete shook his head. “Trucks run in and out of there until dark. Any bike tracks would have been obliterated.”

  “Lot of brush out there. You’re sure?” Anna insisted. She had clearly liked the idea.

  “There are no abandoned bikes. You want to look in the bay, that’s another story.” His tone was borderline disrespectful but Anna was too tired to push back.

  “No, I don’t want to order a sweep of the bay yet. But I’m not ruling it out, either.”

  Finally she said, “Well, the state troopers are continuing to search. We gave them the outside perimeter and they’ve stuck to it efficiently. But nothing. I’ll see if I can’t get the coast guard in on the fun. Pitch your Canadian idea to them.”

  “They’re in the city,” Pete opined. “Biding their time.”

  “Til what? Heading for Rio?” Anna demanded.

  Pete shrugged. “White men in leather with money. Definitely Vegas.”

  Nora drummed her fingers on her desk. “They had the money. Why bomb the bank and kill the guard? It puts them in a whole other felony class. What was the point?”

  “Makes a statement?” Pete offered.

  “That they … don’t like banks?” Nora rejoined.

  “Banks are institutions,” Anna said softly. “Institutions of the American government because they are federally insured.”

  “Anti-government types then?” Pete asked, rubbing the stubble along his jawline.

  Anna shrugged. “Maybe. McVeigh used the same kind of bomb, you know.”

  “So, what I said. Makes a statement.”

  “They walked away with almost a million in cash. What are they going to do with it?”

  She shook her head. “Better rifles?”

  Nora thought of Abe’s assessment of the homemade explosives used at the bank. “Better bombs.”

  “Jesus,” Pete whispered.

  Nora and Pete exchanged glances, waiting.

  “Alright, you two. Let’s give it a fresh start in the morning. Be here early, though. The whole city is in an uproar. They’re this close to shutting down the festival.”

  “They should shut down the festival,” Nora said.

  “It’s not a festival,” Pete interjected. “It’s Roar on the Shore. Festival makes it sound like there’s maypoles and wine tasting.”

  “Whatever the hell it is,” Anna said testily, “it may not be for long. If we can’t make a quick arrest here, they’re going to cancel the non-festival’s festivities. Got it? So we’re not lingering over Starbucks wenches and we’re not taking our morning runs, we’re showing up early and fixing this thing.”

  Nora and Pete nodded and headed out the door.

  “What about Frank Burgess?” Nora asked, as they started descending the stairs.

  Pete shrugged. “A few extra days getting brutalized in prison won’t hurt that fat fuck.”

  Nora winced, but found that she agreed wholeheartedly.

  * * *

  Her neighbor Rachel had been keeping an eye out for her return. This was disconcerting for Nora. The feeling transformed swiftly when she found that her neighbor was handing her a large Tupperware container, still warm, with several pieces of buttery garlic bread resting precariously on top of it. “I made gnocchi today. Had plenty to share.”

  With a rush of gratitude, Nora realized she hadn’t eaten anything for almost twelve hours and she was ravenous. “Rachel, you shouldn’t have. I still feel like it’s too soon for you to be up and around like this,” she observed.

  “You heard the doctor. A few bruises. I got off easy this time.”

  She had. Nora had been in the room when the nurse recorded the legacy of broken bones, a knife-slashing across her belly, and a pot full of boiling water dashed at her back as she tried to dart away.

  “Anyway, you should come in,” Nora said.

  “No way, I heard the commotion, saw the news, and I know you must be wrecked. I wanted to insist you come up to my place, but I knew you’d be too tired, so I brought you this to-go deal here. Not pretty, but it works.”

  “You’re … you’re completely amazing. Thank you.”

  “Hey, now that I’ve got a new door, there’s nothing stopping me,” Rachel said cheerfully.

  Nora took in the bland, cream-colored fiberglass door the landlord had apparently installed that day. It would have been better suited to some suburban subdivision than their character-heavy, early 20th-century brown brick abode. Nora wondered where the thick oak frame had gone, and suddenly realized how vulnerable her own door, more glass than wood, looked in comparison.

  “Well, let’s hope none of the other neighbors sleeps with open windows,” Nora teased.

  “Got a brick through the window just before you got here.”

  For a second, Nora had believed her, but then saw that Rachel was laughing. Nora hated to admit she’d actually fantasized about sneaking out and throwing a brick through the window with a “practice in daylight hours” message attached.

  “If I weren’t practicing for an audition in Pittsburgh, I’d ease up. So the food is a way to say I’m sorry, too. I can’t stop just yet, but soon, I promise.”

  Nora reached out and embraced her tightly, careful not to knock the garlic bread to the ground. “You do what you need to do. I’m lucky to get to hear it, Rachel.”

  Rachel grinned. “Thanks, Nora. Be safe in all this. Let me know if you need anything.”

  * * *

  She was just nestling into bed when she heard Ben’s ringtone. She rolled over and grabbed the phone.

  “You knew I’d be worried about you, but you wouldn’t answer my texts or calls. What the hell, Nora? The story’s all over the news.”

  “I’ve been busy,�
�� she said.

  “You’re being passive-aggressive or something.”

  “I’m being tired.”

  “Are you injured?”

  She gazed down at the gauze circling her forearm. “Nah.”

  He was silent. “Are you seriously still angry at me over this thing?”

  “I was trying not to think about it.”

  “She’s not a threat to you, Nora. You know how I feel about you.”

  “I know. But you had a relationship with her that…” Nora stared at the swirls in the plaster ceiling, groping for words. Finally, she said, “I don’t know how to be that person. Yet. And you’ve been … well, patient for a white guy.”

  “I’ll continue to be patient until you run out of patience,” Ben insisted. “I told you that from the beginning. I’ll never pressure you, Nora. I know it’s all still … new.”

  She inhaled deeply, trying to smother the fear in her. Ben could get any woman, should have any woman, shouldn’t have to wait for her to get over a lifetime of lessons about waiting til marriage. They were lessons that were starting to feel like they’d come from a different world altogether.

  He too was silent, then said, “Look, for the sake of an old friendship, I need to be there for her. I am not going back to her. I’m just being there.”

  Nora felt a surge of emotion. “Well, I could use a friend too, Benjamin. You might think about it that way.”

  “Well, every time I schedule time with you, I’m also scheduling time with your family,” he snapped.

  It came too quickly. Nora turned his response over in her head, then said softly, “I guess I get it now.”

  “Look, Nora, I—”

  “Enjoy your stay,” she said, cutting him off. She ended the call. Then, uncharacteristically, she turned off the ringer completely. She would trust that the Bureau did not need her for the few hours remaining until she reported for work. It only took half an hour of crying until she fell into a fitful sleep.

  FIRST DAY

  The Bureau had called seventeen times in the night. When she saw the phone screen she used every swear word she never had, then tore out of the house without brushing her teeth, running the length of the nearly-deserted early morning sidewalk between her home and the office.