The Devil's bed

Bo went into the Op Center and tried to call Detective Timmons at the Washington County Sheriff’s Department. Timmons was unavailable. Bo asked to speak to the sheriff. He explained to Doug Quinn-Gruber his concern about Max Ableman and suggested the sheriff run a check of the man on the NCIC computer and also a check of the plate on the pickup parked at the Bayport Court.

“Thanks, Bo. We’ll take it from here. But I’ll let you know what we find out.”

Bo sat down and looked over the log kept in the Op Center. Nothing indicated a need for concern. He checked the duty roster. It occurred to him that an electronic sweep of Wildwood still hadn’t been completed. His own concern about Tom Jorgenson, coupled with Manning’s objections, had kept him from seeing to it. The phone rang just as he’d begun to consider a good time for the sweep.

“Thorsen, here.”

“This is Deputy Williams at the Washington County Sheriff’s Office. The sheriff asked me to pass along some information.”

“Go ahead.”

“We didn’t come up with anything on Ableman, Maxwell Frederick. The vehicle with the plate number you gave us is registered to Luther J. Gallagher, 352 Platte Street, St. Peter, Minnesota.”

“Luther Gallagher,” Bo repeated as he wrote it out on a notepad.

“Right.”

“Deputy Williams, could I ask a favor?”

“Fire away.”

“Would you check and see whether Gallagher has a criminal record, and if there’s a photo available? And could you fax me that information?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Thanks.”

The agents assigned to evening duty arrived. Bo briefed them all, and they relieved their day counterparts. He heated some of Sue Lynott’s famous chicken and dumplings on the stove, then went into the Op Center.

He stood with his plate in his hand, eating as he scanned a screen that held an outline of the Wildwood perimeter. Two dots moved along the perimeter lines. These were the agents Manning had requested Bo detail to patrol the orchard. Each carried a transmitter that relayed the agent’s location. If one of the dots stopped moving for too long, the Op Center would do a radio check to make sure there wasn’t an agent down.

Before he could finish his dinner, he got a call from Chris Manning.

“The First Lady would like to see both of us right now.”

Annie, the First Lady, and Chris Manning were in the kitchen of the main house. The room had a southern exposure and was full of early evening light. The windows were open, and a nice breeze came through the screens. Annie sat at the table with the First Lady. Manning stood leaning against the kitchen sink. A frosted pitcher was on the table, along with empty glasses.

“Tea, Bo?” Annie offered. She smiled, but Bo knew something else was behind her pleasant demeanor.

“Thank you, no. You wanted to see me, Mrs. Dixon?”

If earlier, Kathleen Jorgenson Dixon had appeared to be a simple country girl, she seemed anything but at the moment. She sat erect, assuming a solid, commanding aspect in the way she regarded both agents.

“I’m aware, have been aware for some time, of friction between the two of you. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

“It’s of a personal nature,” Bo said.

“If I feel that it affects my security, and I do, then it is no longer personal.”

Manning said, “I assure you, whatever history exists between Agent Thorsen and me-”

The First Lady cut him off. “Chris, I want to know what’s going on.”

Manning’s eyes flicked to Bo, and he said, “Agent Thorsen slept with the woman I was going to marry.”

“She had no intention of marrying you,” Bo said.

“We had an understanding.”

“Maybe you did. She certainly didn’t.”

“Excuse me,” the First Lady interjected. “How long ago was this?”

“Ten years,” Manning said.

“Ten years?” The First Lady gave them a withering look. “My God, nations have waged major war and reconciled in less time.”

The anger that had momentarily enlivened Manning’s face seemed to disappear, and he said, “I assure you that whatever feelings Agent Thorsen and I may have toward each other, we’re both quite able to put those aside and do our duty. Right, Bo?”

Manning had finally called him by his first name. Bo wasn’t sure what that meant, but he agreed with the sentiment. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“All right then,” the First Lady said with a nod. “The next issue. When we left the hospital this afternoon, I noticed that a sheriff’s deputy had been posted outside my father’s room. What’s that all about?”

Bo said, “I arranged for it.”

“Why?”

“Considering the threats your father has received in the past, I thought it best. He’s vulnerable right now.”

“Right now? Agent Thorsen, if someone wanted to kill my father, they could easily shoot him when he’s out alone in the orchard. Does this have anything to do with the questions you asked my aunt the other night about his accident?”

“Yes.”

“What specifically?”

Bo looked at Manning, who gave no sign of his own feelings on the subject, then he proceeded to explain his concerns point by point.

The First Lady listened carefully. When Bo had finished, she asked, “You’ve pursued this investigation on your own authority?”