Puller turned to the wife’s body. “I measured the distance between pellets, and that together with no central wound or wadding means she was probably shot from farther away than ten feet.”
“But down in the basement,” said Cole, who knelt next to him.
“Presumably. But serology results will confirm it,” said Puller.
“Why the basement?” asked Cole.
“Quieter,” said Puller. “But you still have problems.?
??
“Like what?”
“Shotgun blast even in a basement in the middle of the night might attract attention. And you have to control the other captives. They hear the shot, they panic, start screaming, trying to get away, knowing they’ll probably be next.”
Monroe snapped his fingers, unlocked a metal evidence box he’d previously brought into the house, and pulled out some sealed, labeled evidence bags.
“I was wondering why I found these things in those places. But what you just said may explain it.”
Puller took up the bags one by one. “Tell me what you’ve got here.”
“That bit of gray fuzz came from the girl’s left ear. The white thread I found inside the boy’s mouth. Found a similar one hung up on the mom’s left molar.”
Cole looked at them over Puller’s shoulder.
Puller said, “The white thread in the mouth? Gag?”
“And the thing in the ear?” asked Cole.
Monroe said, “I’m thinking it’s a piece of an ear bud. Like from headphones to an iPod or MP3 player.”
Puller said, “They were blasting music into their ears when they were shooting people. So they couldn’t hear it.”
“That’s pretty hardcore,” added Monroe.
Puller said, “But that doesn’t explain the shotgun use. Maybe they couldn’t hear it, but some of the neighbors might have.”
Cole rose and went over to the window and looked out. She whirled back around.
“You said blasted.”
Puller handed the bags back to Monroe and turned to her. “Yeah. So?”
“Trent Exploration. They might’ve blasted on Sunday night. And this neighborhood is only a couple miles away from where they’re doing it.”
CHAPTER
15
PULLER WAS STARING at Cole. “Okay, but would the blast be loud enough to cover a fired shotgun from being heard in another house?”
“From a basement, I’d say so. If you’re close enough to them, some of those explosions can lift you right out of your bed.”
“You say they might’ve blasted. You don’t know for certain?”
“No, I live pretty far from here. But the sound of a blast reaching this neighborhood had to come from a Trent operation. It’s the only one nearby.”
Monroe said slowly, “Wait a minute. I was out late that night with my girlfriend. About two miles from here but in another direction. I remember hearing it.”
Puller said quickly, “Do you recall the time of the explosion?”
He thought for a few moments. “Between midnight and one, I’d say.”
“That mirrors the timeline established by the body deterioration,” said Puller. “But having a tighter time window helps us in one respect.”
“Alibis, or lack thereof,” noted Cole, and he nodded in agreement.
Puller said, “But then we have to wonder why they shotgunned the parents and not the kids. Or why not blunt force to all of them and you don’t have to worry about the sound of a gun?”
Neither Cole nor Monroe had a ready answer to those queries.
Puller looked at the tech. “You get elimination prints from the victims and the wife’s parents?”
“Yeah. That’s where I was early this morning before I went to scrub the car.”
“You didn’t tell them what had happened, though?” Cole said quickly.
“Well, the mom’s had a stroke. I just printed her while she was unconscious, so I couldn’t tell her anything. The dad goes in and out. I made it a game so he wouldn’t catch on.”
“Dementia?” said Puller, and Cole nodded.
“Does he have lucid moments?”
She said, “I think so, sometimes. You think he might be helpful?”
Puller shrugged. “Well, if somebody local killed these folks he might know something. Here’re the possibilities as I see them. One, they were killed because of Colonel Reynolds’s employment with DIA. Two, something connected to the mom. Three, something connected to the kids. Four, something connected to the wife’s parents. Or five, something we don’t see as yet.”
“Could be a random burglary,” noted Monroe.
Puller shook his head. “They left a late-model Lexus, a laptop computer, and the wife’s wedding ring. No other valuables known to be missing. And random burglars seldom take the time to interrogate their victims.”
Cole added, “The wife’s parents probably don’t have an enemy in the world. And the wife and kids were just here for the summer. I doubt they had time to make any enemies. That leaves Colonel Reynolds.”
“Maybe. Still have to check it all out.” Puller rose. “Any other prints here that didn’t match the eliminated ones from the first responders?”
“The mailman’s. A caregiver who works at the nursing home. Got her latent on the fridge. She was here to help Mr. Halverson before he went in the nursing home. And two EMTs who were called here when the old lady had her stroke.”
“No others?”
“There were two. On the living room wall and one on the kitchen counter. I’m running the prints through our database.”
Puller said, “Let me have copies and I’ll get them run through the federal databases too.”
“Thanks.”
Puller said, “How did the killers know when the mine blasts would take place? Is that public knowledge?”
“Yes,” said Cole. “There’s a bunch of regulations about surface mining blasting. You have to get proper permits and have a blasting plan in place. You have to post blasting schedules in the local papers well in advance. People close to the blast get personal notification. You have to use a certified blaster. There are limits on noise, so they have to monitor the decibels of the blast. They also have to measure ground vibration. And they often separate the blast charges by eight milliseconds.”
“Why?” asked Monroe, who looked fascinated by the discussion. He caught Puller gazing at him. “Went to WVU but I’m not from around here.”
Cole said, “The eight milliseconds allow enough separation to keep the air blast noise and ground vibration under control.”
Puller gazed at her. “You obviously know a lot about all this. How come?”
She shrugged. “West Virginia gal. Whole state’s one big mine. At least that’s what it feels like sometimes.”
“And didn’t your dad work for Trent Exploration?” asked Monroe.
Cole shot a quick glance at Puller, who was staring at her even more intently. “He did,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Why not?” asked Puller.
“He’s dead.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He paused for a few moments. “What explosives do they use to do the blasting?”
“Usually ANFO, combination of ammonium nitrate—fertilizer, really—and diesel fuel. They scrape the topsoil and subsoil layers and then drill holes in the rock to lay their charges. The goal is to fracture the rock layers. Then they bring in heavy equipment to expose the coal seam.”
“Why do they blow it up instead of digging tunnels?”
“Decades ago they did tunnel. But getting to the coal that’s left won’t allow tunneling. Softness of the rock. Or so they claim. It’s funny, though.”
“What?” asked Puller.
“Typically blasting has to take place between sunrise and sunset,