No Man's Dog Read Online Free Page A

important to him at one time. (It was funny, now that he thought about it, he’d never considered that Albert’s name could have been Seize Crow.) Indians didn’t seem exotic or especially fascinating to him, but he supposed that it might be different for someone like Mulheisen, growing up in industrial Michigan.
    Mulheisen said, “Are you familiar with the period?” He gestured toward the channel, the lake, as if history were lying there. As a matter of fact, that was often the way it seemed to Mulheisen, like a not quite visible panorama or tableau.
    “Not very,” Tucker said, hesitantly. He wasn’t prepared to hear a long presentation about an obscure episode. Mulheisen had the air of one of those enthusiasts, an amateur who had immersed himself in a subject and was not above bending one’s ear with his theories. “I’m sure it’s fascinating, but as it happens I came out to see you for a reason.”
    “I assumed you did,” Mulheisen said. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the distant house and they turned to walk back.
    “It’s about the bombers,” Tucker said. “The ones who almost killed your mother.”
    “I don’t think she was the target,” Mulheisen observed.
    “Oh, no, of course not,” Tucker hastened to agree. “An innocent bystander, fundamentally. But I thought you might be interested. We have begun to develop a different line on them.”
    “Really? I thought it was some Muslim group,” Mulheisen said. “The terrorist was killed in the explosion. Isn’t that right? Do you know who he was?”
    “That’s the point,” Tucker said. “We thought we had an identification. This group that claimed responsibility—a Gulf group—even provided the name of the so-called martyr. But now it looks like that was just an attempt to make us believe one of their key operatives was dead. It’s a useful ploy, not uncommon. The man whose name they put forth is still in action, in Germany, we think.”
    “Hah. That’s clever, sort of,” Mulheisen said. “So who did do it?”
    “We’re not sure, but we suspect it wasn’t a Muslim or even a foreign group at all. We think it was homegrown.”
    “Locals?” Mulheisen asked. “You mean, Detroit people? Arabs? Some other group?”
    “Actually, more homegrown than that. A right-wing American group, radicals.”
    “Hah. Like the Oklahoma City bombing?”
    “Something like that,” Tucker said. “There was a Michigan connection in Oklahoma City, you’ll recall.”
    “Oh, yes.” Mulheisen stopped. They were halfway back to the house. He looked over at his study, now already closed in, although the roof wasn’t shingled. He started to point it out, then decided the man wouldn’t be interested in his domestic plans. Instead, he shook his head with a rueful grimace, then looked up and around. “I’ll be damned.”
    Tucker stood by, watching him.
    After a minute, Mulheisen snorted, then shrugged. “Well, when you think about it,” he said, “what difference does it make?”
    Tucker looked shocked.
    Mulheisen noticed and hastened to add, “I mean . . . well, I’m glad you’re on to them, of course, but it doesn’t make much difference to my mother, does it? It was in the nature of an accident. She was there, the bomb was there. The two aren’t connected. It’s like that airplane that crashed in Brooklyn, a couple days afterthe planes crashed into the World Trade Center towers. Everybody thought at first it was more terrorists, but it wasn’t. But what difference did it make? To the people who were killed, I mean, and their families. And then . . . naturally, you thought about the ones in the towers. What did that mean? Wasn’t it the same as the crash in Brooklyn? Those people weren’t involved with the terrorists, either. It might as well have been a bolt of lightning that struck the bus. The bomb wasn’t aimed at her, after all.”
    Tucker’s amazement was very evident—eyes wide, mouth agape.
    Mulheisen felt compelled to reassure