Down: A Novel

By Barry Brynjulson

The ten-story Nellis office building is condemned, evacuated, and court-ordered for implosion. Before the city of Tacoma can hire a demolition firm, the homeless take it over. They create their own rules and governance in this thriving alternative community. With the streets suddenly cleaner, but the court order looming, the mayor and the citizens are torn.

The politicians, philanthropists, homeless, media, and polarized citizens of Tacoma square off as they race toward an emotionally charged conclusion.

Written with humor and hope, Down is about the reincarnation of a building and its residents, tough love and late love, conflict, and unexpected resolution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524675646

Barry Brynjulson

Originally from Michigan, Barry Brynjulson resides in Northern California with his wife. After a successful business career, then eleven years as a professional golf instructor, Barry embarks on his third career - as an author. Down is his first fiction novel.

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© 2017 Barry Brynjulson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/18/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7565-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7564-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903697

Grateful acknowledgement is made for permission to use the cover photograph from the Landmarks Association of St. Louis. Implosion is of the Missouri Pacific Building in 1984.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Down is a work of fiction. As in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One Entry

Chapter Two Twenty-One Months Earlier: One Down

Chapter Three Frisko Freeze

Chapter Four Two Down

Chapter Five The Nellis Building

Chapter Six Penny

Chapter Seven Lynette Strasburg

Chapter Eight Nellis

Chapter Nine The Mayor

Chapter Ten Let There Be Light

Chapter Eleven Inspection

Chapter Twelve Nellis Painting

Chapter Thirteen Crystal And Penny

Chapter Fourteen Lynette

Chapter Fifteen 7:30 Meetings

Chapter Sixteen Curiosity

Chapter Seventeen The Meeting Within The Meeting

Chapter Eighteen The City Council

Chapter Nineteen Lunch And A Plan

Chapter Twenty Nellis: Step Up

Chapter Twenty-One The First Visit

Chapter Twenty-Two The Second Visit

Chapter Twenty-Three That Night

Chapter Twenty-Four Reaction

Chapter Twenty-Five The Bull’s Eye

Chapter Twenty-Six Bocce Ball

Chapter Twenty-Seven The Campaign Trail

Chapter Twenty-Eight Penny And Trey

Chapter Twenty-Nine Dirt

Chapter Thirty Real Estate And Rezoning

Chapter Thirty-One Mayor Erickson

Chapter Thirty-Two Raul Quintana

Chapter Thirty-Three News

Chapter Thirty-Four Partners

Chapter Thirty-Five The Interview

Chapter Thirty-Six Bursting At The Seems

Chapter Thirty-Seven Trey, Raul, And Alex Douglas

Chapter Thirty-Eight Interest

Chapter Thirty-Nine Puzzles

Chapter Forty World Famous

Chapter Forty-One Alex Douglas

Chapter Forty-Two The Announcement

Chapter Forty-Three Decisions

Chapter Forty-Four Raul Continues

Chapter Forty-Five Election Night

Chapter Forty-Six The Decision

Chapter Forty-Seven Raul

Chapter Forty-Eight Nellis Ii

Chapter Forty-Nine The Investigation

Chapter Fifty Back At Nellis

Chapter Fifty-One Security

Chapter Fifty-Two Three Down

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

To our brothers and sisters who are between addresses – there is no place you can hide where you’re not important.

CHAPTER ONE

ENTRY

H e tossed a large black garbage bag into the dumpster and shut the lid without a sound. His sleeping bag and other possessions in the bag were now out of the rain. David then rolled the dumpster against the building, stood on top, and reached to a small window. He broke it with a river rock and chipped away at the remaining large glass pieces in the lower frame of the slide up window. With most glass gone, he undid the inside latch that locked the lower pane. He then forced up the lower frame to make the opening bigger and remove any chance of getting cut.

He struggled once to hoist himself and failed. It was harder than he thought. Months of inactivity had made him weaker. It was nearing midnight. He looked around before making an all-out attempt to get through the window. There was no traffic on the surrounding streets. At this hour, there were no pedestrians. He worked his right toe of his jogging shoe between the building’s granite blocks for leverage. He used his left foot to help elevate his body while he summoned whatever strength he had to raise himself. His head went through the opening. Using his hands and arms while kicking his legs, he maneuvered his chest and then his stomach to balancing on the open window sill.

Though dark inside, it appeared to be a janitor’s closet with an industrial sink right below him. He caught his breath for several seconds, assessed the situation, and decided there was no way to lower himself feet first. He stretched out his arms and, as slowly as possible, lowered himself hands first reaching for the basin’s edge. His shins took a beating sliding over the sill, while his legs worked the sides of the window frame to slow his descent. When his legs could no longer slow him, he caught the top edge of the sink with his hands, but his weight caused him to flip and turn. He landed hard and awkwardly on the floor.

Fuck, he said lying there, then added, oh God. He breathed heavily and laid there. Eventually he took inventory of his body parts. His right wrist hurt, but he was able to bend and rotate it. His shins and legs were bruised but otherwise okay. His right shoulder and back were already sore, but after realizing nothing was broken or dislocated, he rolled to his right side and worked himself gingerly into a standing position. All right. Let’s do this, he said.

He opened the janitor’s door and felt his way down eight, dark stairs that took him to the metal door which opened onto the deserted, unlit parking lot at the rear of the building. He left the door ajar while retrieving the garbage bag from the dumpster.

David had assumed correctly that the building would not be electronically armed. He could see sensors on the rear door as there had been on the window he broke, but power had been turned off almost a week ago when the last tenants moved out of this ten-story office building.

Back inside, he made certain the back door clicked shut before he cautiously explored. The first floor was a high-ceiling lobby with dual elevators. Street light was coming through windows mid-way up the wall opposite the elevators. Near the center of the lobby, he stopped and did a 360 scan. The tall, main-entrance, glass double doors had letters stenciled on them; S-I-L-L-E-N…Nellis Building. He had read about this building in a discarded local paper a while back. The building had been condemned weeks ago, and all businesses were evicted. He had watched some move out from across the street.

The dim light also enabled him to see entrances to four businesses from the lobby, two on either side of the elevators. Rather than checking to see if those doors were open, he decided higher up would be better.

The stairs felt like granite under his tread-bare shoes. He tried to move silently, but the wetness he had picked up in the parking lot made them squeak on the stone. His right hand held the cold metal hand rail as he moved.

The second-floor hallway was darker with street light entering only from the stairwell and from one partially open door. With limited visibility, David saw more doors on this floor leading to offices or businesses, but couldn’t make out the far end of the hall. He stopped again to listen. He heard nothing except the faintest sound of a lone car passing on the wet street below. He went back to the staircase and ascended another level.

His eyes, adjusted more now, could tell the stairs were a speckled, grey granite, and the handrail an unpolished brass. Remnants of cardboard and bubble wrap were strewn intermittently.

At the top of the stairwell for the third floor he could see the entire hall because three office doors had been left open opposite the elevators. He decided he would stay on this floor, but only after checking things out. He slowly turned the handle of the first door on his immediate right at the top of the stairs. The door was not locked. He pushed it open with enough force that it swung 180 degrees and bumped the wall. He remained in the door jam and visually surveyed. Inside appeared to be a small waiting room with a sliding glass window that a receptionist might have sat behind. The waiting room had another door that opened to a series of small rooms. Though frightened, he looked inside each room.

Satisfied with this first set of offices, David went back to the main hall. He methodically repeated his search door by door. None were locked. The second door opened to a large room, one that might have housed 12 or 15 cubicles. He could faintly see depressions in the carpet where cubicle partitions and file cabinets once stood.

Through two other doors from the hallway he saw good-sized open areas that had smaller offices along one wall. Each of those executive offices had a window looking down onto the street.

When he finished searching the third floor, he went back and closed all but one door to get the light to his liking. David then pulled a blue down sleeping bag out of the garbage bag he had carried. He laid it in the darkest corner of the hall, farthest from the stairwell, along the elevator side. By now he was reasonably certain that he was the only one in the building, but he also knew that if he could figure out a way in, anything was possible. And while any of the carpeted offices would be more comfortable, he knew from this spot in the hall, he could keep tabs on any comings and goings.

He’d eaten dinner six hours earlier at the Tacoma Rescue Mission. Getting some sleep and staying warm were the only things left to do until morning. He built a pillow from his other clothes, and settled into his sleeping bag. Sleep did not come easy. He tossed and turned every few minutes. The granite floor irritated his 51-year old hips. While the building kept him dry, it was colder than he’d expected. No heat, old draughty windows, and daytime temperatures in the low 40’s were the reasons. He wrapped an extra tee-shirt around his head for warmth as he’d often done on the streets.

After considerable sleeplessness, he heard a critter scratching inside the wall near his left shoulder. He picked up his clothes, shoes, and sleeping bag and headed for the biggest room which he also thought had the thickest carpet.

He walked into the large room with no smaller offices. He settled along the wall, between windows. The carpet was easier on his hips, and warmer too. Within minutes, the late-night street noises helped him drift off.

The next morning, he awoke to the back-up beeps of a garbage truck. Later, over lunch at the Nativity House he saw Uday, a younger man he knew from the streets of Tacoma and with whom he felt some kinship. David sat down next to Uday to eat. Deep into their meal, David leaned toward him and whispered about getting inside the Nellis Building. Uday put down his fork, sat up perfectly straight, looked directly at David and said, I am jealous.

Join me if you’d like. It’s a little creepy being inside a big building all alone.

That afternoon Uday rolled his shopping cart into the Nellis Building. That night the two men slept in the same third floor office, 20 feet or so apart. The following morning Uday woke well after David. When he looked around to get his bearings he saw David sitting half in his sleeping bag with his back against the wall. In a sleepy voice, Uday said, Thank you.

Later, the two men talked about whether they should invite others. They agreed that they must, but only people they believed were sober and would not cause problems. They decided the rear door would only open at 8:00 PM each night for five minutes. Newcomers were either there then or not.

Within days, many others had joined them. Each person who came inside Nellis liked being there, and talked it up on their day trips outside. Most of the new people invited others, using their own criteria for inclusion. Some made their own entrance time arrangements. David’s and Uday’s good intentions about who should be there with them unraveled. During David’s sixth day inside the Nellis Building, he noticed someone had cut the chain that locked the main double doors. They also undid the dead bolts on the lobby side of the doors. People were coming and going freely from the front and rear entrances with no regard for the Condemned/Do Not Enter placards plastered around the building. David felt crowded and disappointed by who was showing up. He moved higher until settling in on the seventh floor without Uday.

It was not until a few afternoons later when a woman came spritely up the stairs and encountered him in the hallway, that things began changing in ways he didn’t foresee.

CHAPTER TWO

TWENTY-ONE MONTHS EARLIER: ONE DOWN

A t 3:02 AM Agent Todd Fillmore of the North Coast FBI rolled over in bed and knocked his half-empty water glass to the floor while reaching for his vibrating cell phone on his night stand. Fuck, he whispered.

Yeah, he croaked into the phone. As he listened to his partner, he moved to sit up against the headboard. Terrorism? he asked as he ran his hand over his face while listening for the answer he expected. Oh boy, he said. Okay, let’s meet at the corner of 12th and Remmy. Gimme 35 minutes.

As Todd moved stiffly in his Seahawk tee-shirt and plaid boxers towards the bathroom, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Channel 2 News had been turned off four and a half hours earlier when he went to sleep. As the screen came on, "Breaking News" appeared as a banner across the bottom. A studio newsman, dressed in a light blue long-sleeved shirt with no tie, never expecting to be on the air then, was behind the studio desk and on camera. The Knoll Building went down.

Todd quickly brushed his teeth and threw water on his face. He realized he needed to shave and dress more professionally than the fill-in anchorman. He, too, might be on camera before the day was out.

The newsman said, Now let’s go to the scene for our first glimpse with Sandra O’Malley.

Sandra, adorned in ear-muffs and a fur-collar coat, was reporting from a downtown Tacoma sidewalk. The fallen building was in the screen-shot a half a block behind her, when she said, The nearly leveled building appeared to fill the entire block between the streets of Hancock, 12th, 13th and Madison in Tacoma. It is too early to tell if this is an act of terrorism, or something else.

Todd saw Sandra’s breath as she spoke. He walked back into the bedroom, freshly shaven, and toward the closet to find an outfit for the day. He grabbed his overcoat, too. The News 2 Chopper began showing some images from overhead. Smoking rubble is all that could be seen among the street and news crew lights scattered on the periphery. Someone from the chopper said, That’s where the Knoll building stood until approximately 45 minutes ago. Our sources say that it was twelve stories high. Only one corner seems to have two or three stories remaining. The rest of it has been leveled.

Todd tied his tie in front of the mirror. Satisfied with the knot and length, he hurried out of his suburban, brick, two-story to meet his partner. On his drive towards downtown Tacoma, his mind raced. He had been trained to avoid a rush to judgment and to think of all possibilities. There had been recent briefs his department had circulated on three possible ISIS cells in the greater Sea-Tac area, but he had not been directly assigned to them. There seemed nothing ominous or imminent about the threats. Still.

His thoughts were disrupted only by the windows fogging up, the defroster slow to help, and his poor judgment of utilizing windshield wipers and spraying water, that turned slushy at this near freezing hour.

Thirty-seven minutes after they had spoken on the phone, Todd found his long-time partner Pierce Jacobs. Immediately upon seeing him, Todd asked, Anybody claiming this?

Nope, not yet, said Pierce.

Why the Knoll Building? Who worked here? asked Todd as he rubbed his hands together, wishing he’d brought his gloves.

A mix of accounting firms, small businesses, a beauty parlor, copy shop, and a coffee place on the bottom floor is what I recall. My insurance agent was on the second floor.

Any government agencies, oil companies, banks?

Don’t think so. Wasn’t that kind of building.

The local police had arrived en masse and were blocking off the wet streets, keeping the stunned onlookers at bay. Ambulances, paramedics, fire trucks, and elements of the local disaster response team were queuing up too. Police Captain Richardson got on the bullhorn to make an announcement. He called for quiet as the search and rescue team was going to start its work. Being able to hear the slightest human sound, should there be any, was critical if they were to find any survivors. Only yellow vest search team members and their dogs were allowed near the rubble. The main gas and water lines into the building had been shut down. Miraculously, no fires had broken out.

After the Captain made his announcement, Todd and Pierce approached him, introduced themselves, and asked if they could chat when the Captain had a moment. How about we get the Fire Chief and our local detective involved? the Captain asked.

Captain, no offense, but when a building gets blown up, the FBI takes it, said Todd.

Who said the building was blown up? replied the Captain.

Soon, the fire chief and detective stepped into the discussion. They quickly exchanged contact information, went through a check-list of what they knew, mostly what they didn’t know, and what the next steps needed to be. They agreed to meet hourly at that spot until deciding otherwise. Also, until it could be more clearly determined whether this would be a federal crime, the local detective and Todd would co-lead the investigation. The fire chief and Captain Richardson had already begun the emergency recovery protocol they had twice drilled this past year.

Todd and Pierce set out to interview neighbors and seek out any video surveillance that might have been captured from nearby buildings or parking lots. The detective, Pat Scurry, went to find if there had been a security person on duty and what surveillance monitors might have been operating within the building before it fell.

Twenty-two minutes later, Pat called Todd and said, I’ve got the night shift security guard. Let’s meet now.

When they all reconvened, Pat introduced them to Carlos, the Knoll building’s graveyard shift security guard. What happened? Tell us what you heard and saw, asked Todd.

Carlos told them he had gone outside for a smoke a couple of minutes before the building came down. When he heard noise, he looked up. Much like the images of 9/11, the windows at the top exploded out. Instincts took over. He ran, luckily avoided flying debris, and was far enough away when the first significant rubble came down. Turning just once, he knew he had a few seconds more to outrun the ash. He ended up four blocks down the street, rattled but unhurt.

Was there an explosion? A bomb sound?

No and no. It just started falling and making more and more noise as it did.

Who was in the building?

No one. The janitorial crew left around midnight. People need to sign in after hours with me. Those that entered after 6:00 PM had logged in and out.

How many? Do you remember their names?

Sure do.

Any other way into the building?

There’s a key-code door at the rear of the building near the parking lot, but entry triggers an alarm, and I can watch on my video monitor.

Any chance someone could have seen you start your break and then entered?

No. I mean I guess it’s possible, but unlikely. Todd and Pierce frowned while glancing at each other.

The investigators discussed the hurdle in retrieving any video or back door access records from the carnage they were looking at. It might be weeks before debris was removed to see if they were going to be lucky enough to retrieve any meaningful data.

This building is old, said the Fire Captain. I’m sure we’ve got asbestos flying around. That’s going to slow things down. We probably all need to get some masks on now or we’re going to pay a steep price.

Todd watched the Captain while he spoke, noticing how he was best prepared for the dampness and cold…a fire captain’s hat, thick fire-retardant pants, and the heaviest yellow and black jacket he’d ever seen. The firefighter gloves made him wonder if his own gloves might be in the car. Leaning toward Pierce’s ear, he said, Damn, is it always this cold? I’m thinking of joining the fire department, right now.

This is Tacoma…February…in the middle of the night. The water’s right there, ya’ big baby, Pierce said pointing to make a point rather than to get Todd to look in that direction.

The breeze, what little there was, was coming off the Puget Sound making the cold go through Todd’s suit pants, and up and under his black London Fog jacket. I think there’s a reason I’m usually either in a car or inside a building, Todd countered.

Or curled up sleeping at this time, said Pierce who was wearing black leather, fur lined gloves. Let’s get you some coffee, pardner, as he pointed with purpose to the Red Cross tables that had already been set up and staffed on the next block.

Interviews with the neighbors revealed no one had heard explosions or bomb-like noises either. We may get lucky with the street light video and a parking lot camera angled toward the corner of our building, Todd suggested to Pierce. We need the right people to roll out of the sack and get to work this morning before we can view any video.

Is it possible this building just crumbled? asked Pierce.

Right. How often does that happen? asked Todd. Let’s check on seismic activity, and get the records on building maintenance. A twelve-story, multi-tenant building must have a building manager. Let’s find him.

Also need to go through each business owner or manager and find out about pissed off employees.

That should rule out about two or three people.

Funny man. Recent firings or laid-off employees. There’s something here.

No bomb sounds. Hmmm, Todd thought.

Over the next several weeks, many theories ensued, but nothing materialized. No one ever claimed responsibility. No suspects surfaced.

CHAPTER THREE

FRISKO FREEZE

Y ou sure you’re okay to drive? Sophie asked Lynette for the second time.

Two Cosmos in three hours…I’m a lightweight, but not that light, Lynette said as they jumped in Sophie’s car parked a half a block from the jazz club’s entrance where they had spent a June Saturday night, four months after the Knoll Building had crumbled. Sophie drove Lynette to her car three blocks further down 6th Street, just to be safe.

Thanks, hot stuff, Lynette said as they pulled alongside her car. ‘I’d ask you to follow me home and spend the night, but you’re not my type."

Yeah, well, too bad for both of us. Might be the last chance for either of us to get laid again, kidded Sophie.

I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, said Lynette, smiling as she opened her driver’s door.

’Night, girl. Lock your door.

G’night. It was fun.

As she pulled down the street toward the only home she had ever known, Lynette knew her route would take her past the Frisko Freeze, a legendary local drive-in. It was a bit past 12:30 A.M. Would it still be open? Fries would taste great about now, and suck up the remnants of her minor buzz. I’ll hit the gym an extra time this week, she thought. As soon as that feeble justification flowed through her head, it was followed with a Why? Why the need to bargain for fries, you pathetic soul? Lynette had no answer. Now in her mid-fifties and never married, she had long ago given up the dream of passionate couple-dom, or even couple boredom. Somewhere along her life line, the effort of finding someone, wading through the pain of small talk, the awkwardness of making out and whatever was next no longer seemed worth it. Sophie and some jazz now and then were enough.

She began to imagine the salty, hot crunch of the fries and wondered if the words chocolate shake would slip out too when she ordered, or would they be stifled by some inner warden.

As 6th became Division, she could see that the parking lot lights were off at the Frisko Freeze. She slowed near the drive-in, hoping someone might still be taking orders at the window. There were no signs of workers, nor any cars in the parking lot. She was disappointed. As she drove past the second parking lot on the opposite side of the drive-in, she glanced over her shoulder for one last view of what would have to wait. Her thoughts were overridden with an out of place movement.

Her eyes were drawn to the back side of the drive-in and a garbage area within white cinder blocks and a movable wooden gate. She saw a large human figure crawling over the block wall. Dumpster diving? Perhaps, but it almost looked like a man’s jeans had fallen down. It just didn’t look right. Keep going. It’s not your issue, she heard her departed dad’s script play in her head.

What if some crazy dude was going to burn the place down? she thought. It was probably nothing, but she knew how she’d feel if she read later in the week that the place had been robbed or set on fire. Lynette kept driving slowly. Two cars approached the Frisko Freeze from the opposite direction. If something is going on, they’ll see it. Another block…No, this is mine. She did a u-turn.

As she re-approached the Frisko Freeze, she reminded herself to be careful. As she pulled into the parking lot, she turned off her headlights, lowered the windows to listen, and stayed near the street, 100 feet or so from the dumpster. After a few of seconds of listening, she heard a woman’s shrill voice call out, No, followed by some muffled grunts. Lynette turned off the car, put the emergency brake on, and reached into the glove box for the small gun that her dad had made her carry for over three decades wherever she went out. Tacoma once had some rough edges, but that rarely crossed her mind any more.

She felt flushed and foolish holding the gun she hadn’t shot in years, but she now knew that she wasn’t driving away and she wasn’t going anywhere near the dumpster without it. Perhaps it wasn’t even loaded, but with it in her hand, she felt stronger, safer.

Take it, a man’s voice said as Lynette walked quickly toward the garbage area. Without hesitation, she lifted the metal rod that was attached along one edge of the gate that went into the asphalt to keep the wooden gate closed. As she swung the heavy gate open, she saw an overweight man with his pants down to his knees in a dumpster that was filled nearly to the top with flattened cardboard. His blubbery backside was partially hidden under an army-fatigue jacket. Grunting and movement from the man continued, unaware of Lynette’s arrival.

Stop it, Lynette yelled in her loudest voice startling the man and causing him to halt and look in her direction. The woman underneath the man tried to wriggle free, but the man grabbed both her wrists and thrust them back down over her head pinning them to the cardboard. He turned his glance away from Lynette, and proceeded as if she was not there.

Get off her, you fuck.

He turned sideways and gave Lynette a mocking half-smile. The woman called out, Help me.

Lynette raised the gun, and in a no-nonsense voice said, Stop or I’ll shoot. Leaning forward, she put the tip of the small gauge pistol against the back of the man’s left calf. Her mind raced. Was she really going to pull the trigger? What if there were no bullets? The man looked at her again, this time to assess whether she was a shooter or not. Lynette wished she had dialed 9-1-1 earlier. Should she now? The man was too big to pull off the woman. He kept going.

Lynette froze. The suddenness of the situation only enhanced its surreal nature. She looked at the gun she was holding. Seconds stopped being seconds. Blood rushed to Lynette’s head, making it difficult to think clearly. The woman was being raped in front of her and was crying. Had he judged her correctly as too weak to shoot? Lynette watched the man…and the woman…and looked at the gun in her hand. He disgusted her, but she disgusted herself for not taking action. Hatred suddenly welled up inside her. A calm sense of knowing and power came over her. She became present-centered again and seconds now mattered. Without further delay or regard for how this would affect her own life, she squeezed the trigger.

Fuck! Ow! Goddamn! he yelled and crumpled into the corner of the dumpster moaning and rocking, holding his bleeding leg. Fucking bitch!

The woman looked at Lynette wide-eyed.

Get up. Get out, she shouted to the woman.

The woman sat up from the cardboard, pulling up her own dirty jeans. As she did, the man reached toward her.

Don’t do it. Next one goes in your face, she said waving the gun in that direction. He slumped back into the corner with his palms held up. His face was red, while beads of sweat covered his forehead.

The woman crawled out of the bin. She looked one last time at Lynette and said, Thank you, before hobbling out of the parking lot with both pink and white Asics in her left hand.

Lynette, now five or six feet from the dumpster but glaring at the man, said, Get out of our city and don’t come back. She calmly took her cell phone out of her back pocket, deftly scrolled with her left thumb, and snapped a photo of the man staring directly at her with a look of confusion, trying to access some words but unable to retrieve any.

Count to 100 slowly before you think about coming out. She shut the gate, put the metal rod back into the slot in the asphalt, and walked to her car.

Once she was driving on Division again, Lynette dialed 9-1-1. An operator answered 9-1-1, what is your emergency? Lynette hung up, thinking better of it, not knowing how Caller ID might work against her.

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO DOWN

I n Olympia, eighteen months after the first fallen building, a second building went down at 8:17 PM, 30 miles away from the Knoll Building. It was 11 stories tall before it crumbled. This time there were casualties…a mix of late workers and housekeeping personnel. The lobby security guard was a non-smoker and he did not make it out alive. He was one of 11 fatalities. Four hours earlier and it might have been over 200.

Again, no bombs and no explosion. And like the Knoll building, no one claimed responsibility. Todd Fillmore once again co-led the investigation with local police detectives, and it proceeded in much the same way as the earlier incident.

Todd and the investigative team looked for commonalities of the two buildings besides geography and size.

Might this not be intentional, but accidental? he posed. Let’s find out who built these two buildings, what and who they had in common.

Before the week was out, they discovered that the buildings were built within two years of each other, with overlapping architects and common prime contractors. No doubt some of the same subs had worked on the two buildings too, but that could take a while to sort out.

Do it, Todd commanded in a voice he rarely used. We’ve got to come up with something this time, or we’re going to be working parking meters.

The next day they got a call from Randy, a young buck on the squad. "The steel source