stupid to even know it,’ “ O’Shea said as they settled around Keren’s desk in the squad room.
“I’m glad
O’Shea nodded. “We look for a case with more than one death. You do the search, Keren. This machine likes you more than it does me.”
Keren turned to her computer. “Great, we’ll want the paper files later, but right now let’s eliminate a bunch of them.”
By the time the computer was done sorting, they had narrowed the cases to eighty-three. “I’ve left all the supposed accidents and suicides, as well as any case where there was more than one death.”
“Did you get rid of all the first-degree murders? He said I was too stupid to figure it out. So I must have charged him with something less than deliberate first-degree murder.”
Keren went back to the computer. “Okay, not a lot of people go down for first degree, thanks to plea bargaining. I’m down to forty-six cases.”
O’Shea said, “Have you taken out the women perps?”
Keren nodded. “I did that first.”
“And all the ones who are still in lockup?”
“Done.”
O’Shea looked at the vastly reduced number of files listed on Keren’s computer screen. “There’re still a lot of ‘em.”
Paul glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time before we have to go back to the mission. Let’s move it.”
“I’ll print out the names of the cases remaining.” Keren did so and handed them each a copy of the file numbers and names. “We can pull them from the files and start reading.”
“Let’s see how many are known to be in the area,” O’Shea said.
Keren added, “Some of them may be dead, too. That wouldn’t be in the computer. We may be able to narrow this list pretty quickly.”
They were only into their first few cases when Paul’s phone rang. All three of them froze.
Paul said, “Do you need time to get ready?”
Keren and O’Shea sat poised, their phones already to their ears. They both shook their heads. Paul answered, holding his breath.
“I just wanted to tell you, Reverend, you should remain at home tomorrow morning. You’re expecting a package.” Hysterical laughter broke through the carefully modulated voice. Then the call ended.
All three of them looked at the stack of files. Paul glanced anxiously at his watch. “It’s almost six. I’ve got to go.”
“Paul,” Keren said impatiently, “we’ve only got tonight. You know what to expect tomorrow morning.”
Paul stood from his chair. “Do you think I need to be reminded?”
He turned away with an effort Keren could read in every line of his body. She said, “O’Shea, give me the recorder phone. Chances are the wacko is done calling for the night anyway. I’ll go. You stay here and work.”
She stormed after Paul. “This time I’m using code three, and you’re not going to guilt me into stopping. I think this warrants lights and sirens.”
“As long as you turn them off well before we get to the mission.”
“Deal.” When she agreed, he finally quit arguing. Nice change.
With a giggling Rosita delivered on the first step of her date with Manny, Paul and Keren returned to work. O’Shea pounced on them when they returned to the precinct house. He had the report on the cause of the blast at the gang hangout. “Pure low tech. Just like those listening devices. This guy is no electronics genius.”
Keren asked, “What’d he use, dynamite? C-4?”
“Gasoline.” O’Shea flipped open the report. “Like I said, low tech. He soaked the basement with gasoline and had containers of gas duct-taped to every creaky support beam in the basement of that building. The bomb squad figures at least ten bombs.”
“It’s a condemned building overrun by a gang. How’d he get in carrying gallons of gasoline?”
“It wouldn’t take that much. A couple of gallons to splash around and another gallon or so to make a bunch of Molotov cocktails, waiting for a spark to set them off,” O’Shea said. “According to the few gang members who would talk to us, they never went down to the basement. It was full of junk and the foundation was crumbling. Pravus could have brought the gasoline in early in the morning. He could disguise himself like a homeless man and no one would look at him twice, especially since the people who live in the house are stoned most of the time. No one is prowling around much—not in the morning. Two gallons at a time under a big coat. He could have done it in a couple of trips.”
“How’d he detonate it?” Keren reached for the report.
“They’re not sure yet, because everything was blown to smithereens.” O’Shea didn’t hand it over, evidently in the mood to be the center of attention.
“He might not use the same trick again,” Paul said as he tried to picture the bomb. Tried to figure out what he’d do if he saw one.
“Let’s hope we get him before we find out.” O’Shea looked the report over as he talked.
“We’ve got an ID on the cell phone. The couple who lost it only realized it was gone when a detective came to their house to ask about it. They keep it in the car for emergencies.”
“Are you sure?” Paul leaned forward. “How closely were these people questioned? Some serial killers work as a team.”
“We’re checking their backgrounds, but they’re in their late seventies,” O’Shea said. “They live in an assisted-living apartment complex on the North Side. She’s a retired social worker, he was an accountant for thirty- five years. They have six kids and seventeen grandkids. They pay their taxes, don’t get speeding tickets, and they host a Bible study in their home every Wednesday night. It’s just not them, Paul. No amount of stretching will make it fit. They’ve even got an alibi for the morning of the explosion. They’d gone with a group from their church on a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. We’re canvassing the area, hoping we can find someone who saw their car burglarized, but so far, nothing. They don’t have a clue how long their phone has been missing. We checked their call records, and the last time they made a call was two weeks ago to one of their daughters.”
On that note they all turned back to the files.
It was midnight and no one suggested leaving. They culled the stack to two dozen people in the area who were still among the living. Keren ran them through the computer, looking for current addresses.
She arched her back in her creaking desk chair. She tried to force her spine to bend into a straight line. “If the FBI were here, their profiler could maybe pare this list down further.”
She reached for a slice of cold pizza. One of the other detectives had taken pity on them and had one delivered.
O’Shea rubbed both hands over his eyes. “They’ll do that in the morning.”
“Morning is going to be too late for LaToya,” Paul reminded them darkly. He stood from his chair. “More coffee?”
Keren nodded and set the pizza aside. After two bites her appetite was gone.
O’Shea said, “It’s better than that syrup I bought yesterday afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Paul said sarcastically. “But it’s still lethal.”
“No argument there.” O’Shea went back to the files.
Keren said, “Was that just yesterday? It seems like a month ago.”
Paul gathered all three cups and went to the coffeemaker. The dregs in the pot were burned black. His stomach was boiling with the acid from the coffee and the tension of the night. He threw out what was in the glass carafe and started a new pot then went back to the chair he’d pulled up to the side of Keren’s desk.
When the sun began lighting an east window in the squad room, Paul rubbed his burning eyes. “I’ve got to go. That first package came early. And I want to be there to question the delivery guy. The one before had a uniform on but no company marking. He could have been hired privately, which means his company wouldn’t have a record of who ordered the delivery.”
“We’ve been through nearly all the files.” Keren closed the folder she was studying with a soft
