Play To Kill

    'You said 'terrorist attack or teenager attack.' I pick B. What else did she say?'

    After Magozzi gave him a rundown, Gino folded his hands over his paunch and leaned back in his chair. 'If it's a terrorist attack, we're all screwed. If it's a teenager attack we can waterboard a couple thirteen-year-olds and no one will ever try it again.' His eyes drifted over to the television and his mouth turned down. 'I don't know, Leo. Mason jars with liquid, lead sheeting to beat the X-ray…? Seems like pretty sophisticated shit for a screw-up kid.'

    Magozzi nodded. 'That's what I was thinking'

    One of the newer hires out of Vice - a tall, loose-limbed guy who looked like he just got out from behind a plow - walked into Homicide and found McLaren. 'Hey, Johnny. I'm guessing nobody bet on Mason jars.'

    'Nope.'

    'So give me my fiver back.'

    'Sure thing, Scarecrow. But I'm afraid there's going to be a processing fee.'

    'I don't think so, you red weasel. Processing fee means I book you on gambling charges.' His eyes drifted up to the TV. 'This is some scary shit.'

    McLaren squinted at him. 'You see, that's the part I don't get. You get a bomb scare at a school, you automatically think it's a kid making trouble. I don't get the panic button on this one.'

    'Are you kidding? All that crap at the schools and the mall in the past few months? Amateur hour. This one was really put together.'

    'So out of the thousands of dopes in this city, we finally hit one with an IQ in triple digits. Had to happen.'

    'You whistling in the dark, McLaren?'

    You bet your ass I am.'

    Well, keep your head out of the sand, because even if this scare is a bust, it doesn't mean the next one will be. Al-Jazeera already picked this up. They're streaming news from Minneapolis, if you can believe that. It's like a play- book on how to terrorize people.'

    'Jeez, Scarecrow, get a grip. And don't trip over your petticoats on the way out.'

    'Fuck you, McLaren. You Homicide sissies make damn sure you hit the scene after the perp is long gone. Call me when you get a sack, and I'll take you on a meth bust.'

    'So did you walk all the way over here to bust my balls or what?'

    'Nah. I'm the town crier. You got anything to eat over here?'

    'Last donut just hit Rolseth's gullet. You might be able to get him to cough it up if you use some of those cool macho meth-bust moves.'

    'Man, you're testy today. Listen. They're pulling together surveillance footage from all the box sites that had security cameras, which means all of them, which means about four million hours of tape, and the brass is begging for help from anybody with a uniform and one good eye.'

    You actually saw the Chief?'

    'Oh, hell, no. He's been locked up with the mayor and the governor since this thing started. They only let him out long enough to parse out the hourly updates on TV.'

    'Yeah, I caught a couple of those. Poor guy is starting to look a little undone. I think I actually saw a hair out of place during the last one.'

    You ask me, he's allowed. The man's got a lot on his plate today. Anyway, we're going to set up in one of the old conference rooms on three, so anybody without an active case, come on up and watch some movies with us.'

    'Tinker and I can help you out.'

    'Good deal. Bring popcorn.'

Chapter Thirty-three

    The task force room in City Hall had been transformed into a makeshift media center full of laptops, TVs, and volunteers from every department and every precinct, squinting at screens and taking notes.

    The confusing olfactory potpourri that had always been a trademark of the space still lingered, even though it had been officially retired for years. As Magozzi stepped into the room, his nose picked up the familiar old scents of sweat, bad cologne, cleaning chemicals, and cigarette smoke, along with the newer contributions of the current occupants. He caught a whiff of breath mints, a fleeting hint of patchouli, and the cloying, pervasive stench of microwave popcorn that had been steamed to death in fake butter.

    And then there was Grace MacBride, whose sensory ghost trumped all in this place, at least for Magozzi. He'd met her here for the second time in his life, almost two years ago, after he'd basically accused her of murder and a laundry list of other horrible misdeeds. Probably not the kind of courtship ritual little girls dreamed of.

    'Leo?' Gino gave him a nudge.

    'What?'

    'I've been regaling you with brilliant insights for the past thirty seconds at least, and you're acting like you just popped a handful of Oxys.'

    'Sorry. What were your brilliant insights?'

    Gino snuffled, and rearranged some southern part of his wardrobe. 'For one, where the hell is our chalkboard? You and I solved many a murder brainstorming on that thing, and I loved it like a child.'

    'Probably got stashed in storage someplace.'

    'They can't just take an important piece of our life and mothball it without checking with us first.'

    'Sure they can. Some killjoy with asthma complained about the chalk dust, so they replaced all the blackboards with whiteboards.'

    'Whiteboards suck'

    They wended their way through the tables and desks and found McLaren and Tinker in the far corner of the beehive, both hunched over a laptop, noses practically pressed to the screen. 'How's it going?'

    McLaren shook his head without looking away from the black-and-white security footage. 'This is damn near impossible. Everybody at the mall is carrying a shopping bag, damn near everybody at the library convention is wheeling around a suitcase full of books… and none of us have seen any boxes get dropped yet. The locations must have been scouted, because they're all out of camera range.'

    Gino grunted, still pouting over the chalkboard. 'That's a little spooky.'

    Yeah, no kidding… Tinker, wait. Back up a few frames and play it in slo-mo for me.'

    Tinker clicked the mouse a few times and McLaren jabbed a finger at two kids who were milling around at the Mall of America. 'Check out those guys. Look familiar?'

    Tinker stared for a moment, then shook his head. 'Just a couple of skate punks. The mall is full of them.'

    'Yeah, but I think I've seen these dudes before, in some of the footage we checked out earlier. Maybe from the Metrodome. Go back.' He pushed away from the desk while Tinker worked the mouse some more. 'So, you solve your case already, or what?'

    Magozzi shook his head. 'We're stuck in neutral, getting nowhere fast.'

    'I know what you mean - I went through those two files you gave me and came up with nada. I have a list of names for you, but I gotta tell you up front that nothing clicked. The most interesting thing I pulled was the blood alcohol on your river bride - that guy should have been wearing a biohazard warning label. I'm surprised he had a liver left, especially with all the meds he was on.'

    'Meds?' Gino asked.

    Yeah. He had AIDS.'

    'He did?'

    Yeah. Don't you guys read autopsy reports?'

    'Not recreationally, like you, McLaren,' Gino grumbled. 'Besides, we already knew how he died.'

    Tinker tapped the screen. 'Rolling tape, Johnny.'

    The four of them turned their attention to the computer screen and watched a motley assemblage of humanity unwittingly pass beneath the all-seeing eyes of the Metro- dome security cameras. Ten minutes later,