“I’m okay.”
Chief Irving, an older man with a bristly white crew cut, held out a beefy hand, regarding her through world-weary blue eyes. “Ms. Nilsson, I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I admire your work.”
She took his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“I believe you know Hunter, DPD’s SWAT captain.” He motioned toward Marc with a nod of his head. “This is Detective Brent Callahan. He left Boston PD behind to head our EOD unit.”
Detective Callahan reached out, shook her hand. Tall with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep tan, he looked like a man who spent his life outdoors. “I’m sorry about what happened today. I worked EOD—that’s explosive ordnance demolition—for the army in Iraq and Afghanistan. My team and I are heading the investigation on the bombing. I’ll do my best to keep you informed and answer your questions.”
“I appreciate that.” Suddenly remembering her manners, she gestured to the sofa and two leather chairs. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Would anyone like something to drink?”
They muttered “No thanks” and shook their heads, everyone but Marc taking a seat. He remained standing, arms crossed over his chest.
Laura sat beside Javier, not missing the glance the men exchanged, the room awkwardly silent. “Should I guess why you’re here, or would you like to tell me?”
Chief Irving turned to Detective Callahan. “You want to fill Ms. Nilsson in?”
“We found one body in the car—a young male believed to be Ali Al Zahrani, age eighteen. The vehicle destroyed in the explosion was registered to him, and neither his parents nor his friends nor his professors at Metro State College have seen him all day.”
The face Laura had tried to forget in the shower came back to her—dark hair, big brown eyes, a wide smile.
Callahan went on. “The car had been loaded with metal buckets filled with homemade ANFO, an explosive mixture of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil, in this case diesel. The diesel detonated, but the ammonium nitrate didn’t. Whoever mixed the explosive used a grade of fertilizer that comes in large prills, or pellets.”
This meant nothing to Laura, but clearly Javier understood.
“The guy was an amateur,” he muttered.
Marc spoke, venom in his voice. “It’s lucky for all of us the bastard somehow managed to blow up only himself.”
And Laura knew he was thinking of Sophie.
Callahan explained. “The larger pellets can’t absorb the fuel. When the primer exploded—we believe it was dynamite—the fuel ignited, along with the fumes that had filled the vehicle, causing a gas explosion. If the ammonium nitrate
Laura tried to take this in, the intellectual side of her mind struggling to keep up with the pounding of her heart. “Taken out the building?”
Callahan nodded. “A similar explosive was used in the Oklahoma City bombing.”
Laura felt light-headed, images of the partially collapsed federal building, of the human loss and devastation, coming to her mind. Her head began to throb once more.
Javier’s hand closed reassuringly over hers. “You okay? Maybe you should lie down for a minute.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . a horrible thing to imagine.”
Chief Irving watched her through sympathetic eyes. “There are some peculiar aspects to this bombing. The coroner did a CT scan of the body and found a twenty-two slug lodged in the alleged bomber’s brain. Whoever we pulled out of the wreckage was dead before the explosion. The ME places time of death about two hours prior to the blast—about seven thirty this morning.”
“What?” Maybe the concussion was worse than Laura had realized, or maybe all of this was too much. None of it made sense to her.
“I hadn’t heard this.” Marc frowned. “I’m not an expert, but aren’t suicide bombers supposed to kill themselves?”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Chief Irving agreed.
Javier shook his head. “Not necessarily. We encountered suicide bombers whose charges were set to detonate both by the bomber and by someone watching nearby. It’s insurance in case the bomber gets cold feet, decides that martyrdom is overrated, tries to warn someone. Maybe the kid wanted to back out—and someone wouldn’t let him.”
Detective Callahan seemed to mull that over. “It’s a possibility. Regardless, it proves that at least one other person was involved in this operation.”
At least one other person.
“Our other suspect is still out there,” Chief Irving said. “He may try to strike at you again, so we’ve shared all of this with the FBI. Special Agent Killeen is getting hourly updates from my team.”
“Right now, we’re sifting through all the debris, gathering the bits and pieces of wire and metal so that we can re-create the detonator,” Callahan said. “Once we reconstruct it, that will give us a lot of information.”
Laura didn’t understand. “How can you reconstruct it? Isn’t everything melted, incinerated beyond recognition?”
Javier and Callahan shook their heads at the same time.
“An explosion causes an outward burst, a blast wave, which is what produces the damage,” Javier explained. “That blast instantly creates a vacuum, which sucks material back in again. Everything you need to know about the bomb is right there.”
“All we have to do is pick up the puzzle pieces and put them back together.” Callahan drew out a notepad. “I’d also like to create a list of potential accomplices, people with motive who might have been pulling the bomber’s strings. Can you think of anyone besides Al-Nassar who might want you dead?”
Laura looked down at her right wrist and the bruises that encircled it. “The only person I’ve had conflict with lately is Derek Tower. He thinks I’m to blame for my own abduction, the deaths of his men, and his company’s demise.”
She filled Callahan in on Tower’s e-mails and calls, and the confrontation in her car last Friday evening, showing him the bruises on her wrists. “I filed a police report.”
Chief Irving glanced over at Callahan. “I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
Marc took a step toward them, his brows bent in a frown. “Wasn’t Tower a Green Beret? He wouldn’t make a mistake like that. If he’d wanted to blow up the building, it would be rubble now.”
Javier shrugged. “Maybe he got sloppy.”
“No.” Marc shook his head. “That’s beginner stuff.”
“Why would Tower start hanging with a teenage terrorist?” Javier asked. “He spent a decade fighting them.”
“I want him brought in for questioning regardless,” Chief Irving said. “There’s still the matter of his accosting Ms. Nilsson in her car. We’ve been searching for him since Friday night and haven’t found him.”
Callahan leaned closer to Laura. “I know it can’t have been easy for you to hear all of this, but we’re doing all we can.”
Chief Irving reached out and clasped one of her hands between two of his. “The FBI got caught with its pants down today, but we at DPD will get to the bottom of this and keep you safe, Ms. Nilsson.”
And Laura knew both men meant what they said.
The men stood, so Laura got to her feet, too. “Thank you. Marc, thank you for being there for us today.”
He gave her a nod. “I was glad to help.”
Callahan handed her his card. “We’ll be in touch as the investigation progresses.”
Laura walked with them to the door, thanked the three of them, and wished them all a good night, asking Marc to tell Sophie hello for her. There was a smile on her face, but behind her breastbone, her heart was still pounding.
Out there somewhere was a man who’d tried to kill her today, someone who wanted to see her dead and had been willing to murder his own accomplice and a building full of innocent people to get to her.
