JAVIER TOOK ONE look at Petras’s smug face and remembered why he couldn’t stand the stupid
“How’s Agent Killeen?” Laura asked him.
Petras frowned. “I have no idea how she is. I’ve been working this case.”
“That’s cold, bro, real cold.” Javier couldn’t imagine treating one of his teammates like that. “She’s one of yours. She was wounded in the line of duty, and you haven’t taken the time to find out how she’s doing?”
Petras ignored him and sat in the middle of the sofa. “As you know, the bureau investigated the bombing. We tracked down the components used to make the bomb. The dynamite was stolen from a construction site with no surveillance, so that was no good to us. Everything was purchased with cash, so there was no credit card trail to follow. But using witness descriptions from the various hobby shops and hardware stores where the remaining components were purchased, we had an artist create a sketch of the perpetrator.”
He snapped open a black leather briefcase and took out a drawing, which he placed on the coffee table.
There was no doubt about it.
Laura glanced at the sketch. “Sean Michael Edwards.”
Javier nodded. “That’s him.”
“We were able to ID him yesterday—at which time we learned he’d already been shot dead by you, Mr. Corbray.” Petras looked over at Javier. “I understand that shooting is still under investigation.”
Javier opened his mouth to tell Petras how to unfuck himself.
McBride interrupted him. “It was self-defense. I viewed the surveillance footage myself. The man came out of nowhere and tried to shoot Corbray in the back. The DA won’t be filing charges.”
That was good to know.
Petras went on. “We located Edwards’s residence and did a thorough sweep of the place. We found residue from the explosives as well as leftover materials, which we’ve already analyzed in the Denver lab. The materials are a match for those used to make the bomb that exploded outside the newspaper. There’s absolutely no doubt that the bombs were constructed in Edwards’s home.”
“Does he have any roommates or a partner who might have been aware of what he was doing or perhaps even participated?” Laura asked.
McBride shook his head. “According to his landlord, he lived alone and was unemployed, surviving off his disability check. The only prints we found on any of the materials were his. We found an open box of 7.62 NATO AP with military headstamps that match those of the casings we found at the shooting scene. What’s more, two of the weapons we sent to ballistic popped—a Smith and Wesson M&P twenty-two and the M110.”
Petras nodded. “There’s no doubt that Edwards is our doer. He wanted revenge on you for exposing him in Iraq. He bought the components for the bomb. He constructed the device in his home. He no doubt took advantage of flames fanned by Al-Nassar to manipulate Ali Al Zahrani into helping him, then shot Al Zahrani in the head to tie up loose ends. When the bomb didn’t work, he went after you with a sniper rifle. Mr. Corbray foiled that plan, so he went after Mr. Corbray. We’ve got motive, means, opportunity—more than enough conclusive evidence to wrap this case.”
Javier looked over to see Laura’s eyes close, tension leaving her body in a slow exhale. She opened her eyes and looked at McBride. “So . . . it’s over?”
McBride nodded. “You’re cleared to go back to work at the paper. We’ll be pulling our protection detail tonight once I’ve finished my final report.”
She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and then her head snapped up. “How can you know for certain Ali Al Zahrani cooperated with him? I have evidence that Ali was framed. I haven’t seen anything that has convinced me—”
Petras cut her off. “Ali Al Zahrani remains a person of interest in this case. There are some loose ends regarding his role in the bombing, but I suspect we’ll have those tied up in a matter of days.”
Laura frowned. “You said the only prints you found on the bombing materials were Edwards’s. He bought the supplies. He built the bombs. We know Ali couldn’t have done those Internet searches because he was at work when they took place. And let’s not forget that he died with a bullet in his brain from Edwards’s gun.”
“It’s far more likely that someone—his uncle or his mother—is lying to cover up his complicity than it is that Edwards sneaked into the Al Zahrani home every day for two months to incriminate the kid.”
“Not every day—just Monday through Thursday,” Laura quipped.
But Petras didn’t find that funny. “That brings up another matter. The bureau is still trying to decide whether to demand from you the source of the classified files you somehow obtained.”
“The
God, Javier loved her.
Laura looked from Petras to McBride. “What about Derek Tower? Are we any closer to understanding what he was doing at the parking garage?”
Petras shook his head. “That’s another unanswered question, but I understand that the marshals and Denver police will be meeting with him shortly, so hopefully they’ll have that pieced together soon.”
Javier looked over at McBride. “I’ve heard the evidence. It’s pretty convincing. But I have such a hard time believing that the man who shot me was capable of any of this. He seemed . . . off somehow. If he was such a great shot with a sniper rifle, why didn’t he just take up position somewhere high and out of sight and kill me with the M110? Why get close enough to me to put himself at risk?”
McBride seemed to consider this. “He was given a medical discharge due to a traumatic brain injury. It’s possible that some of the lapses we’ve seen—what we’ve been calling his uneven skill set—are the result of that brain injury.”
Javier thought about that for a moment, the whole thing seeming somehow strange to him. “I guess that’s the closest thing to an answer we’re going to get.”
Petras looked at his watch, then up at McBride. “I need to go. I’m going to be late for the press conference.”
“Press conference?” Laura asked.
Petras stood. “We’re letting the public know that the bureau has solved this case so that people can feel safe again.”
DEREK KNEW THE next couple of hours were going to suck when he opened his eyes to see McBride, Hunter, Darcangelo, and Laura’s SEAL lover—Derek thought his name was Corbray—standing next to his hospital bed. “How thoughtful of you to stop by.”
“Sorry we didn’t think to bring flowers,” Darcangelo said.
Derek knew what they wanted to know, but he doubted seriously they’d believe him, even if he told them the truth. “I think visiting hours are over.”
“Yeah? Well, too fucking bad.” Corbray glared at him. “You want us to leave, you got to answer a few questions.”
“This isn’t a social visit? I’m hurt.” Derek said it just to fuck with them. He had every intention of answering their questions, if for no other reason than his friends at the Pentagon insisted he do so if he wanted to continue their association.
He simply had no choice.
Not that he had anything to hide, really. But secrecy was his nature. He didn’t share information unless it served his purposes.
McBride set a small laptop on Derek’s table and booted it up. “I’ve got footage from surveillance cameras that shows you—”
“No need to go to that trouble. I know what the footage shows.” He reached for his blue plastic pitcher and took a drink through the straw, morphine leaving his mouth dry. “I went to the parking garage because I was pretty sure that whoever had made Laura a target would try to take her out before or after the interview. The TV station was doing everything it could to publicize her appearance. I was certain this would draw the bastard out,
