Wake the Devil (9 page)

R
achel Lawrence was at home on the telephone with a radiologist from Scottish Rite Children’s Hospital going through a report he had just e-mailed her. The MRI on young Richard Steincamp had been positive for a cerebral bleed where Wernicke’s area, the part of the brain concerned with the comprehension of language, was located. This was the reason the eight-year-old had become confused and disoriented. Words had suddenly stopped making sense to him. Everything now sounded like a complete mish-mash, or word salad, as one of her colleagues put it.

“Probably why the kid’s pitching a fit,” the radiologist said. “He’s frustrated and can’t express what’s wrong.”

“I agree,” Rachel said. “We’ll have to release the pressure. Is Tom Bannerman available?”

“He’s still in Atlantic City at a conference. I left a message.”

“How much has the bleed increased since the last scan?”

“Three to five percent. We have him on blood thinners to see if they’ll make a difference.”

Rachel glanced at Will Landry, who was listening on speaker. He was a general surgeon and couldn’t handle problems in the brain. Stu Patterson was a bone specialist, so he was out.

“Get the boy prepped. I’ll be in at seven
AM
. We can’t wait any longer.”

The radiologist asked, “Rachel, are you sure you’re up to this? I mean, with George and all? We can always fly Ezra Cohen in from
Houston. I spoke with his office a little while ago. He can be here in twenty-four hours.”

“That’s twelve hours more than I think this kid has,” Rachel said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

She wished people would stop asking that.

“I’d better be,” Rachel said.

Once the call ended, Will Landry fixed a gin and tonic and brought it to her. Back on duty again, Dwayne Stafford was in the next room reading a book. He also heard the conversation, but said nothing. By rights, they should have been at the safehouse by now. But Rachel had insisted on stopping at her home to pack a suitcase, which wasn’t unreasonable. Unfortunately, the calls started as soon as she walked in. They were followed by faxes and e-mails as the situation with the boy worsened. He considered calling Jack Kale to update him but shelved the idea. As long as they made it there by evening, he figured that would be good enough. After that, he’d accompany her to the hospital in the morning since the operation now appeared inevitable.

Rachel started to take a sip of the drink and put it down. “I think I’ll lay off this stuff for a while.”

“Good decision,” Will said. “What’s the word on your sister?”

“She’s flying in tonight from San Antonio to help with the funeral arrangements. Right now everything just seems so overwhelming.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Will said.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Rachel said. “Did you know our anniversary’s next month?”

Will wanted to steer clear of that maudlin subject. He didn’t think dwelling on George’s death was healthy, but there was no help for it. Will smiled and shook his head in the negative.

“Did I ever tell you how we got engaged?”

Will Landry shook his head again. It didn’t make a difference if he was there or not. His instincts told him it was better to let her talk. This was her way of grieving.

Rachel continued, “We’d just graduated college and decided to go to New York to celebrate. Neither of us had any money. For three days, we did every dumb touristy thing you can imagine . . . the Circle
Line around Manhattan, the United Nations tour, museums—I can’t remember how many of those we saw—Broadway, even the Forty-Second-Street library. Have you ever been there? It’s huge.”

Will Landry started to reply, but Rachel went on before he could.

“On the second day, after visiting the Stock Exchange and Chinatown, we just started walking and found ourselves in front of the Empire State Building. George wanted to go up. I thought it was silly, but I gave in.

“When you get to the top, they have an observation deck with binoculars mounted on stands. You can see New Jersey from up there.”

“Who’d want to?” Will asked.

“Eventually we got around to talking about our future. I said it seemed a little scary. I mean, suddenly we weren’t in school anymore and there was this great big world out there waiting for us. All that craziness you see on TV makes you realize how dangerous it is.

“George brushed the hair off my forehead and told me if I wanted to see our future I should look through the binoculars. He made this big show of positioning it, then stepped away. When I finally looked, something was blocking my view. I pulled my head back to see what it was. George was standing there holding an engagement ring. Like a big idiot, I started crying.”

“Sweet story,” Will said.

There was a long pause as Rachel took a breath, “It was the best day of my life.”

Without another word, she got up and went to her bedroom to finish packing. Will and Dwayne, who was also listening, made eye contact with each other.

“This sucks,” the doctor said.

“It does.”

*

Jack and Beth were in the crime lab examining the evidence collected at Leland Walker’s office. They had spent nearly an hour going over the building’s security tapes before Jack spotted a white Audi sedan pulling out of the garage. Beth had spoken to each of the officers who were working there to see if they had noticed anything unusual or suspicious. One by one, they came up empty before stumbling
across a female SWAT officer who recalled nearly bumping into a man coming out of the garage earlier. She told them she thought it was a lawyer.

“What gave you that impression?” Beth asked.

“Well, he was dressed like one. You know, the blue pinstripe suit and all. On top of that, he was reading a deposition and carrying a big file under one arm, along with a law book. I figured he was on his way to court.”

“Do you recall what time that was?” Jack asked.

“About a quarter to one.”

“Pretty close to when that Audi left the garage,” Beth commented.

“What hand was he carrying the file in?” Jack asked.

The officer thought for a moment, then said, “His right one.”

“And the deposition was in his left?”

“Correct.”

Jack nodded. “What about a physical description?”

“A little shorter than you. Gray hair, glasses . . . black frames, medium build, and clean shaven. Was that the guy we’re looking for?”

“Probably,” Jack said. He turned to Beth. “Can you get a BOLO out on that car?”

“Done,” Beth said. “I’m also having the street cameras checked to see if we can track him.”

“That’s why I love this woman,” he said.

Beth’s mouth opened slightly. Now that he was with the FBI, apparently Jack decided their relationship didn’t need to be a secret any longer. She looked at the officer to see if there was any reaction from her. Other than a wink on the way out, there wasn’t one.

Take that, Janet Newton,
she said to herself.

“They’re a match,” Ben Furman said, pulling Beth from her thoughts.

“What is?” Jack asked.

“Those threads match the priest’s suit. It’s definitely our man.”

“Anything else?”

“More of those reddish particles,” Furman said, checking his microscope again. “My guess is they’re terra-cotta with some marble dust mixed in.”

“That’s an odd combination,” Beth said. “Where would you find them together?”

Furman shrugged. “A stone and tile place, or maybe a home improvement center.”

Beth turned to Jack for his opinion. He might have been following the conversation, but it was hard to tell. He was staring out the window, not at anything in particular. Just staring, deep in thought, posture straight in his chair. The expression was one she knew well. His mind was someplace else. Ben Furman also noticed and rolled his eyes. A moment later, Jack emerged from wherever he had gone and said, “I want to know more about the file he was carrying.”

“Why?” Furman asked.

“Because I think it might be significant.”

“I’m not following,” Beth said. “He probably grabbed a random one out of Walker’s cabinet for looks.”

“Possibly. But everything we know about this man indicates he leaves very little to chance. I suspect that includes a bailout plan. Do you recall the manager telling us there was a break-in several weeks ago? Nothing appeared to have been taken, but the file cabinets were rifled.”

“Jack, if a file was taken he probably ditched it in the first trash can he came to. It was just a prop.”

“Maybe you’re right. Let’s call some uniforms and have them check the receptacles in the parking deck. I’d be interested to know if he took it with him.”

“He could just have easily have dumped it someplace else,” Ben Furman said. “I agree with Beth. I think it’s a waste of time.”

Jack nodded slowly. “We’re in agreement that he was using the deposition for appearances, which the SWAT officer said was in his left hand. The wound on Walker’s throat indicates the murderer was left hand dominant. Let’s think for a moment. We’re dealing with a stone-cold killer. If there was trouble, he’d want that hand free to go for a weapon. But it wasn’t. So why carry three props: a deposition, a file, and a law book? That’s overkill. No, something about that file was important enough to take with him. Like the office selection, I don’t think it was random at all. In fact, I’m willing to bet the earlier break-in was a reconnoitering session. He also came to the building
wearing a blue pinstripe suit, which means he planned the hit well in advance.”

Beth stared at him for a moment, then said, “Damn.”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “It’s just a shot, but sometimes these things pay off. Do you still have the information sheet Samantha Pershing copied for you?”

“Right here.”

“Let’s see if we can track down Mr. Walker’s secretary. Maybe she can tell us which file the Sandman took.”

Beth stared at him for a second.

“Did I leave something out?” Jack said.

“No . . . it’s just sometimes you scare me.”

Before Beth could say anything further, the lab door opened and Janet Newton came in followed by Todd Milner.

“Glad to see you’re in one piece,” Jack said. “We were getting worried.”

“Sorry,” Milner said. “I was tied up. The cops in New York found Gabe Alonso floating in the East River. They needed his dental records to confirm identification.”

“Was he supposed to be in New York?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. He flew up to interview the senator and look over the aide’s computer. I was hoping they might give us a line on the killer. Just another dead end in this damn case.”

“I’m sorry, Todd. Was the MO the same as the fire marshal?”

Milner’s mouth tightened and he nodded. It was clear he was upset. “I had to break the news to Maria.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said again.

Beth and Furman echoed the sentiments.

“Bring me up to speed, would you?” Milner asked.

Jack spent a few minutes doing so. Milner and the FBI director listened without comment. At one point while Jack was explaining his conclusions, Janet smiled and a look passed between them. Beth didn’t know what that signified, which only served to resurrect her earlier annoyance. It was like being at a party where people were telling inside jokes.

If it’s so damn good, let the rest of us in on it.

“Lot of speculation here,” Milner commented.

“That’s basically what you do in the absence of hard evidence or clues,” Jack said.

“All right, let’s say I buy your theory,” Milner said. “How do we find what’s in the mystery file if the attorney’s dead?”

“His secretary’s not,” Beth pointed out.

“You have her name and contact information?”

“Right here.”

“Let me handle that,” Milner said. “I haven’t been much help so far. If there’s a cell number listed for her, we can track her down.”

“Great idea,” Jack said.

Beth got up and went to the copy machine. When she returned, she saw Janet put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and lean forward. She whispered something in his ear. They both laughed. Beth practically tossed the file at Milner, then stalked out of the office, saying she’d see them later.

Jack watched her go, wondering what was wrong with her today.

T
odd Milner looked through the file, found what he wanted, and left, taking the deputy director with him. Jack and Ben returned to analyzing the evidence. Approximately twenty minutes passed before the door opened and an Atlanta cop stuck his head in, “Is there a Professor Kale here?”

Jack raised his hand. “That’s me.”

“My sergeant said to tell you the Boy Scouts were a good idea.” The cop held up two large paper bags.

“The bomb parts!” Jack said.

“Jeremy Sparks and Geoff Lewis from Troop 1322 found these about an hour ago.”

“Where?”

“Scattered all over the base of the mountain. The kids have been working like demons out there.”

“I love it. Did the boys touch anything?”

“Not that I know of. As soon as they located a piece, they called Sergeant Hicks. We took photographs then used gloves to bag everything.”

“Excellent,” Jack said. “Let’s see what you brought us.”

The cop was a compact black man with a shaved head who looked to be somewhere in his early forties. A tag on his chest indicated his name was, “L. Dixon.”

“What’s the ‘L’ stand for?” Jack asked.

“LaDante.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that what they call you?”

“Not to my face. I go by LD.”

“I’m Jack, LD. This is Ben Furman who runs the place. Grab a seat.”

The cop nodded a greeting and pulled a stool up to the long table where they were working. Ben Furman removed the contents and divided them onto two metal trays.

“Amazing these things survived,” LD said.

“Not really,” Jack said. “Everyone believes when a bomb goes off it destroys itself. Usually that’s not the case. Often, more than ninety percent of it survives, but pieces are scattered in a million directions and are therefore hard to find.” Jack picked up a piece and examined it. “This looks like part of a timing circuit board. Am I correct, Ben?”

Furman was in the process of adjusting the focus on a digital camera. A series of flashes followed. He glanced at what Jack was holding and lifted his thumb in reply. “As soon as I download these images, I’ll fire off a priority request to a tech I know at the FBI’s Explosive Reference Collection. They might be able to help.”

“How?” LD asked.

Jack said, “Apart from the obvious, like finding a finger print, the way a bomb’s constructed can provide a clue as to who its maker is. The rule of thumb is we need about eight matches.”

“Good news and bad news,” Furman announced. “There are bits of paper here, which leads me to think we’re dealing with a military-grade explosive. I’d say C-5 as opposed to C-4.”

“Where would the bomber get that?” the cop asked. “It ain’t like you can run down to Home Depot and ask for this stuff.”

“No, but a fellow like Sergei Borov who sells military weapons might come in handy,” Jack said. “Can you tell anything about the circuit board, Ben?”

“The FBI will probably have the manufacturer. Three numbers are visible and a part of the fourth.”

“You said good news and bad news. Which was that?”

“The good.”

“And the bad?”

“Totally commonplace. It’s sold in about a bazillion stores and online.”

Jack shook his head. “You technical types really have a language all your own, don’t you?”

Furman smiled and said, “One thing I don’t see is a shunt.”

“What’s a shunt?” LD asked.

“An electrical wire that sets the bomb off automatically when it’s cut,” Furman explained. “There’s also no evidence of a mercury switch, which means it wasn’t triggered by altitude.”

“Meaning it would blow when the tram reached a certain height,” the cop said.

“Exactly,” Jack said. “That’s because there was no need for one. The killer knew they were there.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure how, but he knew.”

“You’re saying he was watching,” Furman said.

“Had to be,” Jack said. “Think it through. What are the odds the Sandman set two bombs up at Stone Mountain on the off chance the Lawrences might stop by for a visit?”

Furman and Officer Dixon looked at Jack, who raised his eyebrows twice in reply.