by Tripp Ellis
Agent Blake banged on the door and shouted, "ATF! We have a search warrant. Open up!”
We didn't expect much trouble at the location, but we took every precaution.
Margery Bailey pulled open the door a few moments later with a surprised look on her face. The mid-70s woman had short, curly gray hair and a round face that drooped around her jaw. The resemblance to Lamar was evident. Her saggy hazel eyes were faded, and her lips thin. "What's the problem? Does this have something to do with Lamar?”
"Yes, ma'am," Blake said, extending the warrant. "We need to search the home for explosive material."
Her eyes widened with terror. "Oh, dear!”
Margery looked flustered, as anyone would be. After the shock dissipated, she stepped aside and motioned us in.
ATF agents filed in and secured the area then searched the premises. This would be an extensive search, and no stone would be left unturned.
"You don't think Lamar has something to do with the bombings I've been hearing about on the news, do you?" Margery asked.
"Yes, ma'am, we do," I said.
Margery looked crushed. Her eyes filled. "People died in those attacks. Are you sure Lamar had something to do with this?"
"That's what we're here to find out, ma'am."
"Where is he now?"
"He's been taken into custody."
She sighed.
"Have you noticed anything suspicious about his behavior lately?"
"No. He really seems like he's trying to live a normal life now. You know, he works for the church. And he's been doing really well there. Father McKinley's taken him under his wing. He doesn't make a lot of money, so he’s living here with us. He's not drinking. He's not doing any drugs that I know about. He seems to have a good attitude. This doesn't make sense to me."
"Sometimes, people are really good about hiding the truth," I said. "Do you happen to remember if you bought transistor batteries from Improvement Depot sometime last April or May?"
I showed her a copy of the receipt.
"I don't recall doing so, but then again, my memory is not what it used to be. Why?"
I explained to her the batteries were from the same production batch used in the pipe bombs.
Margery looked mortified.
We joined the ATF as they turned the place completely upside down.
Lamar was into heavy metal music. There were posters of death metal bands on the walls in his room, and there was a guitar with a small practice amp in the corner. There were several stomp boxes in the signal chain—a delay pedal, a chorus, a phaser, and an overdrive distortion. They were little metal boxes a guitar player could step on, adding effects while playing.
JD spotted them and made a beeline to the practice amp. He disconnected one of the pedals and opened the battery compartment. Sure enough, inside was a 9V transistor battery. Wearing a pair of nitrile gloves, he pulled it out and looked at the lot number. It was the same brand and batch as the batteries found in the pipe bombs.
Agent Blake's eyes lit up with glee. "Good find! I never would have looked there.”
A prideful grin curled on JD's lips.
"I think we’ve got something," Agent Ross shouted a moment later as he peered into the closet. He reached for something on a shelf and grabbed a canister of gunpowder. He displayed it to the rest of the team. "Same brand of powder. If this isn't our guy, I'll eat my shoe."
We searched the rest of the home and the garage but didn't find any pipes, end caps, or wires. We also didn't find any red spray paint. It was quite possible Lamar manufactured the devices somewhere else or had used up other components.
On his desk, near the computer, there was a JetMax printer.
We confiscated all the evidence, wrapped up at the house, and returned to the station to interview the suspect.
28
“You misspelled here and tyranny,” I said.
I placed a copy of the letter that came with the second bomb on the table in front of Lamar. The ATF had pieced the fragments together. The letter read: As promised, her is another package of fun. The bombings will continue as long as the injustice and tyrany continue.
Lamar’s face twisted. He gave it a brief glance, then looked at me like I was crazy. “I didn’t write that.”
“Are you sure?”
“You got the wrong guy.”
“What’s the gunpowder for?”
He shrugged.
“I’m pretty sure possession of explosive material is a violation of your parole.”
Lamar swallowed hard and said nothing.
"Where are the rest of the materials?"
"What materials?"
"The pipes, end caps, wiring… Or did you use them all up? Are there other bombs?"
"I'm telling you, I didn't make any bombs."
"That letter, and the previous one, were printed on a JetMax. Just like the one you’ve got on your desk," I said.
"So?"
"I think it's time you come clean, Lamar. Two people are dead. And what has this really accomplished, other than a lot of sorrow and pain for the families of the victims?”
Lamar's face tensed. "I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with this. I did my time, I'm back on track, my life is good now. Why would I screw that up?"
"I guess the gunpowder is just for fun at parties?" JD snarked.
"I want an attorney," Lamar said.
“If that's the way you want to play it," I said.
We left Lamar in the tiny interrogation room and convened in the hallway outside. Sheriff Daniels joined us, having watched from the observation room.
"He's our guy," Agent Blake said confidently.
“Let’s hope so,” Daniels said. “I’d like to see that punk rot in a cell for the rest of his life if he’s responsible.”
"I think there's more than enough circumstantial evidence to build a solid case,” Payton said. “It’s a federal issue. I'll take this to the Assistant US Attorney and see if he wants to bring charges at this time. Nice work, gentlemen."
She extended her hand, and we shook. But I wasn’t sure it was so open and shut.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Payton said.
“I appreciate your cooperation,” I replied.
Payton looked at her watch and flashed a smile. “It’s almost happy hour. If anyone’s interested, drinks are on me.”
JD grinned. “You know, I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
Payton chuckled.
But the good mood didn’t last long. Denise rounded the corner, her face tensed with worry. “Sheriff, we have a problem.”
“What is it now?”
“Another package.”
“Where?”
“Here!”
That got our attention.
“A delivery guy dropped it off at the front desk. Deputy Hendrix almost picked it up, then she realized it could be a bomb.”
“I want everyone out of the building now,” Daniels commanded.
There was controlled chaos as we evacuated the building and waited in the parking lot while the EOD Unit sent in a robot to evaluate the package. It was sitting on the front desk where the delivery guy had left it.
Everyone was a little paranoid around the office. Especially when it came to packages.
“This is a great opportunity to get a better look at the construction,” Agent Blake said. "If we can render the device safe, that would be the ideal scenario.”
Sergeant Hartman headed up the EOD Unit. He responded flatly to Agent Blake, “I’ll try not to detonate the device.”
Her eyes narrowed at him.
Hartman remotely piloted a robot into the building to examine the package. The Remote Ordnance and Bomb Inspector, affectionately known as ROBI, was equipped with multiple cameras, thermal imaging, and a portable x-ray device. It had articulated arms for grabbing and manipulating packages. It was ideal for placing IEDs in bomb containment units for safe removal. T
he robot was an expensive piece of equipment, but it was better to lose a high-dollar robot than an agent or deputy any day.
"Who delivered the package?" Daniels asked Deputy Hendrix.
"I don't know,” she said. “I was on the phone, someone was at the desk wanting to file a stolen property report, there were people coming in and out… I was distracted."
"It wasn't the same guy from Speedy Shores, was it?"
"No. I don’t think so.”
We waited while Sergeant Hartman did his thing. The parking lot was filled with deputies and county employees. The murmur of gossip filled the air as we stood a safe distance away from the building.
JD took the opportunity to check his phone. “Look at this,” he said with a wide grin. He showed me the display. All I Need was at #3 on the charts.
“Moving up in the world.”
“Yessiree.” He kept surfing the web on his phone. It was his way of diffusing the tension. We were the ones being targeted now, and that was an unsettling proposition.
“Get a load of this,” JD said. He read the review aloud. “The knee jerk reaction to Wild Fury’s debut single ‘All I Need’ is indicative of everything wrong with the Internet. In a world dominated by formulaic electronic pop music, Wild Fury is a breath of fresh air. Real musicians playing real instruments in real-time. It’s raw, rugged, and untamed. There is no Autotune. The timing hasn’t been quantized. The dynamics haven’t been squeezed out of it by the use of too much compression. Thrash’s howling vocals cut through the clutter of modern music and speak to both a new and a seasoned generation—a fan base that craves authenticity. Wild Fury is, unapologetically, what they are. A great rock ‘n’ roll band. And the video is a fun romp through the protagonist’s journey of finding the one woman to make him complete. Something tells me that Wild Fury is too untamed to be caged. I, for one, am waiting impatiently for their next single.”
“Congratulations!” I said. “That’s a helluva review.”
JD had a grin on his face that wouldn’t fade. The only thing that could dampen his spirit would be an explosion in the Sheriff’s Office.
29
“Well, you can relax,” Deputy Hartman said. “Not a bomb.”
We all breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you sure?” Daniels asked.
Hartman showed him the x-ray image. “Does that look like a bomb to you?”
Daniels shook his head. "Do you have any idea what that is?"
"I have a few guesses."
The sheriff shouted to everyone in the parking lot. “Okay. False alarm. Back to work."
The crowd of county employees slowly trickled back into the station.
Deputy Hendrix frowned. "Sorry, Sheriff. Maybe I overreacted."
"Better safe than sorry. We're all alive and in one piece, and that's the only thing that matters."
I stepped back into the lobby, and Sheriff Daniels made a beeline for the package on the front desk. He studied the label carefully. "You sure this thing is not going to blow up in my face?"
"Positive," Deputy Hartman said.
The sheriff pulled out a pocket knife and sliced through the packing tape on the seams. He opened the box, then recoiled immediately, his face crinkling like he smelled something heinous. A stream of obscenities flew from his mouth.
Sergeant Hartman chuckled. "Looks like you’ve got a fan."
"Get that thing out of here!”
Hartman raised his hands innocently. “That's not my area. My work here is done."
“It’s a stink bomb,” Daniels groaned. “Diffuse it.”
Hartman scurried away.
Somebody had mailed a box of dogshit to the station.
"I want to find out who sent that damn thing,” Daniels grumbled. “And I want them charged for shipping hazardous materials."
The rank odor permeated the lobby, curling nose hairs. Nobody wanted to go near the box.
"Are you gentlemen still on for that drink?" Payton asked. "Or are you on shit detail?"
"That's not my area of expertise," JD said.
We stepped outside to get away from the smell.
“Any suggestions?" Payton asked.
"Wetsuit has good happy hour specials," JD suggested.
"We'll see you boys there," she replied.
We headed to Oyster Avenue and met the ATF agents at one of JD's favorite restaurants. We took a seat at a cocktail table near the bar, and a cute redhead took our order. Wearing bikini bottoms and a neoprene wetsuit jacket, unzipped down to her navel, her buoyant mounds were on full display.
"I can see what you like about this place," Payton said to JD.
"Like I said, the happy hour is reasonable, and the food is good."
Agent Blake rolled her eyes.
The redhead returned with our drinks a moment later, and we all lifted our glasses to toast.
"To another scumbag off the streets,” Agent Blake said.
We clinked glasses and sipped our beverages.
"You really think that's our guy?" I asked.
"I take it you don't?"
"I'm not sure."
"He fits. He checks all the boxes. The gunpowder, the printer, the batteries, the previous experience with Judge Perry and Charles Bamford. What more do you want? A confession? He’s been through the system. He knows the drill. He knows to keep his mouth shut."
"You're probably right."
"I know I'm right," she said with a cocky grin. "Sometimes, we get lucky. Enjoy this one."
I smiled and took another sip of my whiskey, though there was nothing about this case to enjoy.
A breaking news report flashed on the flatscreen display behind the bar. Paris Delaney stood in front of the Sheriff's Office and gave a report. "I'm here at the Coconut County Sheriff's Department where earlier there was a bomb scare which turned out to be a false alarm. Authorities say they have a suspect in custody that they believe is responsible for the bombing of a county judge and a former prosecuting attorney. Though, questions are being raised about the judge’s ethics. We've obtained information that thousands of pornographic images were found on Judge Perry’s office computer, along with email correspondence between himself and local prostitutes. Some local defense attorneys are calling for a full investigation into Judge Perry's record, questioning his ethics and bias in certain cases."
My jaw tensed, and my face reddened. I knew Sheriff Daniels would be pissed.
"How does she get this stuff?" JD asked.
"She's got a source in the department,” I grumbled. “She has to.”
“You might have to pump her for information,” JD said with a snicker.
I shot him a look.
"Is she a friend of yours?" Payton asked.
"An acquaintance," I said.
Payton was a smart woman. I didn't need to explain any further.
"Excuse me for a moment. I need to sort this out.” I stepped away from the table, pulled out my phone, and dialed Paris Delaney's cell phone.
She answered in a cheery tone. “Hey, I asked for you at the station, but they said you had already left. I was thinking maybe we could get together for a drink."
"What the hell was that?"
“What the hell was what?"
"That report."
"It's called the news. It's what I do."
"It's called ruining a man's reputation,"
"I didn't ruin anybody's reputation. It seems like the judge did that all on his own."
The muscles in my jaw flexed. "Where did you get that information?"
"I'm not revealing my sources," she said like it was an absurd question.
"Who is your source?"
"I'm not telling you."
"Somebody in the department is compromising operational security. I want to know who it is."
Paris scoffed. "Operational security, my ass. Judging by your hostility, I'll take that as confirmation my source is accurate."
I tried to contain my displeasure.
"Don
't get mad at me because I'm good at my job."
"The man is dead, for Christ sakes. He's got a family. Kids."
"You're right. I've been a bad girl. I need to be punished. Do you want to punish me later?" She asked in a seductive tone.
"No, I don't."
"Liar."
I got a call from Daniels on the other line. "I gotta go."
I clicked over. "I know she's got a nice ass, and sometimes that can compromise your judgment, but if you're feeding her information, so help me God—“
"I'm not feeding her information. I don't know where she's getting it from. We have a leak in the department."
"How much does she pay these people for information?"
"I don't know."
"Keep your eyes and ears open. I want to find out how she's getting this info."
“She’s not going to tell me.”
“I’m sure you can pry it out of her.”
Daniels ended the call, and I returned to the table.
"Did you get things sorted out with your girlfriend?" JD teased.
"She is not my girlfriend."
Agent Blake lifted an intrigued eyebrow.
"A momentary lapse of judgment," I said.
"There are no mistakes, Deputy Wild. Only learning experiences."
I agreed.
"I’ve got five dollars says she wakes up on the boat in the morning," JD said.
"I'll take that bet because she is not coming over for a midnight rendezvous."
"I mean, I wouldn't blame you. I’d let her teach me a thing or two."
"I'm a man of principle, and I'm mad at her."
"Yeah, well, principles go out the window at closing time,” JD said.
I chuckled.
"I'm sure Deputy Wild has no shortage of learning opportunities," Agent Blake said. There was a little more than curiosity in her voice.
"What can I say. I'm an eternal student." I smiled.
Payton laughed.
"Either that or you're just dumb," JD added.
I scowled at him playfully. “You’re one to talk.”
We ordered another round of drinks and swapped stories about cases. When Agent Ross took the last sip of his drink, he looked at his watch. "Well, gentlemen… if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home. My wife gets a little concerned if I have extended Happy Hours with Agent Blake."