Wild Rage

by Tripp Ellis

  "Okay,” I said like it was no big deal, like I didn’t care either way. “We can arrange a public defender for you because I'm sure you don't have enough money to pay for your own defense. I'm sure it's been difficult to pay rent and bills while your father's been away. I mean, between school and the part-time jobs, I really don't know how you're getting by. Now, public defenders aren’t a bad thing, but don't expect miracles."

  JD and I pushed away from the table and walked toward the door. I was hoping she'd stop us before we left, but she said nothing.

  We pushed into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind us.

  "Do you think she has any involvement in this?" JD asked.

  “I don't know. But maybe we can get one to roll over on the other.”

  We let Kyle sit in the interrogation room for another hour. I wanted to get a confession out of him. We had enough circumstantial evidence, I thought, but I wanted it airtight. So did everyone else involved.

  We finally pushed back into the interrogation room and took a seat across the table. I stared at Kyle for a long time and didn't say anything. His face was slick with sweat at this point in time.

  "I must say, you and your sister must have a really special bond. I mean, you're all each other’s got right now."

  "Yeah, why do you say that?"

  "Because of what she did for you."

  He looked confused. "What did she do?”

  “She said she was the one that made and sent the bombs. She said you didn't have anything to do with it.”

  His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. "What?"

  "Yup. She signed a confession."

  His face crinkled. “Why would she do that?"

  “I guess it’s a twin thing. I can tell you, my sister wouldn’t do that for me."

  Kyle stammered, “How long will she go to prison for?"

  "She's never getting out."

  Kyle swallowed hard. His jaw tensed, and his face reddened again.

  “But we’re both juveniles,” Kyle said.

  I chuckled and shook my head. “You’re both emancipated minors. Besides, this is a capital case. You’ll be prosecuted as adults.” I paused. “You didn’t do all this thinking that you’d be charged as a minor and just get a slap on the wrist, did you? They’ll seek the death penalty in a case like this, despite your age. You’re 17, Kyle. Old enough to know better.”

  Kyle swallowed hard. The stone look on his face vanished, and panic filled his eyes. “Kristin’s lying, okay."

  "How is she lying?"

  "You guys forced her to confess."

  "We didn't force anything. She didn’t want to see you go away for the rest of your life or die from a lethal injection.”

  His eyes misted.

  Kyle hesitated, took a deep breath, then blurted, “She didn't do it. It was all me."

  "And you expect us to believe you?"

  "I'm telling you, I did it. She had nothing to do with it!”

  I stifled my urge to grin at the fact a suspect was trying to convince me of his guilt. “Why should we believe she had no involvement?”

  “I can tell you things she doesn’t know about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Did she tell you about the other bomb?”

  That took me by surprise. “There is another bomb?”

  “Yup!”

  “Where?”

  Kyle got a cocky look on his face. “I tell you what... You tear up her confession and give me a deal—a good one—one where I don't spend the better part of my life behind bars—and I'll tell you where the next bomb is. See, at this point, I’ve really got nothing to lose. Two people dead, or two-hundred, it's all the same. You can only give me the death penalty once."

  I exchanged a wary glance with JD.

  "When is the bomb going to detonate?"

  Kyle smiled. "Very, very soon."

  43

  “Looks like he used a cheap cell phone as a timer to detonate the pipe bomb at the school,” Payton said. “So, he might not be bluffing about another bomb.”

  We sat under the fluorescent lights in the conference room with Agents Ross, Blake, and Sheriff Daniels, trying to figure out our next move.

  “Why did he bomb the school?” Blake asked.

  “Miss Bell gave him an F on a recent test,” I said. “I think he wanted to test out a timed device.”

  “Does the sister know Kyle confessed?” Blake asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I can tell you this, I know the Assistant US Attorney well, and Matt’s not going to give that kid the deal he’s looking for. He’ll take the death penalty off the table. That’s about it.”

  “We need to identify likely targets,” Daniels said. “Assume no cooperation from the kid. Let’s get the dogs in and sweep the courthouse, this office, and other county offices for explosives. Let’s identify everyone involved in Kyle’s father’s prosecution. They’re all potential targets. Alert the State prison where his father is incarcerated. That could be a target as well. Who knows, the kid might want to bomb the warden or staff.”

  Daniels had spoken, and everyone listened, including the Feds. There was no telling how much, or how little, time we had to find and render safe the latest device.

  We left the conference room and stepped back into the interrogation room where we had let Kristin sit. I told her about her brother's confession and that we knew about the additional bomb. "If you know anything about the device, now would be the time. If you withhold information, you could face additional charges, even if you didn’t take part in the bomb’s construction or placement.”

  Her face was stiff, and her eyes flicked between the two of us as she contemplated her fate. "I told you, I want to speak with an attorney."

  It was clear we’d get no help from her. We were gonna have to do this on our own. We left her in the interrogation room and stepped into the hallway.

  My phone buzzed with a call from Destiny Delight. I looked at the screen with curiosity. I answered the call, "This is Deputy Wild."

  "Hey, doll. I've got something you might be interested in."

  "I'm listening."

  "Actually, I've got a few things you might be interested in," she said in a naughty tone, "but one is related to the girl you asked about.”

  “Continue.”

  “I was talking with a friend of mine. She saw the girl and her friend, Raven, at a hotel a few weeks ago. The girl was going by the name Starr. I'm pretty sure these are the same girls you’re looking for. Anyway, my friend said the girls were working the hotel bar. They were new, and she was able to spot them from a mile away. She talked to both of the girls, gave them some pointers, and offered to take them under her wing. She said with a little polishing and guidance, they could make way more money."

  "So, your friend is a madam?"

  "Of sorts. She manages several girls and provides protection. But Starr and Raven wanted to stick it out on their own. Anyway, she spoke to me under the condition of complete anonymity."

  "Sure. The only thing I care about is finding Raven."

  "My friend exchanged numbers with the girls in case she had some job opportunities for them. I can give you Raven’s number if you're interested."

  "I'm interested."

  Destiny texted me the digits.

  "Thank you."

  "Just remember I did you a favor if I ever get into a bind."

  "I will."

  I ended the call, updated JD, then dialed Raven’s number. She answered after a few rings. "Hello?"

  "Is this Raven?"

  "Who is this?"

  "A mutual friend gave me your number. I'm calling about your friend, Mindy."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  "I'm afraid I do. Don't hang up, I'm with the Coconut County Sheriff's Department. I need to talk to you about your friend. You're not in any trouble."

  "What happened?"

  "I'm sorry to tell you, but Mindy was murdered."

  Raven gasped,
and sobs filtered through the phone. She cried for a few minutes. She finally asked, “Who killed her?”

  "That's what we're trying to find out, and we need your help. When was the last time you saw her?"

  "A week ago, Wednesday. She got into this guy’s truck, and that was the last time I saw her. I called, texted, nothing. I've been worried sick about her. I'm so freaked out. She is my only friend."

  "Why didn't you report her missing?"

  "What was I supposed to do? Call the Sheriff's Department and say, hey, me and my friend are hookers, and a client kidnapped my friend?”

  "Tell me about the truck and the guy driving it?"

  44

  "I didn't really get a good look at the guy," Raven said.

  "What about the truck?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I don't really know cars."

  "Was it big like a Super Duty, or small like an import."

  "Small. An import."

  "Did it have a Florida license plate, or was it from out of state?"

  "I don't know," she whined. "I think it was from Florida."

  “Was there anything identifiable about the truck? Dents, stickers, rust?”

  “Yeah. The back bumper was dented like he backed into a pole.”

  "And this was Wednesday afternoon, evening?"

  "Evening."

  "What time?"

  "It wasn't too late. Maybe 10 o'clock."

  “Did you hear from Mindy after that?"

  "No."

  "Would you be willing to come to the station and fill out an official report?"

  She hesitated. "You're not going to arrest me, are you?"

  "No. You’d just be making a sworn statement."

  She hesitated for another long moment. "Okay. I can do that. But you promise I'm not going to get arrested."

  "You're not going to get arrested. I have no evidence that you've done anything illegal."

  "Okay. Where do I go?"

  I gave her the address to the Sheriff's Office.

  "I don't have a car," she said.

  "Where are you now? I'll send a deputy to pick you up."

  She gave me the address, and I had Mendoza pick her up and bring her to the station.

  I found Denise in the office and asked her to look up every male owner of a white, imported pick-up truck.

  There were five trucks on the island that met that criteria.

  I didn't have time to run down five leads today. The bomb was the more pressing matter.

  Raven arrived at the station, made her statement, and gave a vague description of the driver to a sketch artist. She said it was dark, and she didn't get a good look inside the car. But she recalled the suspect as a white male, dark hair, wearing sunglasses, even at night. Medium-build. She guessed his age was between 30 and 50.

  The sketch wasn’t very useful. A dude with short hair, sunglasses, and a narrow face.

  I told Raven about all the city programs and shelters available for the homeless, but she didn't seem interested. Despite everything that happened, she wanted to remain in the lifestyle.

  I couldn’t understand why anyone would choose that lifestyle. But the shelters had curfews and a zero-tolerance policy toward drugs. That was a deal-breaker for many in Raven’s situation. I could see the tracks on her arm—she was definitely using. I hoped I wouldn’t be investigating her murder or overdose in a few months' time.

  Dogs searched the Sheriff's Office for any explosive devices. The courthouse was swept multiple times, along with other county buildings.

  There were no explosives found.

  The thought among many was that Kyle was full of hot air, looking to strike a deal over a nonexistent threat.

  I called Miss Bell and asked about Kyle's friends.

  "Kyle really withdrew after his father's incarceration,” she said. “He didn't have a lot of friends to begin with, but he's really close to Callum. You might want to speak to him."

  "Thank you."

  Daniels found me in the main office, standing beside Denise’s desk. "I just spoke with the nerd herd. They’ve been searching through Kyle’s social media and his Internet browsing history. They are looking through all the computers confiscated from the house, including his sister’s. We might have a big problem on our hands."

  I looked at him with curious eyes.

  "Our pipe bomber may have graduated to something bigger. And there’s something else you should be aware of.”

  I cringed and told Miss Bell I would call her back.

  "Looks like our bomber used crypto currency to order large quantities of ammonium nitrate and aluminum flake powder from the dark web. The order was placed from Kristin’s computer. She had the materials shipped to a neighbor’s house the next street over, which is vacant and for sale.”

  My eyes widened with surprise, and I exchanged a glance with Denise. I asked the sheriff if he thought the two of them were in on it together.

  He shrugged. “Looks that way.”

  There was a slight smirk on Denise’s lips. “Looks like you owe me $100 bucks.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. They could both be involved.”

  “The bet was whether a woman was involved,” she said with a smug grin. “Not whether she was the only one involved. I’ll reserve judgment until this thing pans out, but I think you’re gonna owe me $100 bucks.”

  “I think this cancels each other out,” I said, trying to weasel out on a technicality.

  “Nope. If she’s involved in any capacity, you pay.”

  I frowned at her playfully.

  It dawned on me what the fake ID was for. It wasn't just for buying beer or explosive material. “Kyle’s fake ID has him listed as 25 years old. That’s old enough to rent a vehicle.”

  “So?” Denise asked.

  “A vehicle large enough to hold several drums of ammonium nitrate mixed with aluminum flake powder and fuel oil could do massive amounts of destruction. Even parked across the street, it could probably level the County Courthouse.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  I continued, “The pipe bombs were just tests. With that experience, the duo knew they could create a primary charge that would detonate a secondary charge of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil. They could do it remotely with a cell phone timer.”

  The sheriff’s face tightened.

  I asked Denise to call all the rental companies and see if Kyle had rented anything recently under his assumed name.

  I told Daniels, “We're looking for a van. Maybe even a moving van. Redirect the search to focus on the areas around the courthouse and other county buildings. Look for any vehicles that could fit the description."

  Sheriff Daniels nodded in agreement.

  45

  It didn’t take deputies long to find a suspicious vehicle. A nondescript white van was parked across the street from the courthouse. The license plate matched that of a van rented to Kyle’s alias, John David. It blended in with the other county vehicles.

  The courthouse was evacuated, along with the neighboring buildings. The street was blocked off, and the EOD unit brought in. The area swarmed with patrol cars, emergency responders, EMTs, paramedics, and firefighters. Red and blue lights flickered. Tango One hovered overhead along with a few news helicopters. Several news vans arrived on the scene, and camera crews gathered footage. Paris Delany was among the reporters.

  ROBI had been damaged in the school explosion and was inoperable. That meant someone would have to personally evaluate the van.

  Hartman suited up in the green blast suit and trudged toward the van, looking like some kind of alien from another world. The tension among the responders was palpable. Even a block away, if that vehicle was packed with ammonium nitrate and fuel oil, none of us would be safe.

  We watched as Hartman surveyed the van, peering in through the windows, making sure not to disturb the vehicle in any way.

  After the initial investigation, he trudged back and pulled off the blast helmet. His face was coated wi
th sweat. The heat inside the suit was stifling. By the look on his face, I could tell things weren't good.

  "There are four 55-gallon drums in the back of that van. The doors are booby-trapped and it looks like there's a cell phone that's being used as a timer. There may be some type of motion trigger as well. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past that kid." Hartman frowned. “We need to push the perimeter back. We are currently within the potential blast radius.”

  I was familiar with these types of devices. They were easy to build from readily available materials. Most likely, when the cell phone timer buzzed, it would trip a relay to a battery that would detonate a primary charge, that would then detonate the secondary charge of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil mixed with aluminum flake powder. Ammonium nitrate needed an explosive charge to detonate it, making it highly stable and safe to transport. It was commonly used by farmers to blast tree stumps from fields and reduce the size of pesky boulders.

  The deputies pushed back the barricades, moving a full block in all directions.

  We had no idea when the device was set to detonate. Every second was crucial.

  I called Isabella and asked her if there was a way to hack the cell phone and disable the timer.

  “In theory, there are zero day exploits that could be used to access the device,” she said. “Depends on the manufacturer and software. No code is ever without vulnerabilities. Do you have the device number?”

  “No, but I can tell you exactly where it is,” I said. I gave her the location. “It should be the only phone within a two-block radius.”

  I heard her fingers clack against a keyboard. A few minutes later she said, “Found it.”

  “What can you tell me about the device?”

  “Off brand. Samyong CX12.”

  “Can you install malware and control the device?”

  "Depends. Some of the off brands can be a little more difficult because they're not used as frequently. I hired a couple of tech guys from the major developers. Some that actually wrote the code for the more popular phones. They were able to find more than a few weaknesses in the name brands. Let me talk to the tech guys, and I'll get back with you."