by Rachel Lee
He paused, closing his eyes against a wave of pain. The long-ago poisoning was making its final inroads. He didn’t have long, but long enough to make them pay for what they’d done to him, not just back then when they sprayed the poison on him, but for so many years after when they denied they’d injured him.
That betrayal was worse than the poisoning to his mind. The poisoning was an accident of war. Denying it had harmed him was a bureaucratic evil. It was the evil he wanted to avenge.
He opened his eyes and looked at the photo of his squad that hung on the wall. They’d been leaving the Nam for a rotation home. All of them looked like hollow-eyed skeletons, unshaven, rumpled and—unbeknownst to them—dying.
He was the only survivor remaining. The last one of them had died last year. Judging by the letters he’d received over the years, the same could be said for many of the Vietnamese who’d fought beside him.
The big lie. The big secret.
Anger flared in him again, but he tamped it down. These days, anger exhausted him, and he didn’t have time for that. Right now he needed absolute calm for some very careful work.
One more test run, he hoped. Just one. Then he’d take care of the buggers who had betrayed them all.
* * *
Alex awoke to another rainy day. After a quick shower, dressed in work clothes, he went out to see if Darcy was awake and wanted breakfast.
She was gone.
He glanced at the clock and saw it was just after 7:00 a.m. He’d bet she was already at work at the school.
He understood the obsessive need to solve the problem. He’d shared it for years. It helped make a good investigator, but he also knew the toll it took.
However, he wasn’t far from sharing her concern. Yeah, they’d talked about it repeatedly, but the conviction there’d be another bombing was steadily becoming more than speculation for the two of them. He was beginning to feel it in his bones, and when that happened he never dismissed it.
This guy had fired the first salvo in his rampage. He dreaded thinking of what the second move might be.
With his large insulated carrier in hand, he stopped at the diner and bought a bunch of egg-and-sausage breakfasts, as well as enough coffee for an army. Officers and firefighters were out there working, even at this early hour, and the day was inhospitable.
At the school, he saw nothing unusual. The police still kept an eye on the perimeter, and only a handful of cars filled the parking lot, most of them police vehicles.
He passed out coffees to everyone outside, then stepped inside with the chest and announced he had breakfast for anyone who wanted it. The coffee disappeared fast, the breakfast containers less so. In the end he was able to send one of the deputies outside with enough foam containers for the guards out there.
Darcy had given him a small wave when he entered, but she was deep in discussion with Deputy Micah Parish. Promising? He walked over with cups of coffee for each of them, hoping he could find out what was going on.
Micah greeted him with that faint smile. He remembered hearing about when Micah first arrived in town over two decades ago. He’d been a friend of the old sheriff’s and was given a job as a deputy, but that didn’t protect him from the local prejudice, at least not at first. Micah’s Cherokee heritage was stamped plainly on his face, and he’d had a real showdown with Maude, who owned the City Diner. Details had been blurred by time, but the animosity Maude had felt for him had apparently long since dissipated.
“Any news?” he asked.
“Micah called me earlier,” Darcy said. “We’d been discussing these heavy metal fragments. I was going to send some to the lab this morning to see if we could find any clues as to what they came from. But Micah remembered something.”
“That I did.” Micah squatted and placed his coffee on the canvas covering the floor beside the pyramid of twisted, burned metal. “When I was in the Special Forces in Vietnam, we got a lot of training in bomb making. We used to joke we could make a bomb out of damn near anything...and we could pretty much. Big ones, little ones. The little ones were easier and had more uses. They were the kind we most often had to make. But...” He pointed to the metal. “Ammunition can.”
Alex squatted beside him. “How the hell can you tell?”
“That’s exactly what I asked,” Darcy said, a tremor of amusement in her voice.
“The metal,” Micah said simply. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen it after it’s blown up. It was the feel of it. Anyway, we used them often when we needed a container for a bomb. Unfortunately, used ones are available from lots of places.”
“But for ammo storage I would think,” Darcy said.
“Yeah,” said Micah. “You’d think.”
“But someone who knows they make a good container for explosives...”
Micah stood up with his coffee. “I can’t guarantee it was an ammo can. You need analysis to be certain, but I pretty much am.”
“So the question becomes who would think of using an ammo can that way,” Darcy remarked.
“Lots of people,” Micah answered. “Probably most of them are vets. Most people would only see them as a great way to store ammunition. They’re tight. They keep it dry, so long-term storage is a good use. The boxes most people buy ammo in won’t keep it that long, depending on temperature and humidity. But there’s a reason the military designed these cans. Until you open them, they’re air-and watertight. They’re also reusable and resealable. Easy to come by from surplus stores.”
“How many do you think there might be around here?”
“Dozens, maybe more, easily. Lots of hunters and plenty of ranchers who need to protect their stock from vermin. So we have lots of guns, and I’d bet most people buy larger quantities of bullets and would probably want a place to keep ’em dry. Of course, you could use them for storing other things you want to keep dry.”
Alex stood up as well, and let Darcy do the talking. Her job and not his place. He wondered if he’d stepped out of that place last night and that’s why she’d left this morning without letting him know. Come to that, considering he had no official status, it was a wonder she hadn’t told him to get lost and stay away.
And this was a doozy of a time to be thinking about how much he wanted a few quiet hours with this woman, about how much he wanted to hold her and learn her body from head to toe. What was wrong with him? More important things needed his attention right then. But he still couldn’t prevent the quiet hum of hunger he was beginning to feel every time he saw her. Then her eyes met his just briefly, and warmth zapped his loins. Did he see his hunger reciprocated? But the moment was gone faster than an eyeblink.
“An ammo can,” she repeated thoughtfully, staring into space. Then she looked at both Micah and Alex. “What’s the likelihood only someone with military experience would think of using one for a bomb?”
Micah moved his head an inch to one side, almost a shrug. So Alex spoke. “Highly likely.”
“Why do you say that?” Darcy asked, pinning him with a sharp look.
“Remember what you hear about on the news all the time. Pipe bombs, mainly. Hell, even in movies, it’s pipe bombs. Yeah, pressure cooker bombs were used in Boston, but again, no reference to ammo cans. We’re flooded with images of terrorists wearing belts of plastic explosives. There’s no reason to think that someone who has never learned to use an ammo can that way would even conceive of it, Darcy. It’s neither intuitively obvious, nor part of the mainstream culture. Not many people would even consider an ammo can for a bomb.”
“That still leaves detonation.”
Micah spoke. “Small hole. You can insert the detonator or the det cord, and seal it with caulk. You’ve still got the container you need for ANFO.”
She compressed her lips. “I gotta get this stuff to the lab, fast. I need to know if it’s from an ammo can.”
�
��I’ll grab a big evidence bag,” Micah said. “Give someone a call and let them know I’m coming, then tell me where to take it.”
Five minutes later, the state crime lab said they were standing by and would start analysis immediately.
Darcy and Alex moved outside, watching Micah leave with a heavy-duty Tyvek bag full of the metal fragments.
“I still need to figure out the detonator,” Darcy remarked. She turned once again to Alex. “How many vets around here?”
“I don’t know exactly, but a good many. A better question is how many of them would have gone off the rails this way. And the person to talk with about that is the sheriff.”
* * *
Jack was misbehaving again and he knew it, but he’d got near the school and was listening as Darcy and Alex stepped outside. He watched Micah take off with a big bag, then heard Darcy ask, “How many vets around here?”
A veteran? Jack’s heart quickened. He might be just a kid, but he knew a few, including some who just plain didn’t like people all that much. He wondered if they should head his list for questioning.
Yes, he decided. But he’d have to be careful not to be a nuisance, because sure as he was sitting here, they’d call his parents, who weren’t very happy with him right now.
He eased back away from the corner and waited for Darcy and Alex to go back inside, aware that time was getting short. He’d been hearing that on Monday the high school would move classes to the college campus, where they’d been given room. Soon he’d be tied down again and limited in his excursions.
Once Darcy and Alex disappeared inside, Jack strode back to his aging Chevy as if he owned the world. Nobody questioned him.
* * *
Alex knew he was taking a leap about the ammo cans, but if it turned out that the metal debris was indeed a military ammo can, then it wasn’t a huge leap. He was used to making assessments of this kind. His evaluation of who was likely to use such a container was indeed based on his knowledge of what would occur to most people.
Some things just weren’t in the mainstream, and that was one of them. Yeah, it was possible somebody else conceived of it, knowing he needed a container, but it was easier to run to the hardware store and buy pipe and caps. No surplus stores in this town. He’d have to find out where the nearest was.
And that wouldn’t rule out ordering the cans online.
“Darcy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you get your colleagues to check for online orders of ammo cans in the last year or so?”
“Of course.” She paused as she walked through the grid, seeking another clue. “Why online?”
“It’s easy to find out where the nearest surplus store is. But if this guy doesn’t want to be remembered, he might think he’d be safer ordering supplies online.”
She pursed her lips and looked down a moment before raising a smiling face. “You know, when I first met you and heard you were former FBI, I was afraid of interference. Now I wonder what random chance dropped you into the middle of this because you’re remarkably helpful with the human aspects.”
He returned her smile but shook his head a little. “I could also be wrong. It’s been known to happen, sometimes spectacularly. So don’t close any line of investigation because of something I say. We’ve got so little to go on right now.”
She nodded and resumed her stroll, examining the bits and pieces. “If a bomber only acts once, it’s possible we’ll never get him. We need a chain of evidence. But you know that. Anyway, without that chain to tie a person to the scene, we might never find out who did it. Fortunately, most people leave some kind of trail no matter how careful they are.”
“Like the Atlanta bomber,” he remarked.
“Exactly. Everyone lit on the security guard who found the backpack and literally saved people’s lives by clearing the area. All because he was so damn obvious. Then we researched a little more and realized we’ve seen that MO before. Linking up cases from around the country. It took some time. I hope it doesn’t take time here because people seldom build bombs just to blow a hole in the wall of a school in the middle of the night.”
She squatted again suddenly and picked up a twisted, melted piece of plastic. “Det cord?” she asked herself, her voice barely a murmur.
Alex closed his eyes briefly. Det cord and ammo cans? The story here wasn’t just the ANFO. His eyes snapped open. “Let’s see if we can get together with the sheriff. I want to pick his brain.”
“Me, too,” she said, straightening with the short length of plastic in her gloved hand. She pulled out a small evidence bag and wrote on it quickly with a marker. “I wish I’d been able to send this with Micah.”
Too late for that, Alex thought. He grabbed his empty insulated chest on the way back to the car, while holding his phone to his ear. Gage agreed to meet them right away.
* * *
Alex had become her sidekick, Darcy thought as she drove behind his pickup into town. All the initial resistance she had felt had vanished rapidly. Which reminded her, she needed to check in.
She got her boss on the phone quickly. “How’s it going?” Vince Malkin demanded.
“Slowly. At this time I’m not sure having a whole team here would make much difference, honestly. I’m getting good support from local agencies, but right now I’m up against a barrier we’re trying to break through. You’ve probably seen my reports. Small ANFO bomb, yes. Oddly placed... Have you seen my vector analysis of the explosion?”
“Just a sec.”
She heard some typing in the background.
“I’ve got it in front of me,” he said. “Compact explosion. Small container, bigger than a pipe bomb.”
“That’s my read, too. We think we’ve found the remains, but the evidence is on the way to the lab to make sure. It’s been tentatively identified as a military ammo can. And I just found what I think is the first piece of det cord.”
“That’s interesting,” Vince said slowly. “This guy isn’t exactly inexperienced then.”
“That’s my thought right now. The sheriff’s people are hunting for detonator purchases but they’re coming up blank. Of course, det cord has a long shelf life. It could have been hanging around in someone’s house for a long time.”
“Ten years under the right conditions,” he answered. “Okay. I wish I could send you more help, but I just sent four agents down to Georgia to assist with a string of bombs scattered around synagogues and churches. Ugly. Anyway, I’m still stretched. Can you manage?”
“So far,” she answered truthfully. “So far we have one bomb, minimal damage and no dead or injured. However, we are concerned about a repeat.”
“I would be, too,” Vince said. “Damn bomb seems utterly pointless right now. So...” He didn’t finish. “If you start feeling swamped, let me know. I’ll find a useful body somewhere. I hope.”
“Right now more help would probably be overkill. I’ve also got a former BSU psychologist helping me.”
“Well, that’s probably useful. I could use a few of them myself, but the waiting list is long. Take advantage.”
She disconnected just as she was pulling into the angled parking space next to Alex outside the sheriff’s offices.
Inside, Velma waved them to the back, hardly giving them a look. Gage sat in his office framed by a stack of files and a computer that was clearly old.
“You need a flat-screen monitor,” Alex said to him.
“Why?” Gage asked. “It’d just make more room for paper. I’m still trying to figure out why I need both.” He pointed to the stack on the corner of his desk. “Printouts. Why?”
Alex laughed and shrugged. “Electronic data can disappear.”
“So why bother?” Gage shook his head, but he was smiling. “So what’s up?”
Alex looked at Darcy, evidently waiting for her to speak. “W
e may have found the bomb container. An ammo can. And a piece of det cord.”
Gage leaned back and rubbed his chin. “You’re the bomb expert. What’s that telling you?”
“Ex-military,” she said. “Alex feels, probably rightly, that using an ammo can to contain a bomb probably wouldn’t occur to someone who’d never been exposed to that use.”
Gage’s eyes shifted to Alex. “How so?”
“Gage, you know what most people see on TV or the movies and in the news. The most exotic container they’ve heard of has been a pressure cooker. The rest of the devices are all plastic explosives or pipe bombs. I just don’t think it would occur out of the blue to someone.”
Gage pulled his keyboard closer and typed briefly. “Well, it certainly doesn’t come up among the top usages listed for ammo cans. And you’d probably have to search for it specifically. Searching for making a bomb... Well, no ammo cans. Okay, if that’s what it is, very useful info.”
He leaned back from his desk and looked at Darcy. “So what are you thinking?”
“That there are probably too many vets to check out around here. So do you have any ideas to narrow it down?”
“Good question.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I might better ask some of my friends among the vets. They’d be the likeliest to know who might be that unhinged. I’m not going to guarantee any results, though. A lot of vets have problems and they try to help each other.”
“I know,” she answered. “I hate to focus in on them. But...” She shrugged. “Unless you can find me someone from the school who just wanted a week off...”
He nodded. “I haven’t. It’s not that we don’t have our troublemakers. It’s always possible that one of them conceived of this, but we’re not getting any hints that it’s school related. It’s such a damn strange thing, start to finish.” He leaned forward again and Darcy didn’t miss his wince. “So we’re thinking this might have been a trial run? Because I don’t see any purpose in it otherwise.”
“We are,” Darcy agreed. “And I hope we’re wrong. But we need to find some information about the perp that’s useful. Anything. Right now we can tell you loads about the bomb, but not a damn thing about who or why. That worries me. An empty building? In the middle of the night? Give me a purpose that doesn’t involve testing the device and I’ll be thrilled.”