A Danger to Himself and Others: Bomb Squad NYC Incident 1

by J. E. Fishman

  She looked into his eyes. Yearning there. But also a thread of shame. She turned away from him, suddenly back in charge of herself, like someone had thrown a switch.

  “What did you do to those guys?” Diaz asked, still standing bare-chested.

  A sneer crossed her face. “I fucked them, is that what you want to hear?”

  “I want to hear whatever’s the truth.”

  “Seduced them and gave myself to them right there in the hospital room.”

  She was a lunatic, Diaz realized. But he dared not say it aloud, didn’t want to break the spell.

  “All three?”

  “Of course all three. Albie, Gavin, Lewis. That’s why I remember them so well. And I’d bet they remember me, too.”

  “You’re forgetting that two of those guys are dead. They don’t have no more memories.”

  “I did everything I could to make them whole, Detective. Above and beyond the call of duty. They were broken and I proved to them that there was still love in the world. Proved to them that they were still men.”

  And that you were still a woman, he wanted to add. Diaz noticed that she’d spoken with a tinge of pride, but also with an expression of agony on her face. He reached reflexively for his own scar and knew that she hadn’t done what she did just for those men. Without knowing her entire story, he knew for sure that she was broken, too—broken and in need of fixing. Screwing those guys didn’t only prove their wholeness, he suspected. The act made her whole, too.

  He turned away and dressed himself in silence, feeling her presence behind him, still standing there.

  “Don’t I turn you on?” she said.

  He shook his head. “Do you have anything for me?”

  “Only that which you won’t take.”

  He strapped his harness back on and slipped into his jacket. “Those men… In their position, it wasn’t a choice. You took advantage of them.”

  She sniffed at that. “I gave them what they needed. So what if I took back what I needed in return. But I didn’t kill them, Detective. I fucked them, but that was years ago. And I didn’t kill them, didn’t even know they were dead until you told me.”

  “You have any idea who might’ve done this?”

  She barely hesitated. “A big strong man comes all this way just to find that out. Wouldn’t I tell you if I had?”

  KAHN WAS AT HOME AT four o’clock when the phone rang. He lived with his second wife and their two young kids in a row house in Bayside, Queens, two rooms on each floor, plus a carpeted basement, which was filled with toys. He was helping them clean it up when he saw Diaz’s name on the Caller ID.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Ninety-five, three hours from home. I made a little freelance visit.”

  “O’Shea told me. Then I saw your text.”

  “Right. You ain’t pissed?”

  “The important thing is, did you find anything?”

  “It was way weird, Sarge. The nurse knew both victims but I didn’t see anything that ties her to their murders.”

  “What about the third guy, the one we’re now looking for?”

  “The nurse admits knowing him, too. But she’s ten cc’s short of a full syringe.”

  “What the hell’s that mean?”

  “She’s nuts, Sandy. Stark raving mad, if you ask me. She made me show her my battle scar and it got her all hot and bothered.”

  “Angry?”

  “Horny.”

  “Don’t tell me the rest.”

  “Ain’t nothing to tell there. All three of those vets...she seduced them when they were on their backs in the hospital.”

  “How is that relevant?”

  “It’s not, so long as you believe in her good intentions. On the other hand, it must mean something. I just can’t figure out what. They find this Salinowsky guy yet?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he’s the perp.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Of what?”

  “The other two guys?”

  “But that was years ago. And how would he even know?”

  “Just a stab. She claims herself not to have ever seen any of them since the hospital. My gut tells me she’s telling the truth, so far as that goes. Whether they corresponded, she hesitated before denying it. There’s a piece missing.”

  “More than a piece, Diaz. Salinowsky could be the perp, but for my money he fits more into the pattern as the next victim.”

  “I agree.”

  “One thing protecting him may be how hard he is to find. If the bomber’s working off veterans’ records like we are, he’s also got the same postal box address as us, no more.”

  “On the other hand, he’s been at this longer—more time to search for him. Can Burbette help?”

  “FBI’s riding shotgun but they don’t have anything we don’t. All we’re getting from them is a little manpower. Your MP in Germany provided more info than all of Burbette’s channels put together. Sometimes you got to go off the reservation. Like you did.”

  Diaz paused. Kahn knew he was waiting for the thank-you that wasn’t going to come. The sergeant worried that his charge had a hero complex, which could cause a guy to act out, already had in this case. With all the pressure from on high, he felt grateful that the kid had pushed the envelope, taking initiative to track down the MP and the nurse on his own. But his approach to the bag at St. Pat’s showed that he liked to skirt fine lines and sometimes ended up crossing them. And then there was that bit about walking in traffic on the West Side Drive. Kahn couldn’t let himself forget that.

  “You’re welcome,” Diaz said into the silence.

  That set Kahn off. “Don’t be a prima donna, Manny. This isn’t a beauty pageant and there aren’t any prizes for trying. Your reward comes when we catch this guy.”

  Diaz sighed through the phone. “What’s our next move?”

  “You and I got the rest of the day off. Let the others handle it. If they find Salinowsky, maybe he’ll know something. Or maybe, like you say, we’ll get lucky and he’ll be our guy.”

  “Can we put someone on the nurse?”

  “I thought you said she was clean.”

  “She may know what’s going on or she may not, but there’s a piece she’s not telling. Someone beat her up recently.”

  “And she wouldn’t say who?”

  “She told me she fell down the stairs in a New York subway. But all the bruises appear to be on her face and arms. You’d think she’d scrape her shins or knees in a fall like that.”

  “You checked her head to toe?”

  “Of course not, but she wasn’t limping or anything, no casts, no cuts on her hands. Any scabs on her knees should’ve shown through her stockings, but there weren’t any. Sure looked like someone punched her out to me and maybe she put up her arms in defense.”

  “Punched her to shut her up?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “I’ll see if we can get someone from the fibbies to tail her. Is there anything specific we could take to a judge for a warrant?”

  “Negative. Just a feeling.”

  “That won’t cut it.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m coming home.”

  TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK

  10.

  DAY FIVE—Dark

  WHEN WARREN MANIS LOOKED IN the bathroom mirror he saw a gash on one ear with a fresh scab over it. Sallye had forehead-butted him when she climaxed. Crazy bitch. He angled his gaze and stared at the wound from the corner of his eye. Nice bump on the side of his head, too. He cursed her under his breath, cursed that he loved her so much that he hated her. Or was it the other way around? Either way, she was culpable. Despite his early efforts, she’d created a structure in their relationship that he had to rebuild for his own needs. Couldn’t go on this way, always getting the hind end. Couldn’t walk away, either, because like her he wanted to recapture something that he’d lost. But in order to rebuild the rela
tionship, at first he had to destroy the source of the problem, her connection to those men. Maybe he’d started this thing, but she had driven him to everything he’d done lately, driven him with her manipulation, and the knowledge of that made him angrier with each passing day. What he’d done so far would only be half the payback.

  His face...he hadn’t washed his hair or trimmed his beard for two days, but that didn’t make him look nearly bad enough for his purposes. He wasn’t a makeup artist, not going to whip up a plastic face the way people so easily seemed to do in Hollywood movies. This was real. He needed real.

  Manis took a scissors and cut some swatches out of his beard, making it uneven. That was better. He flicked a hand through his greasy hair—not much to be done with that. Then he reached for the damaged ear and picked at the scab. It hurt. He dug a nail under the edge and ripped it off, his eyes tearing in the effort, but now he had it bleeding pretty good again. He dipped a finger into the blood and smeared it on his face.

  Better.

  For clothing he had some old pants and a torn shirt that he’d soiled for the occasion. He had some tattered shoes and an old belt that he pretended to hold together with duct tape. On the street not long ago he’d found a filthy overcoat that smelled of the sewer. He fished it from a plastic trash bag under his workbench and waited until he was outside to slip his arms into the sticky sleeves.

  He carried no identification on his person, just a beat-up canvas satchel that he’d stolen from a mason at a construction site. Inside that bag was a replica of Salinowsky’s leg, containing the largest charge of C4 that Manis had yet employed. Salinowsky, he figured, would be too high to notice the extra pound. In case he did, there was an anti-tamper switch in this one. Anyone who tried to open the casing would be dead before he knew what happened.

  ALL THE WAY HOME, DIAZ brooded, thinking not just about the case but about whether he’d ever receive his due. Things could get political in the department. Not that he was gunning for lieutenant or anything—not any time soon—but it was possible that Kahn was playing games. Might he be dissing Diaz on purpose, trying to use his underling’s shoulders for a ladder? Perish that notion. Diaz felt guilty even for allowing it to creep into his mind.

  He shook himself—groggy from all the driving, not to mention the adrenaline letdown. He felt drained, a few thoughts short of rational, but sharp enough to ask himself what a pat on the head was going to do for him, anyway. He’d seen acts of great bravery in Iraq that barely garnered a medal. With or without the ribbon, you came home broken the same way. Now, all he’d done was make a few phone calls overseas and take a ride to visit a sexually perverse lunatic nurse. Not like he climbed a hill while death rained down in Iwo Jima or something. Meanwhile, the bomber was still out there, more mayhem in the offing.

  In the Bronx, Diaz refilled his friend’s car with gas out of courtesy. Half an hour later, he parked it in Manhattan and dropped off the keys with a thank-you note. If he ever needed to do a stakeout, the jalopy would be perfect, he thought. It wouldn’t stand out like your average Crown Vic. On the other hand, it might go to pieces in a high-speed chase. Everything had its compromises.

  He walked the few blocks home in the cold, feeling no temptation to the parkway path, maybe never again. Cap would return to the station soon, he hoped, maybe even tomorrow, and Diaz couldn’t look him in the eye if he ever drifted back toward that gratuitous danger.

  By the time the dry heat of the apartment building hit him, Diaz felt dog-tired. The hallway smelled of Italian food, making his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since the sandwich in Bedford.

  He used his key, but the door to his apartment caught without opening.

  “Just a minute!” Jennifer called.

  She pushed the door closed and it reopened a second later.

  “You’re using the chain?”

  “Don’t look so worried. Just didn’t want you barging in.”

  He saw then that she’d dressed and had makeup on. She wore an apron over the dress, and behind her the table was set for two with candles on it.

  The air went out of him. “You got a date?”

  “I thought it was time I did something special.” She had a look on her face like none he’d ever seen there before.

  “What? For me? Why? On account of my being such a sourpuss all the time?”

  “C’mon. Don’t ruin it. I got a lasagna in the oven.”

  “You can cook?”

  “The recipe came from the Internet. It’s not a date, see? You’re the guinea pig.”

  “That’s more like it. Should I pick up some beers?”

  “We’re all set.” She looked at her watch. “You have time for a shower.”

  Diaz didn’t argue. He wanted the feel of that nurse off his skin. When he was done, he climbed into his best jeans, braided loafers and a fancy guayabera. He gelled his hair, too.

  “You look sweet,” Jennifer said.

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  He opened the Chianti while she cut two huge slabs of lasagna, then pulled off her apron and tossed it into a corner. She wore a knit dress that clung to her hips, black and white stripes. Diaz looked her up and down and she playfully pirouetted for him. He set the wine bottle down on the table and shook his head.

  “Of all the roomies in all the apartments in all the world, she walks into mine.”

  “Oh, stop.” But she laughed with him.

  She dimmed the lights and lit the candles. When she sat down, she raised her glass. “A toast to roommates.”

  “To roommates,” Diaz said, and they clinked rims.

  By the second bottle of wine, the day felt a little less stressful to Diaz. He said, “Mmm. A lot of work, that lasagna.”

  Jennifer shrugged it off. “There are shortcuts these days. Not like the way anyone’s grandma used to make.”

  “You look better than anyone’s grandma, too.”

  Hard to tell in the dim lighting, but Diaz had the impression that she blushed. “I was helping my folks reorganize their closets all day. I guess I was still in domestic mode, so I stopped at the grocery store and when I came home I just kept on going.”

  “Pretty nice of you, after the way I’ve been behaving.”

  Her eyes searched his face. “Were you out on that case today?”

  He nodded. “Person of interest up in Boston. She has a thing for guys with mutilations.”

  “Like piercings?”

  “Way more than that. She gets off on missing limbs. You ever hear of a thing like that?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Makes me think of that stupid dentist, though.”

  “This goes way beyond that. I showed her the scar on my stomach and she practically came in her pants.”

  “You’re a sexy guy.”

  “Not that sexy. I’m not exaggerating her reaction, either.”

  “Well, why would you do a thing like that?”

  “I was trying to get her to open up.”

  “Sounds like it worked.”

  “Too well. A flood came out.”

  “So she’s connected to the murders?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you that, but yes, somehow. She screwed both the guys who got killed. Seduced them in their hospital beds.”

  “In the hospital?” Jennifer laughed. “I’m picturing that, all those tubes and stuff.”

  “It’s not funny,” Diaz said. “She’s a real sicko. I mean, what do you make of that?”

  Jennifer tightened her jaw, reflecting. “People have all kinds of fetishes. I guess that’s as good as the next. It’s not necessarily anything to be ashamed of.”

  “It is if it leads to murder.”

  “How do you figure it did, Manny?”

  “I don’t know. There’s another guy, a loose end. He’s out there somewhere, and it’s possible that he did it or that he’s the next victim.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “We can’t find him.”

  “What exactly did the woman
say about that?”

  “Said she, like, provided all three with a service that had mutual benefits. Hasn’t seen any of them since they left the hospital. She claims to have no reason to have killed them.”

  “You believe her?”

  “Anyone can build a bomb, but these bombs were pretty smart.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s just a dumb woman.”

  “I don’t mean it that way. You need to be pretty sophisticated to build bombs like the ones that killed these guys. Not so easily done without a lot of talent or a lot of practice. Preferably both. But I don’t make her that way.” He paused to think deeper. “She does have a forceful personality, though. She came on pretty strong, like she’s used to getting her way.”

  “Jealousy.”

  “What’s she got to be jealous about? Seems like she’s getting what she wants.”

  “Not hers.” Jennifer sat forward. “Think of how you felt when I was with that dentist.”

  “I wasn’t jealous.”

  “Just think of how you felt. You saw me with my clothes off not long before that. You couldn’t have me.”

  “Correction. Didn’t want to.”

  “Maybe not in your conscious mind, but somewhere deeper. Guys want to possess women. It’s fixed in their DNA. I’ve had gay friends with zero interest in my body who thought they had to protect me, keep me from being touched by straight guys.”

  “Because you’re beautiful. They don’t want you to get hurt. This nurse—”

  “She’s a nurse?”

  “You didn’t hear that from me. She’s not like the nurse of a man’s dreams. She’s a scrawny thing, not much meat on her.”

  “Not your type.”

  “No.”

  “But someone else’s. And if she offered it freely?”

  “She did offer, if she’s telling the truth. If her come-on to me was part of a pattern.”

  “But you have an issue right now, Manny. Besides, you were there for professional reasons.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Someone more involved might want to protect her. Someone who’s jealous that she’s screwing these guys—or once did. Go back to how you felt emotionally when you heard me with the dentist.”