The Trigger

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “I can hardly wait.” Sam finished assembling the files. “Need any help cleaning up?”

  “Who’s cleaning?” Nora brushed some crumbs off her blouse. “The janitor knows me. He’ll muck out the worst of it.” She knew for a fact that her office was neat compared with some of the others in the PD.

  “What if you’d written down a vital clue on a take-out bag?” Sam asked as he shrugged into his jacket.

  “That would be my tough luck.” She waited for him to precede her out the door before switching off the light.

  As he went by, she repressed the urge to touch him. Just a little caress. He’d turn toward her questioningly, perhaps brush a quick kiss across her mouth. And then…

  And then they might not be able to stop. Better to leave well enough alone.

  If they’d gone to bed last night, it would have changed all the dynamics. Okay, so she wouldn’t feel this restless need every time she looked at him, or if she did, she’d know it was going to be deliciously fulfilled.

  But she’d done the right thing. And any minute now, Nora mused as she reluctantly parted from Sam, she was going to remember exactly why.

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, Nora radiated enthusiasm from the moment she slid into Sam’s car. She’d poured her taut figure into jeans and a denim jacket and twisted her hair into a loose chignon. Did the woman simply get better-looking every day or was that Sam’s imagination?

  They didn’t talk much on the drive, yet the silence felt comfortable. He’d never before considered watching a building get blown up as R&R, but he was looking forward to it.

  The Sunset Shores Hotel, located on a bluff above the beach, had been a glamorous vacation spot during the 1930s before it began a slide into obscurity. In the 1950s, a new owner had spiffed it up for the tourist crowd, but since the 1970s it had descended into a haven for transients. Time to clear it away and erect something new, Sam supposed. It probably didn’t meet the latest earthquake standards, and the cost of retrofitting something of this size would be prohibitive.

  The Keyes brothers had obviously been at work for several days, surrounding the isolated hotel with advance notices and taping up the windows of nearby buildings. As he and Nora walked toward their destination, Sam noted that all the glass had been removed from the hotel itself.

  “You bet,” Nora said when he mentioned it. “In a typical blast, eighty percent of injuries are caused by glass shards. You probably noticed that the other day.”

  “I didn’t go around counting the injuries, but it sounds right.”

  Local police maintaining a perimeter checked Nora’s name against a list before letting them through. A few dozen people had gathered to watch, many carrying cameras. Most of the small beach-related stores and restaurants were closed and shuttered, although a vendor did a brisk business selling coffee and doughnuts.

  The command post had been established some distance from the castlelike structure, which stood silhouetted against the ocean below. Kyle Keyes, two years older than Nora, proved to be a tall, outgoing fellow who welcomed his sister with a hug.

  He gave Sam a more than cursory glance when they shook hands, but accepted without comment Nora’s introduction of him as her partner. “Randy’s doing a last-minute check.” Kyle indicated a figure across the parking lot that appeared to be inspecting the wires leading from the hotel.

  “Does he need any help?” Nora asked.

  She wasn’t seriously thinking of going into the blast zone, was she? Sam knew Nora had assisted at this kind of thing in the past, but their investigation needed her. If she insisted on going in there, he supposed he’d have to go along himself. Not that he felt obliged to protect her, but partners backed each other up.

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” Kyle went on to explain for Sam’s benefit that they’d already removed salvageable or dangerous materials, drilled holes in the building’s supports and filled them with tubes of magnesium. These would be ignited by electrical sparks from the wires that connected to a small electrical box at the command post.

  “The idea is to blow the building off its base, like jerking out the legs of a table, so it falls straight down,” he said.

  Surveying the surroundings, Sam noticed a couple of video cameras facing the site. Behind them and across the street, a third peered from a different angle high in a building. “What are the cameras for?”

  “We always tape our blasts,” Nora said. “We review the video to see what worked and what didn’t. If there’s ever a problem, they may be the only way to figure out exactly what went wrong.”

  “Besides, I like to show them to dates,” her brother added. “You wouldn’t believe what a turn-on it is.” Despite his light manner, Sam suspected he was only half kidding.

  “Sometimes TV stations borrow the footage for their newscasts.” Nora waved to Randy, who’d just noticed them and signaled his greetings in return. “It’s great publicity for the firm.”

  “And useful in case of lawsuits,” Kyle put in. “Once we had a guy threaten to sue, claiming he’d been hit with debris in a blast zone. The videos showed he wasn’t even there. He probably inflicted the wounds on himself.”

  Sam didn’t want to get started on the galling subject of lawsuits. Although some legal actions were justified, the frivolous variety threatened every public safety officer’s peace of mind. Instead, he switched to a neutral topic. “It must be hard getting the charges positioned right.”

  “You bet! The explosion follows the path of least resistance unless it’s directed. If we don’t get it spot-on, the whole structure might tumble over the cliff. That would be a real mess.” Kyle handed them each a set of earplugs. “Make sure you wear these.”

  Nora regarded the plugs dubiously, as if reluctant to miss any of the excitement. “Every building is designed differently and you have to take into account the type of materials as well,” she added. “But when we get it right, it’s incredibly efficient.”

  Sam didn’t need her to explain that trying to bring down a large structure with a crane was even more dangerous and messy than using explosives. And the noise lasted a lot longer.

  At last, satisfied with the electrical connections, Randy joined them. He hugged Nora and, in response to her questions, assured her that his little boys were fine. “They wanted to come but my wife objected.” To Sam, he noted, “She’s not keen on them joining the family business, but my ten-year-old’s a real buff.”

  “I know how he feels.” Nora performed a couple of jumping jacks in place. “This is great!”

  “Okay, everybody take your places,” Randy announced.

  Sam checked his watch. Five minutes to go. He put in his earplugs and watched Nora reluctantly insert hers.

  Her brothers were talking on their phones, making sure the area had been cleared. Then the countdown began. Fuzzily, through the plugs, he heard the elder brother chant, “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!” Randy skipped a beat instead of saying five because, Sam knew, it might be confused with an order to fire. “Four! Three! Two! One!”

  Eagerly, Kyle pushed the plunger.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE FLASHES STARTED on the left side of the hotel, sending black smoke billowing into the clear morning sky. Despite his earplugs, Sam heard a series of booms and felt the jolt of a shock wave.

  In front of him, the castle’s towers and high walls seemed to fragment in slow motion. They hung suspended for the space of a breath and then, like a house of cards, collapsed inward. Dark dust spewed from the base as a mountain of shabby grandeur shrank into a pile of rubble.

  Sam coughed as he removed his plugs. Only then did he notice Nora leaping into the air and high-fiving her brothers.

  “Perfect!” she exulted. After impatiently suffering through a bout of coughing when another wave of dust hit, she gave Sam a flying hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. “Did you see that? Wasn’t it great?”

  “Fantastic.” His blood still raced, he had to admit.

  “I wish we coul
d do it again!” Nora exclaimed. “Kyle, send me a copy of the video, will you?”

  “You bet!” Her brother grinned, his teeth white against a smudged face. Nora too had acquired a layer of grime, which she obviously didn’t mind. Sam supposed he must look the same way.

  Every inch of her frame radiated exhilaration. At this moment, Nora appeared more alive than he’d ever seen her. More alive than most people he knew, too.

  How could a man ever hope to protect a woman like that? Risk-taking formed an essential part of her character, Sam thought. Nora thrilled him more than any other woman he’d ever met, and scared the heck out of him at the same time. Thank goodness he only had to watch her back as her work partner.

  “Do you realize people can feel that blast for half a mile?” she asked him. “And here we are at ground zero. I love this!”

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to get your kicks on the right side of the law,” he teased. As they both knew, arsonists and bombers often became addicted to creating devastating spectacles.

  “Nobody with a heart would unleash this kind of destruction against the innocent,” Nora said. “Although I suppose the Trigger tells himself that his victims are guilty.”

  “The Trigger?” Randy asked.

  They explained about the serial bomber apparently seeking some kind of twisted revenge. Her brothers seemed intrigued, and Nora clearly had a hard time tearing herself away.

  At last, after cleaning up in the bathroom of the Keyes’ on-site trailer, Nora and Sam headed back to Courage Bay. “I’m surprised you didn’t go into the family business,” Sam said.

  “When I was growing up, I thought it involved too much paperwork.” Nora laughed. “Can you believe that? I had no idea police spend half their time writing reports.”

  “You got that right.”

  They had reached the outskirts of town when Sam’s radio crackled. After a few brief, coded exchanges between the dispatcher and officers about a pursuit, he caught the license number. “That’s the Stones’s plate!”

  He activated his siren and swung a U-turn. Sometimes it paid to be out and about early on a Sunday. They might even arrive in time to help take down the suspect.

  THE STONES’S VAN HAD pulled into the blind end of a canyon road and halted beneath a rock face. A couple of police cruisers and a motorcycle blocked the escape, Nora saw as Sam parked and the two of them got out. Overhead, a helicopter buzzed.

  With Sam at her side, Nora hurried to join Officer Tank Gordon, who crouched behind a car. She saw the driver sitting inside his vehicle, although she couldn’t make him out clearly. “What happened?”

  “I spotted the license plate on Pacific Coast Highway.” The three of them kept their heads and voices low. “When I tried to pull him over, he hit the gas.”

  “Any shots fired?” Sam asked.

  Tank shook his head. “No. He took off at about eighty miles per hour. I guess he hoped to lose us in these canyons, but he didn’t know them as well as he thought.”

  “Anyone with him?” Nora thought of Ginny Stone, crippled and possibly strapped helplessly inside. “The man we’re seeking has a handicapped wife.”

  “We haven’t seen any sign of her.” The officer picked up an electronic megaphone and called, “Come out with your hands in the air! If you have a weapon, set it on the pavement!”

  No response.

  “If he’s the guy we’re looking for, his name is Arthur Stone,” Sam said.

  “Ask him if Ginny’s in the van,” Nora suggested. “That’s his wife.”

  “Mr. Stone, is your wife in the van?” the officer called over the amplifier. “We don’t want her to be harmed.” Receiving no response, Tank took a tougher approach. “Don’t make us go in after you, Mr. Stone. Come out with your hands up and let’s talk about this.”

  After a moment, the driver’s door opened. Behind the cruisers, the peace officers tensed, aiming their weapons in case the suspect opened fire.

  A dark-skinned man appeared, hands in the air. No sign of a gun.

  “Don’t shoot,” he called. “I’m not armed.”

  “Mr. Stone?” Tank demanded.

  “That’s me.”

  “Lie down spread-eagled on the pavement.”

  He obeyed. Officers moved in swiftly.

  Nora exchanged a puzzled glance with Sam. No one had mentioned that Arthur Stone was African-American. He certainly didn’t fit the description of the fellow who’d planted a bomb on Fran Garcola outside the hospital.

  They waited until officers finished patting down the suspect and checking for accomplices in the van. Once they received the all-clear, they went to talk to their captive.

  Handcuffed and seated in the back of a cruiser, the disgruntled suspect eyed them through the open door. “I can’t believe I did something so stupid. All I’ve got is an expired license and an outstanding speeding ticket. I just didn’t want to get hauled in on a warrant.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to face more serious charges now,” Nora said. “But there’s something else we want to talk to you about.”

  “What do you mean, ‘something else’?” Arthur asked warily.

  “I think we’d better continue this discussion at the station.” She nodded at Tank. “Go ahead and book him. We’ll meet you there.”

  An hour later, they faced Mr. Stone in Interrogation Room C. He waived having an attorney present. “I don’t want to wait until you can dig somebody up on a Sunday morning. I’m hoping I can get out of here. I had to leave Ginny by herself.”

  “Is she all right?” Nora asked. “We can send a patrolman over.”

  “She can manage alone for a few hours.” Her husband stared gloomily into space. “I don’t know what she’ll do if I go to prison.”

  “We understand you two are moving to the desert,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, but we decided to take a break at a motel by the beach first,” their subject explained. “I was running into town to pick up a few things.”

  Carefully, they guided him through a series of questions. When they mentioned Patty Reese, he seemed sympathetic rather than angry.

  “My wife used to work with her,” he said. “Man, that was awful, her dying down there in that fire. We got really upset when we read about it.”

  “You did some plumbing work for her?” Sam prompted.

  “She had a leak in the basement pipes, where she raised all those flowers,” Stone explained. “She had plenty of water down there. I can’t understand how a fire got so out of hand.”

  “You weren’t angry with her about what happened to your wife?” Nora asked.

  “Angry with Ms Reese?” Arthur said. “Why would I blame her?”

  “She was one of the people who approved testing the chip in that race car,” Sam said.

  “So what? They were always testing things.” Arthur seemed genuinely puzzled. If he was faking his response, Nora thought, he was as talented as an Academy-Award-winning actor.

  “But you’re angry with Wonderworld,” she suggested.

  “Sure, because they don’t take care of their employees. At least, I was mad at them, but I’ve come to accept that sometimes things happen for reasons we don’t understand. Because my wife’s in a wheelchair, she’s found a whole new career as an artist. We’re making a lot of changes for the better in our lives.” The plumber shifted uncomfortably, his wrists still cuffed. “Any chance of you taking these things off?”

  “Just a few more questions.” Sam leaned forward. “How much do you know about plastic explosives?”

  “What?” The man stared at him in disbelief. “I’m a plumber. I don’t blow things up, at least not on purpose.”

  From further probing, they learned that he intended to establish his own plumbing business in a desert town where an informal artists’ colony had sprung up. Nora was becoming more and more dubious about him as a suspect, and she could see that Sam had the same reaction.

  By late afternoon, searches of the van and the Stone
s’s motel room, along with an interview with his wife, failed to connect Arthur to the Trigger. In fact, they learned that far from holding a grudge, Ginny had painted a series of still-lifes inspired by Patty’s orchids.

  “Does he have to go to prison?” his wife asked anxiously after the police brought her to the station at her request. “I need my husband.”

  “He’ll face charges related to the pursuit, but no one got hurt, and aside from the speeding ticket, he doesn’t have a record,” Nora assured her. “I’m guessing that under the circumstances, he’ll get a suspended sentence and a fine.”

  After arranging for Ginny to stay with a friend, Nora and Sam dragged themselves out for dinner at the Bar and Grill. She couldn’t face eating one more sandwich at her desk, and neither could he.

  The shrimp and scallops Alfredo gave Nora a boost after a rough day. Sam treated himself to a filet mignon coated with peppercorns and laced with brandy.

  The meal finished, he leaned back and regarded his partner. “Looks like we’re back to square one.”

  Nora had to agree. The long, wearying day had resulted in one suspect cleared and no new evidence.

  At least she and Sam had made progress in meshing as a team. During the interrogation, she’d noticed how readily they reinforced each other’s questions, their attitudes dovetailing rather than clashing.

  Spending time together at his mother’s house and at the detonation had helped, she supposed. In a way, so did the frisson of excitement she felt every time she looked at him. She liked having him as her partner as long as neither of them took the personal side of it too seriously.

  She hoped this mellowing on Sam’s part turned out to be permanent. If he ever started trying to boss her around again, she’d straighten him out in a hurry.

  “Nora?” he prompted.

  “Hmm?”

  “A whole parade of emotions just marched across your face,” Sam said. “What’s going on?”

  Instead of responding with the awkward truth, Nora seized on an idea that came to her. “There’s something puzzling me.”