by Alex Kava
Charlie Wurth was back from the press conference and at the front of the room, setting up a huge dry-erase board. Alongside him a CSI tech plugged in a computer and arranged a projection screen. Nick introduced Maggie to David Ceimo and a bomb expert, named Jamie, while Yarden made his way to the front of the room to hand off a jump drive containing the grainy, blurred images—the best shots they’d found—of the five suspects. Maggie listened to Nick and David Ceimo explain their connection while she watched Yarden with Charlie Wurth. There appeared to be some discussion, then Wurth was pointing to the computer. It looked like he wanted Yarden to stay and help run the show.
“Okay, people,” A.D. Kunze said as he made his entrance into the room, pulling the door closed and letting it slam shut behind him. “I know everybody’s tired. Let’s get to this.”
Wurth nodded at Yarden and handed him a wireless remote.
“Go ahead,” Wurth told him.
Yarden was a bit hesitant. Maggie could tell he was nervous. The tips of his ears had begun to turn crimson. He was a master at the computer panel but it was different in a dark room with only monitors. Here in front of a group of law enforcement officers it would be a bit out of Yarden’s realm.
Yarden glanced down before cueing up the photos on the projection screen. On the computer monitor Maggie could see there were rows of photos, about five photos in each row. The images, now jpegs, would have been downloaded from digital cameras used to record the scene. They were joined by the images Yarden had brought from the surveillance videos.
Yarden pushed a few buttons on the computer keyboard then pointed the wireless remote and clicked. A crime scene photo of one of the craters came onto the projection screen. He clicked again and another image came up alongside. On closer inspection, Maggie could see the smaller image was one of the shots of the same area from a surveillance camera before the explosion.
“We initially believed there were three bombers,” Yarden started to explain. “Then we discovered the site of one of the bombs was the women’s restroom.” He clicked the remote and the “before” shot was replaced by one with a zoomed-in image of the sign.
Yarden waited a few minutes then he cued up three more shots: the grainy images of four men and one young woman. Even on the projection screen Maggie was struck by how indecipherable the images were. They would never be able to identify them.
“What’s your assessment, Agent O’Dell?” A.D. Kunze boomed from his perch against the back wall.
“You must have a profile established. After all, you were able to determine that young man in the parking lot was not one of the five.”
There was silence. These were trained investigators. They knew this was an unfair call-out even if Kunze hadn’t used a condescending tone.
“At least one of them may have been a college student,” Maggie said. “We were able to make out logos on a ball cap and letterman jacket.” She saw Yarden cueing up those close-ups even as she spoke. “All five are Caucasian, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six. None are wearing anything controversial. Other than the ball cap and letterman jacket there’s nothing to indicate by the way that they’re dressed that they belong to a specific organization or gang. There’s no visible piercings or tattoos. I know there was some expectation to connect these individuals to a group like CAP, but I see no evidence of that from the videos.”
“That’s Citizens for American Pride,” Wurth added.
“There were some warnings about an event called into Senator Foster’s office.” Then he pointed to the photos and he said, “We had three bombs, you have five suspects.”
“Right,” Maggie continued. “It appears that two of the people came into the mall with one of the bombers. Because one of those backpacks ended up in the women’s restroom, we suspect the young woman was involved. And possibly the other young man. I might add that none of the five suspects appear to be overly anxious or nervous. And certainly didn’t act like homicide bombers.”
“Which follows my theory,” Jamie, the bomb expert joined in. “There’s preliminary evidence that all three bombs were detonated by remote control. I’m speculating that none of these individuals knew they were carrying explosives. Or if they did, they didn’t believe they would be detonated while they were carrying them, otherwise, there’s no reason for an off-site remote. Also just from the fragments I can already determine the devices were constructed by someone who knew what he was doing. A professional. Definitely someone who was trained in the use and handling of explosives.”
“But in the case you told us about earlier,” Nick said, “you mentioned this detonator had some similarities to a guy who drew up a blueprint for a dirty bomb. If I’m remembering correctly, didn’t you say he claimed he did it for a class project? Wasn’t he a student?”
“I remember the detonator,” Jamie told him. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember other details.” She glanced around and noticed that wasn’t good enough. “I can get details.”
Wurth nodded, satisfied.
Kunze didn’t look satisfied. “What about groups like CAP?” he asked, looking to Maggie again. “We certainly can’t dismiss their involvement simply because none of these kids were wearing AMERICAN PRIDE T-shirts.”
“Agreed,” Maggie told him. “I did some checking. The ball cap and letterman jacket are from the University of Minnesota here in the twin cities. Citizens for American Pride held two rallies on campus within the last year, the most recent, last month. However, the university hosts a variety of similar events and forums.”
“So it’s possible these kids were members?” Kunze wanted to know.
“As I said earlier, there’s no evidence that points to that, but yes,” Maggie conceded, “it’s possible.”
Kunze seemed satisfied. He left before the meeting was adjourned. Maggie couldn’t help but wonder why he was so determined to pin the bombings on this particular group. From her brief research before coming down to the meeting, she couldn’t find a single incident of violence or criminal behavior attributed to the group. Sure, they had made some outrageous statements but even the so-called warnings or threats that Senator Foster’s office had received were mild. They also hadn’t taken credit for the attack which was odd.
Wurth and Yarden went over more crime scene photos. They created a list of information, evidence and leads. When they were finished David Ceimo offered to take them out for burgers and beer. Maggie realized, as she often did, that only law enforcement officials would think of food after a meeting like this.
CHAPTER
44
Nick scooted into the tall leather-backed booth behind David Ceimo. He wanted to kick himself. He’d hesitated. Overcompensated. He didn’t want to look obvious about wanting to sit next to Maggie and now Yarden beat him to it. Not only that but Yarden had managed to fit himself right in between Maggie and Jamie while David Ceimo and Nick took up the other side of the huge corner booth. Deputy Director Charlie Wurth was supposed to join them later. Nick figured he should have invited A.D. Kunze, too, but he couldn’t find the FBI guy. He’d left the briefing early and no one seemed to know where he had gone.
Nick was relieved to be away from the scene, even if it would be for an hour or two. As a county sheriff and then a prosecutor, he’d been to plenty of crime scenes. But nothing this massive and never this many fatalities. He had gained a new respect for those left behind still sifting and walking the grids around the craters.
On a busy Friday evening, The Rose and Crown was packed. The English-style pub had a lobby full of guests waiting, but Ceimo’s older brother Chris owned the place. He had escorted the five of them personally to the quieter of two rooms. Now he came back with place settings, handing them oversized menus and taking their drink orders himself.
“On the house,” Chris told them.
“No,” David insisted. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I’m not letting any first responders pay tonight.” The older Ceimo was shorter than his brother, han
dsome with a quick smile but serious dark eyes. “We all make our livings, in part, because of the mall and the airport. Something like this happens, we have to pitch in somehow. It’s the least I can do.”
They watched him leave then David said, “His partner brought over a bunch of food to the scene. I had to get him cleared through security. They almost wouldn’t allow it till Chief Merrick noticed a pastrami on rye.” He smiled, obviously proud of his older brother. “Must have brought four or five dozen sandwiches.”
“Yeah, that was nice,” Jamie said. “People don’t usually think about us needing to eat. My boyfriend always thinks it’s gross that we’d even want to, but after six or seven hours you get hungry.”
“You want, I can have Chris shut off this television.” David pointed to one of the many screens suspended throughout the pub. This one was off to their side about ten feet away, just over Nick’s right shoulder. The volume had been muted and closed captions ran along the bottom of the screen.
Nick found himself looking to Maggie. David did, too. Even as they waited for an answer the video footage of the now infamous chase was being played.
“It’s okay,” she said after it took a second or two for her to realize they were allowing her to make the decision. “If there’s an update or a break in the case, where better to find out?”
They all laughed. Nick realized every one of them probably had a story to tell of the news media preempting one of the cases they’d worked on. However, he doubted that any of them had been preempted by a journalist in their own family. His sister, Christine, had done it to him twice in the past. Once even compromising her son, Timmy’s safety. He thought she’d learned her lesson, but he didn’t trust her. It was almost as if she couldn’t help it. Like a drug addict. Even now he avoided returning her calls. Was she concerned or looking for a scoop?
Briefly he realized her calls might concern their dad, but Christine would say so, wouldn’t she? His dad’s health had been deteriorating the past several months, bad to worse with no hope of recovery. The stroke he’d suffered four years ago had reduced him to a shadow of the man Antonio Morrelli had once been. But some things never changed and Nick thought the old man was stubborn enough to stick around just out of spite and to ruin Christmas for all the rest of them. Maybe deep down that’s what Nick hoped. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wasn’t quite ready for his father’s departure, for him to be gone completely and forever from his life.
He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and rubbed at his eyes. When he looked up he found Maggie watching him from across the table. The others were talking about food, their attention buried in the large menu placards. But not Maggie. She had one elbow on the ridge that separated the booth from the wall. Her cheek rested against her hand. David Ceimo sat directly across from her, Yarden right next to her and yet, she was watching Nick from clear across the diagonal of the table.
At first he glanced away. But her eyes were still there when he looked up again and this time he met them despite the flutter they stirred in his gut. She looked tired, but she smiled, just a little. Her eyes were still serious with an intensity he recognized. From the first time he met Maggie O’Dell he felt like those eyes could examine anyone deeply, and he knew they missed nothing.
Their drinks came at that moment. Before Chris finished setting them down, Yarden was pointing at the television screen, waving his arms to get their attention.
“Holy crap,” Yarden blurted as he tried to stand up for a better look. “They have the bombers.”
Nick had to look over his shoulder. Three photos of three young men were displayed in the middle of the screen. Names appeared beneath them and on the CC crawl at the bottom of the screen.
Chris reached up and turned the volume on:
“…were last seen. Two unnamed sources have verified the identity of three men allegedly involved in the bombing at Mall of America. All three are college students, two at the University of Minnesota and one at the University of New Haven in Connecticut. Again, the three young men are, Chad Hendricks of St. Paul, Minnesota; Tyler Bennett also of St. Paul, Minnesota and Patrick Murphy of Green Bay, Wisconsin.”
“Son of a bitch.” Ceimo was the first to speak. “What sources? Where the hell did they get photos and names?” He was pulling his smartphone from his jacket pocket, as he slid across the booth’s bench. Nick barely got out of the bench and out of his way.
Nick glanced around the table as he sat back down. Both Yarden and Jamie’s eyes were still glued to the television screen. Maggie’s face had gone white and she was digging for her own cell phone.
“What is it?” Nick asked her. She looked like she had seen a ghost.
“Patrick Murphy.”
He noticed her fingers had a slight tremble as she punched at her cell phone’s menu. He could see she was searching for a number.
She glanced back up at him. He thought he saw a glimpse of panic before she looked back down. Without giving him her eyes again, she said, “Patrick Murphy is my stepbrother.”
CHAPTER
45
Maggie excused herself, suddenly feeling claustrophobic up against the wall. Yarden and the bomb expert named Jamie couldn’t move quick enough to release her from the corner of the booth. She needed to get out of the noise and the crowd and the prying concern of Nick Morrelli’s eyes. She escaped to the restroom, only to find a long line waiting for the stalls. But it was quiet here if you didn’t count the cell phone conversations.
On her own phone she searched the queue for Patrick’s number. She had called him a week ago—ten days at most—to invite him to Thanksgiving. He already had plans. He was going out of town with friends to spend the long holiday with them. She pretended like it was no big deal.
Maggie blamed herself. She was the adult, twelve years older and yet, she had no idea how to take on the role of the decision-maker, the family planner. No idea how to be or act like a big sister. Hell, she had no idea how to act like a family.
Now as she searched her phone’s menu she wondered why she hadn’t memorized his phone number. She was good with numbers and details. Even as she jotted things down while viewing the videotapes she knew she didn’t need the notes. The discovery of Patrick two years ago had brought with it a whole storm, not just about having a brother but all her preconceptions about her father. The parent she loved and missed and remembered with adoration had actually led a secret life. And for two decades her mother continued to keep his secret. Patrick reminded Maggie of that every single time she saw him or talked to him. It was crazy and she needed to find a way around it if she ever intended to have a relationship with him. But not having his phone number was another reminder that she evidently wasn’t ready. Now here she was hoping Patrick’s number was in her phone’s call history.
Her fingers kept hitting more than the arrow buttons. She had to focus, to concentrate despite the flushing toilets and the nagging little girl who wanted to go into the stall by herself. Even from behind the stalls there were conversations. People on their phones. Couldn’t they go to the restroom without talking about their day? Though tonight’s conversations were sprinkled with excitement and concern about the bombing and the newly released suspects.
Finally, Maggie found the number. She started to hit “return call” then glanced around again and stopped. How exactly was she going to do this? She moved away from the line, back into another corner by a sink that had an Out of Order sign posted on the mirror in front of it.
She hit the button, closed her eyes and waited. It didn’t need to ring twice.
“Becca?” It was Patrick, anxious and out of breath. She had no idea who Becca was. Of course not. She had no idea who any of her brother’s friends were. “It’s Maggie, Patrick.”
The silence lasted so long she was afraid he had hung up.
“Patrick, are you involved in this?”
She wished he’d ask what? Maybe even pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.
&nbs
p; “I wasn’t with Chad and Tyler, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Maggie leaned against the tiled wall. God! He knew who they were. If he hadn’t known them, he wouldn’t call them by name. They’d only be the other two suspects.
“You know them?”
“They were friends of one of the friends I was with.” He let out a long sigh. “That sounds lame, doesn’t it?”
He sounded so young. Had she ever been that young, that naïve? She noted that he said “were.” Past tense. Did he know the two young men were dead?
“You’re wanted for questioning,” she told him and hated that she sounded entirely like an FBI agent and not at all like a sister. Why could she not get a hang of this?
“Yeah, I just saw.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Patrick, you’re going to have to trust me or I can’t help you.”
“Let me think about it.”
She was pacing as much as the corner allowed, getting frustrated. What was there to think about? Letting her help him or trusting her?
“I’ll let you know,” he said in what sounded like a rush. And then he was gone. Silence.
“Damn it!”
Her anger surprised her and drew looks. Even a couple of stall conversations came to a halt. Maggie pretended to ignore it all and she stomped toward the door. This time the line parted for her long before she had to ask or squeeze through.
CHAPTER
46
Asante finished the cheeseburger and fries, leaving a reasonable tip. An ordinary meal that wouldn’t stand out and an ordinary tip that wouldn’t leave a negative or overly positive impression. Ordinary, he had learned long ago, was the key to being invisible.
