Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. “Nothing yet from Allen Small with the ATF, and I think you know the outcome of our visit with Lyons.”
“Cobb’s half-brother, right?”
A quick prick into my spine. Any time I heard the name, I conjured up gruesome images that left an empty pit in my gut. This time I felt like Nick and Jerry could see into my soul, and I immediately grew uncomfortable. I must have shifted in my seat.
“You okay, Alex?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“You just look like…you know,” he said while shifting his eyes to Jerry then back to me.
I could feel my face turn red—because of the spying situation I was being put in, because of this additional connection to Cobb, the man who executed my kids’ father, and even because Nick was calling me out.
“Look like what?” My voice had a dagger attached to it.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you. It was a joke, really. It kind of looked like you needed to…use the restroom.”
I willed my facial muscles to smile, to lighten up and take the joke. Normally, I’d be dishing it out. But not this time. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Not in the mood for childish humor today. I had a long morning.”
“You two finished? Sheesh,” Jerry said.
Nick and I turned to face our boss, who had both hands pressed together in front of his mouth. Jerry wasn’t exactly model material regardless, but his features were particularly harsh at this moment. His oversized snout appeared to have doubled in size, his complexion seemed to match that of a fourteen-year-old kid, and the crevice that would form between his eyes when he was upset or stressed looked like it could hold the Charlestown River right now.
“I thought Alex seemed stressed. What’s going on, Jerry?” Nick’s tone was sincere.
Jerry dropped his big mitts on the desk, and it reverberated. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong… I’ve got the SAIC up my ass.”
I wasn’t sure either Nick or I blinked. We’d all seen Jerry’s temper flare up, but rarely did it come across like he was about to fall apart. And because of my visit with FBI royalty earlier in the day, Jerry’s behavior raised my investigative antenna even as I sat there and tried like hell to quash the interrogative thoughts filling my mind.
“Drake? Usually he stays out of your business. At least that’s the way it looks on this side,” I said.
“Eh, looks can be deceiving. He’s young and he’s aggressive. He’s not one to put up with ineffective processes or people.”
“Is that directed at us or his management team?” Nick asked.
“Everyone.” Jerry nodded, and his jowls jiggled a bit. He held his glare on Nick for a few seconds.
I decided to break up the stag party. “Does the SAIC believe we’re not following protocol, overlooking a particular angle of the investigation, or what?”
“Drake is getting pressure, and not just from the DC brass. He’s feeling it from local officials: the Boston PD, state police, the mayor’s office, even a couple of state legislators.”
“Damn, when things go wrong, everyone thinks they can do it better,” Nick said.
“Yeah, you get it,” Jerry said. “But there’s more to it.”
Jerry looked between us, as if he was making sure no one was going to walk through his door.
He took in a breath and exhaled so loudly I thought he was practicing Lamaze breathing. “Just between us, I think Drake’s managing upward.”
“Managing upward?’ Nick said, twisting his head.
“You know, brown-nosing his management chain. Isn’t that part of American culture?” I added.
“More or less. He takes it to another level that you guys never see. He’s out for himself—first, foremost, and forever.”
Nick arched an eyebrow. “That gives me a warm and fuzzy.”
“So he’s looking for the next promotion, from the way it sounds,” I said.
“And I truly think he’d do anything to get it. Son of a bitch…” Jerry’s voice trailed off.
The promotion angle. That was how Holt tried to sell me on taking this gig of spying on my friend. It felt like a forty-pound weight had just been attached to my bra as guilt wrapped around my esophagus.
Jerry’s eyes found the corner of the room. They seemed to change color, some days appearing as green as moss and other days more of a Miami Dolphins turquoise. Right now, they were closer to the emerald-green hue.
As if a bell sounded off in his head, Jerry sparked back to life. “So, are you certain Arnold Lyons is no longer a suspect?”
“He did have the means. He had the materials and other weapons,” Nick said. “And he had that meth lab to help fund his little hobbies.”
“But he’s more of an Internet troll, preying on the weak and weak-minded,” I added.
“He could have hired someone to do it,” Jerry said.
I inched up in my seat, knowing we were dissecting the psyche of a suspect, something that always got my blood flowing. “I don’t think that’s Arnold Lyons.”
“Why not?”
“Think about it. To assemble a bomb, then walk into a church knowing it could go off at any moment, takes a warped sense of self-importance as well as a lot of trust in his bomb…or sheer balls.”
“You don’t think he’s got balls?” Jerry asked, leaning back in his chair, his chubby hand scratching his light stubble.
“Don’t call HR on me, but I think Arnold Lyons is a big pussy.”
“I like it when you talk dirty,” Nick said with a smile. I knew he was kidding, especially since he was gay, but Jerry didn’t know our little secret, and he just stared at Nick.
“You’re going to get me in trouble with the big man upstairs if you don’t watch it.” Jerry wagged a finger at me, then rocked his chair back to an upright position. “Okay, so Lyons is just a nut job with a penchant for spouting off against every segment of the population out there. That’s our position.”
“That’s the evidence,” I said.
He nodded a few times, then reached under a folder and picked up the same small metal statue of the Eiffel Tower. He ran his fingers across the edges and under the wooden base. I assumed it was a coping mechanism, similar to how a baby might play with the tag of his blanket while sucking on his pacifier. I chuckled internally at my analogy…then something hit me the more I stared at the tiny statue. Was there a way to hide a flash drive in the base of the seemingly innocuous object? I’d seen Luke running around the house with his flash drive made from some type of Star Wars figure.
And then my mind couldn’t help but wonder what might be on a flash drive. Ahmed Shaheen was the man’s name. A noted terrorist and someone Jerry knew.
“Hold on, guys.” Jerry lifted from his seat so fast his calves knocked the roller chair against the wall. He walked around the desk, and I turned to see Drake through the door’s window, waving his arms agitatedly while he was on a call.
“Shit,” Nick started. “That asshole is actually going to berate Jerry right in the middle of the atrium. That’s classy.”
“Yeah.” With no desire to witness the tongue-lashing, I turned back around and noticed Jerry had left the Eiffel Tower on his desk. It was leaning on its side, the base facing the opposite corner of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nick looking over his shoulder at the door, then after a couple of seconds, turning his sights back to the desk. This volley went through four cycles, and each time he looked away, I became more tempted to lean across Jerry’s desk and pick up the statue to inspect it.
I moved my butt closer to the edge of my chair, my vision boring a hole through the tiny object.
“Can you believe this guy? He just won’t leave Jerry alone,” Nick twisted around to get a better look.
That was my chance. I pushed up from the chair railing just as I heard the door squeal behind me.
“Nick. Alex. There’s been another bombing,” Jerry said.
I q
uickly stood and flipped around on my heels, my arms at my side, the Eiffel Tower statue pushed to the back of my mind.
“Are your feet nailed to the floor?”
Nick was already headed for the door.
I followed my partner out of the office as I watched Drake round the corner of the atrium, his phone again pressed to his ear. He glanced over his shoulder and appeared to be staring directly at me, his gaze boring holes through me. My pulse lurched, and I quickly worried that somehow he’d figured out that I was working with Holt—someone well above Drake in the food chain.
I caught up to Jerry and Nick as they reached the elevator, Drake now completely out of sight.
“Another priest?” I shook my head. “Which church did the bomb explode at?”
“It didn’t. The bomb went off just outside the Ted Williams Tunnel.”
I replayed what he’d just said as Nick and I followed him into the elevator.
I pointed at Jerry. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going with you, dammit.”
Jerry hadn’t operated in the field in years. I’d only seen him at a handful of crime scenes.
“Is Drake putting pressure on you?” Nick asked as the elevator jarred to a stop on the ground floor.
Jerry wiped his face, and I noticed the bags under his eyes sag even more. “Man, I’m getting it from all sides these days.” His eyes dropped to the floor. The doors finally opened, and we poured out into the garage.
I couldn’t help but wonder if his stress wasn’t solely due to his boss inflicting pressure, but also inclusive of a healthy dose of guilt from his purported association with Shaheen. What would Jerry’s motivation be for helping a terrorist commit a ruthless act of murder? Holt never went there, and I realized I’d never asked. Money? Retribution against the country, or even the Bureau? Hmm. Was it possible his anger toward Drake wasn’t just a professional vendetta that led to a grudge against the country? Just thinking those thoughts sounded ludicrous.
“Alex.” Jerry and Nick had called my name at the same time, then they turned to look at each other.
“You coming?” Nick asked me.
I started walking toward his car.
“Alex is riding with me. I need to pick her brain more about who she thinks might be behind these bombings.” Jerry had already turned to walk away, and he waved his arm for me to follow.
Nick opened his mouth but didn’t say a thing.
“You’re still my partner. It’s just a one-time thing. You can see Jerry is on the verge of losing it, right?’
“Hell yes.”
“Good. It’s not just me.”
I left before I started to share anything else.
***
The woop woop sounds bounced off the concrete walls on either side of I-90 as even more law enforcement personnel pulled to a stop at the mouth of the Ted Williams Tunnel. A smoldering car sat ominously a few yards in front of the northbound opening of the tunnel. I could tell it was a two-door model, maybe twelve to fifteen years old, and its peeling base color was some type of blue. Both doors were lying on the concrete amidst a sea of broken glass, and I could just make out the dangling hand of the victim stretching out from the driver’s side opening, uncertain if all of his appendages were still attached. Two other damaged cars sat at awkward angles within a few yards of ground zero, but apparently the passengers escaped with their lives.
Standing a few feet from the command post, I watched ATF Agent Allen Small approach me while pulling blue rubber gloves off his hand.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said.
Did he just wink at me?
I couldn’t deal with that flirting crap right now, even if he did possess a strong jawline and a nice ass.
Ignoring his overture, I stuck with the facts of the crime scene. “Do you know what kind of bomb yet?”
He glanced back over his shoulder, then wiped his brow on the side of his shirt. “Almost certain it was another pipe bomb.”
“Why do you think?”
“The vic looks just like Father Brennan did, but even worse. The blast was even more powerful, so much so that some of the shrapnel shot through his body and out the other side.” He shook his head. “I’ll never get used to seeing people in that condition. Especially when it could have been prevented,” he said, so low it was almost as if he was verbalizing an internal thought.
Before I could respond, Nick hobbled up.
“Sorry I’m late. How did you guys beat me here?”
I glanced over at Jerry, who was talking it up with an ATF official and the chief of police, his hands moving almost as fast as his mouth. “Jerry was born and raised here. I think he knows every shortcut in this city.”
We told Nick about the pipe bomb. “Was the vic a priest?”
“Didn’t see a collar, so I can’t say one way or the other for certain. He did look on the young side,” Small said. “But this person doesn’t appear to be completely innocent.”
“How so?” I asked, my eyes still glancing over at Jerry every few seconds. What did I expect to see? I was treating him like a toddler. I repositioned myself so I could focus on Agent Small and the crime scene.
“Two things. First, the bomb was sitting somewhere in the front. On the seat or the floorboard. We’ll know more specifics after we complete our forensics.”
“And second?” Nick said, rolling his arm like a director.
“I found charred remains of rolls of duct tape.”
I stepped forward and reached for Small’s arm. “You think this guy is our bomber? The bomb went off while he was en route to his target destination? Maybe the duct tape was to be used to attach the bomb to something.”
“If I had to guess at this point…yes.”
“Holy shit,” Nick said, scratching the small tuft of hair on his head.
“We need data on this perp fast.”
Nick pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “I’m getting Brad on the line.”
I nodded and said, “We need to get to this guy’s place and tear it down to try to find clues on his intended target. Also, it’s imperative that we quickly figure out if he’s working alone or has an accomplice, or even could be connected to a larger group with some type of agenda. If he is working with someone else and they get wind of this mishap, they could do one of two things: either go underground to where we’ll never find them, or decide to finish the job this guy didn’t.”
Nick spoke into his phone, pressing his hand over his opposite ear as a female cop with a Boston PD badge attached to the waistband of her black suit, her silver hair blowing into a mess, marched toward our little group. Another detective spoke into her ear, and she nodded about six times in her last few steps. He ran off just as she reached us.
“I’m Captain Lockett.”
“Right, we spoke briefly at the church bombing. Do you have any knowledge about the victim, who according to Allen…uh, Agent Small here, might very well be our perp for this bombing and possibly the others?”
“I do. DMV records show the car is issued to a Leonardo Pescatore.”
Nick stopped talking, and our eyes connected. We were both thinking the same thing: local Italian mob.
“Go on,” I said.
“He’s twenty-three and lives in a shithole apartment up in Lynn. He—”
I extended an arm to interrupt her. “How do you know it’s a shithole?”
“I’m from Lynn. I know the areas that are nice and those that used to be nice and are now havens for crime, and I know the shitholes.”
“Sorry...”
“No problem. Only other thing is that Pescatore works at a pawnshop in Malden. And it’s a pawnshop that has been on our radar, although not him in particular. We think the owners are laundering money through the shop. Just recently our detectives believe they found evidence of the owner of the shop acting as an arms dealer for local thugs, which might include…”
She paused, scanning each of our faces, but
while doing so her diamond ring reflected off the peeking sun and caught my eye. I turned my head to avoid having my retinas burned.
“…bomb-making material.”
Jerry lumbered up while speaking loudly on his phone, his head nodding. “We’re all over it, sir. Got it, yes. We’ll make sure, yes sir. I’m personally invested in this investigation, sir. And I’ll keep you in the loop every step of the way.”
His beady eyes finally noticed we were all staring at him. “Sorry, just learning how to manage up.”
I rolled my eyes toward Nick, who was just joining our group. “You get ahold of Brad?”
“Yep, he’s pulling in Gretchen to start building a profile on Pescatore, starting with his online activity, to identify any friends or known associates. They know the routine.”
“Cool, thanks.”
Jerry moved into his familiar position, his arm perched on top of his belly, but since he was wearing a leather coat—one that could have wrapped my body three times over—every movement was annoyingly audible.
I started to review with Jerry everything Captain Lockett had just shared.
“No bother. I heard everything I need to know.”
“I’ve got SWAT and our bomb unit headed to Pescatore’s place in Lynn right now,” Lockett announced.
“I need our people there as well,” Jerry said, sounding a tad territorial. But if he hadn’t said it, I would have.
I palmed my partner’s shoulder. “Nick and I will head that way right now.”
“Hold up,” Jerry said.
I could feel my pulse thumping my neck. I wasn’t used to Jerry getting in the weeds, micromanaging every step we took in an investigation, especially one that was this hot.
“What?” I asked bluntly.
“I’m calling Mason and Silvagni. They can get to Lynn in ten minutes.”
“O…kay.” It was all I could do not to push back on Jerry’s new approach. Perhaps the presence of Agent Small and Captain Lockett was the only thing keeping my mouth sealed. Barely.
“Nick, you head that way since you have the knowledge of this crime scene. Call and give us an update.
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 58
