“Dumb move.” Bicker’s former Air Force security forces training kicked in, and she was able to shake off the pain to her jaw and chest, scrambling quickly to her feet.
Madman didn’t wait around. He raced out of the doors, leaving the backpack behind.
Bicker gave chase, but couldn’t believe the evasive speed the man had. She got on her portable radio, notifying the dispatcher she was in foot pursuit. When she reached the sidewalk outside the building, she scanned both directions. He was already across the street, heading eastbound on Wells Street. By the time she got to the intersection of Market and Wells, the suspect was gone. She walked along the sidewalk, looking for any possible hiding spot he may have ducked in to. A maroon Buick Skylark pulled away from the curb fifty feet in front of her. She caught a glimpse of two white males wearing baseball caps. Damn!
She broadcast a description of the vehicle, license plate, and direction of travel. Having no squad to get into, it was all she could do. Bicker also advised the dispatcher of the suspicious backpack, requesting immediate bomb squad assistance. She returned to the building and secured the area around it.
Within fifteen minutes, Detective Schmidt from the bomb explosive detail, along with FBI Special Agent Kevin Cleary, arrived on the scene. Inspecting the backpack, they could see the detonator had not been armed, and the attached black plastic Timex watch was still set for five minutes. There were seven large, metal pipe bombs inside.
“Does the word lucky mean anything to anybody today? That’s what I would call this one. Sue, you saved lives here today. Nice work.”
“Thanks. I copied the license plate wrong, though. The plate I had comes back to somebody in Eau Claire on a Toyota. Better run a couple variations of it. Thought for sure I had it right. Secondly, I wish I would have taken up track instead of volleyball. That guy flew out of the building. No way was I catching up to him.”
“What do you mean you didn’t arm it? Are you that brain-dead? All you had to do was set the switch.” Spike smashed his fist into the dashboard.
“I didn’t have a chance. As soon as I put the backpack down, that bitch cop told me to stand up and keep my hands in sight. Her hand was on her gun, ready to draw. I may be crazy, but not suicidal.”
“Shit. Now what? I better hide this car in the garage when we get back to my place. Good thing I altered the plates a little to lead them on a snipe hunt. Damn it, Madman!”
“My bad, Spike. Sorry. We’ll do it again tomorrow. She had me. Got two good licks on her, so I know that bitch is hurtin’. Still can’t believe she was back on her feet so fast.”
Declan had arrived home just before five thirty that morning and slept for a couple of hours. He changed his hours from eight to four to eleven to seven so he could finish paperwork on his case. He met Anne for coffee at two and briefed her on everything that had happened up until that point.
“Thanks for the text. I was able to get my squad supervisor and ASAC up to speed on the case this morning. Anything further on the attempted bombing at city hall?”
“Nothing yet. Has to be our boys, though. I didn’t get a chance to call you until well after two in the morning. You’d be feeling as crummy as I feel about now if I had. Less than three hours of sleep just doesn’t cut it.”
“I forgive you this time. Just don’t let it happen again, local boy.” She winked and took hold of his right hand. “Krista was up half the night after a bad dream. I would have been a basket case. Are you free tomorrow night? I’d love to have you over for dinner and introduce you to her. She wants to meet you.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. What are you having? I have a very particular palette, you know.”
“So I’ve seen. I’m making what any self-respecting Italian girl would cook for dinner. Pasta, meat sauce, and eggplant, with a big loaf of garlic bread. Can you be there at about five?”
“Perfect. I’ll take four hours of comp time and turn my phone off so I don’t get jammed up with something. You know how that always happens with planned events.”
“I’m starting to find out. Guess we FBI types just aren’t as important as you guys.”
“I won’t go near that one.” He smiled and made a gesture covering his mouth so he wouldn’t say anything. “I better bug out, Anne. That remaining stack of reports I need to file waits for no one. See you tomorrow at five. Thanks for the invite.”
It was three fifteen when the phone rang at his desk. “Intelligence division, Detective Tomczyk, can I help you?”
“Detective Tomczyk, this is Demetrius Simms. I’m a friend of Bobby Heard Jr. I met you at our football game at Pulaski Field.”
“How’s it going, Demetrius? You’re Lightning, right?”
The other side of the line went silent for a couple seconds. “You remember that?”
“C’mon, Demetrius. You’re a young man after my heart. Back in the day, I may have been as fast as you, but you got the jukes, brother. I could never make those lightning cuts.”
“Thanks, detective.”
“Please, call me Declan. What can I do for you?”
“Declan, can I meet you somewhere? I want to run something by you. I spoke to my mom this afternoon, and she said I should speak to someone on the police department about this. When I showed her your business card, she told me to call you right away.”
“Great advice, kid. Where you at?”
“How about I meet you at Sub Shop on East Capitol Drive? I’m in that area now.”
“Fantastic. Give me about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, see ya. And thanks.”
Interesting. What would some seventeen-year-old high school football star want to talk to a detective about? Just hope he didn’t get himself into some trouble and wants me to bail him out. That’s all I need. Tomczyk was in his unmarked squad in less than five minutes and jumped on the expressway. He pulled into the restaurant parking lot and walked into the popular sub-sandwich restaurant. Demetrius was sitting in a booth in the corner.
He got up and shook Declan’s hand. “Thanks for meeting me, sir. I hope this won’t be a waste of your time.”
“Never a waste. What’s up?” Tomczyk responded as he took a seat on the bench across from the handsome young black man.
“I took the liberty of getting you a bottle of juice so you can listen while I talk. Is that okay?”
Declan was definitely taken aback by that comment. “Ah, sure. Are you certain you’re only seventeen? You have the manners of someone much older. Your parents did quite a remarkable job.”
“Thanks. My dad was a police officer. He got killed a couple years ago on the job. It’s just Mom and me now.”
“Bobby told me all about it. I only met your dad once or twice. A fine person.”
“He sure was. I miss the heck out of him now and wish he was still around. Sure could use his wisdom.”
“I understand, Demetrius. I was working that day and heard it on the radio. What a terrible tragedy.”
“Appreciate your comments. It’s been tough, but Mom and I are doing it. Declan, there’s no other way for me to explain this other than just starting at the beginning.”
“Go.”
Demetrius carefully laid out his initial contact with George, with as many details as he could about what George told him. Declan took a drink from the bottle and almost choked on it when Demetrius spoke of the two police stations being bombed on Halloween night in 1935. This mirrored the recovery of the two bombs found in a plastic bag in the alley after the bombing at District Five the night before. I bet these guys were going to bomb another police station. Finally, Declan nearly jumped out of his skin when Demetrius named the two detectives who had questioned George about the bombings eighty years earlier. Demetrius finished his story by mentioning about a Richie who had previously worked at the nursing home and who George had also told his story to.
“What really bothered me the most was when George told me how Richie acted when George said something about pissing on
those detectives’ headstones. I kept wondering, why would someone want to bomb a cemetery? It just didn’t make sense. That’s when I thought about the connection. Have to tell you, though. A couple dudes at school who make a career out of being stupid and getting into trouble with cops may have considered blowing up a police station, but would never go through with it.”
“I get that. Demetrius, I could give you a big man-hug right now! You’ve just filled in some big pieces that were missing in our investigation. Now it’s becoming clearer. We kind of had a line on this whole Mad Bomber and Idzi stuff from plugging info into the computer, but we couldn’t make sense out of any of it. I mean, how do you connect any crimes that happened that long ago to today? Did George ever mention Richie’s name or give you any other information about him?”
“No, he didn’t. Richie worked for about a month after I started, which was six months ago. My supervisor, Tim Scott, would know him because he would have been his boss also. He could probably give you all the info you need. I’m guessing you’ll have to check with the HR people also.”
“You’re a regular junior detective. I don’t know how to thank you enough. Do you know how long HR is open at the nursing home? I could take a ride up there right now.”
“Until five.”
“Fantastic.” He noticed that it was ten after four. “Do me a big favor. Go ahead and tell your mom about our conversation, but no one else. I’ll get back to you and tell you what I can.”
“Thanks for listening, Declan.”
Declan had to laugh at that one. “You may have just broken this massive investigation wide open, and you’re thanking me? I want to meet your mom. I bet she is one fantastic woman, raising a great kid like you.”
“She sure is.” As much as he liked Declan when he first met him at the football game, he doubled that admiration after talking to him now. Demetrius squirmed in his seat. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Not at all. Go ahead.”
“Do you regret not going pro?”
“Whoa, where did that come from? And who told you?”
“A day or two after Bobby introduced us to you, he told us all about your college career and how you passed up a high NFL draft pick to go into the Marines. Told us about your sub-4.5 second 40-meter sprint and how you benched 225 for 41 reps at the combine. Not many people can do that. No disrespect, Declan, but I don’t see you clockin’ in that fast.”
“Now you are really funny.” He gestured a fist in Demetrius’ direction and smiled. “That was well over a decade—and a couple hundred donuts and bagels—ago.” He patted a stomach that had seen more than its share of “ab” workouts. “I’m probably at about nine flat by now.” Tomcyzk sat back in his seat for a second before he answered the young man sitting in front of him. “Great question, Demetrius. Coach Alaveres asked that exact question when I told him I was going into the Marine Corps—besides a couple other comments he made. He understood my answer, wished me the best of luck, and gave me one of those ‘bear hugs’ that a father gives a son. He made me promise that I would go to the NFL combine in case I changed my mind or didn’t get into the Corps for some reason.
I wanted to be a Marine more than anything in the world. When my successes on the football field kept coming, I questioned my goal and my decision, but stayed true to my word. After my wife was diagnosed with cancer and I had to get out of active duty to become a cop so I could be closer to her, I did some serious soul searching. By then, it was too late to try out for a team. One night, we’ll have that serious talk and discuss your future. I’m sure your mailbox has been full of college scholarship offers. If becoming a Wisconsin Badger is one of your goals, I still have some juice in that area. That is, if coach isn’t ticked off at me still. Just kidding. We go out to lunch or dinner occasionally. He’s just a great, great man.”
“That’s what I needed to hear. Personally, I thought you fell off the cart and straight onto your head not goin’ pro. Now it all makes sense. I respect your answering me … and your service. Can’t tell you how many times my dad used to tell me how much he loved being a cop. His eyes always had this unbelievable glow whenever he shared the job with me. You know how many questions a son can ask their father.”
Where did this kid come from? I’ve got to meet his mother. Declan stood up. “I promise; I’ll be in touch.”
They shook hands and said goodbyes, walking out separate doors to leave.
Chapter 24
IDENTIFICATION OF A MAD BOMBER
Declan got onto the expressway and was at the River Hills Nursing Home in less than twenty minutes. Walking in the main door, he stopped at the front desk and asked the attendant for the human resources department. She directed him to an office down the hall on the right.
“I need to speak to a supervisor regarding one of your former employees.” Within two minutes, a middle-aged woman greeted him at the counter.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’re ready to close.”
“I’m aware of that, ma’am. I apologize for coming in so late, but this is an urgent matter.” He showed her his detective badge and police identification on the back of the badge holder. “I’m looking for information on a former employee. All I have is ‘Richie’ and that he worked in your maintenance department.”
The woman was less than impressed with his credentials. She asked him into her office. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the front office female employees staring at him the whole time. He liked to think it was because of his good looks and build, but her eyes and body language told a story of something else. He’d worry about it later.
“Again, ma’am, this is a matter of high urgency. We’re seeking to get information on this ‘Richie.’ He worked here until about four or five months ago.”
“I don’t have to do this without a subpoena, you know.”
“I’m aware of that, Mrs. Sanders,” reading her name from the fairly large wooden name tag on her desk. “I can request a subpoena, but this is a matter of life and death.”
The woman thought for several seconds, then opened the middle file cabinet and fingered through a number of manila employee files.
“Here it is.” She removed it from its alphabetical listing in the “former employees” section. “His name is Richard John Zuber, birthday of June 15, 1989. The last address we have is 4879 North Eightieth Street in Milwaukee. Is there anything else you need?”
“Just his current status, ma’am.”
“He was terminated five months ago for having too many unexcused absences and coming to work with marijuana on his breath. We have a zero-tolerance policy as far as drugs are concerned.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders.” He handed her his business card. “If there’s something we can help you with, please give me a call.”
“Doubt it, but I’ll keep your card. Good day, Officer.”
“It’s Detective Tomczyk, ma’am.” Declan couldn’t stand her uppity, North Shore attitude. She led him out of her office and back into the hallway.
“I’m guessing you can find your way out from here, Detective.”
“Yes ma’am, they tell me I’m a professional investigator. I’ll figure it out.”
Without responding, she walked back into her office.
What a gem, he thought to himself. He got what he needed; no sense pushing the issue.
“What are you talking about, Maggie?”
“Look, Richie, I’m at the nursing home and some detective dude from Milwaukee is asking about you. He just went into mega-bitch Sanders’ office. I stepped outside for a smoke break to call you. What’s going on? Plus, I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks, and I’m missin’ your lovin’.”
“Nothin’ goin’ on. Everything’s cool. I’m right in the middle of something, but I’ll call you in a day or two. I’m missing that hot bod of yours, but I told you we would only be doing part-time sack time since I moved in with Angie.”
“I kno
w, but you roll around better than most, and I crave it.”
“No worries, Maggie. I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the call.” He disconnected the phone. “Dammit!”
Tomczyk walked back over to the information desk and asked the same woman where he could find the maintenance supervisor and if he was still working.
“Tim left at four today. Said he was going to his son’s basketball game. Can I ask who you are?”
He again produced his badge and police identification.
“Why didn’t you say so?” the woman asked. “Tim’s a friend of mine.” She wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Here’s his name and cell phone number. He’ll help you in any way he can.”
“Thank you very much. One last question. I’m also looking for one of your residents named George. I was told he stays in room 126.”
“Easy enough. Straight down the hall on the left. There’s been some activity there in the last couple hours. I heard he’s been coughing a lot recently.”
“You’ve been more than helpful, ma’am.”
“Good luck, Detective. Have a great evening.”
“You, too.” Man, what a difference—meeting Cruella Deville and Cinderella, all within five minutes of each other. He walked down the hallway to room 126. Peering into the room, he saw an elderly man lying in bed with an oxygen tube in his nose.
“You gonna stand there all day or come in and talk to me?”
Declan walked in and stepped over to the side of the bed. “Detective Declan Tomczyk, sir, Milwaukee Police.” He produced his detective shield and showed it to the man. “Is your name George?”
“Well, don’t this beat all. I’ve stayed out of trouble all these years, and they send me some detective to finally come and arrest me. Who woulda thought?” George put both his arms out. “Handcuff me, flat foot. I’m guilty.”
George was as Demetrius described. He had to smile and admire a guy in his upper nineties who obviously still had it going on.
“Sir, you’re lucky the jail is full up, so I can’t take you with me.” He pointed his right index finger at him and shook it gently. “But don’t let it happen again.” They both laughed as Declan relayed the conversation he just had with Demetrius.
Circle of Terror Page 17
