Hernandez kissed his sleeping kids and climbed into bed with his wife, who was down with the flu. She had a skyline of sodas on her night table and a basketful of used tissues on the floor next to the bed. He turned his back on her and pulled the sheet over his shoulder, thinking that he didn’t want to bust on Diaz, but he also didn’t like the feeling he got from the sight of Diaz on the parkway.
All in all, it made for a lousy night’s sleep.
TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK
5.
DAY THREE—Light
BEFORE A RAY OF SUNSHINE had filtered through the drawn shades, the cordless phone on Capobianco’s nightstand roused him from congested sleep. Eyes still closed, he reached across the bed to feel nothing but crumpled sheets. Jill was in the shower. He picked up the phone, reflexively barked, “Cap here!”
“You sound like you swallowed a frog,” Gowen said. “Am I calling at a bad time?”
“I feel like I swallowed a pond full a frogs, tell you the truth.”
“You going to the precinct today?”
“I doubt it.”
“But you’re in the loop, right?”
Capobianco hated this. The police radio was off and Kahn hadn’t called him all night. He could only presume that nothing broke while he slept, but he didn’t know for sure. “In the loop, yes,” he said, “if you mean my squad. What do you know, Hank?”
“The mayor feels anxious and the chief feels anxious.”
“So now it’s my turn.”
“Precisely. It flows downstream. Can’t repeal the laws of physics. So how can you help make them feel better?”
“Hold on.” Capobianco sat up, ran a hand through his sticky hair and took a few gulps of water. The change of position made his head pound, but at least he didn’t have to run to the bathroom for the four hundredth time. He put on his reading glasses and scanned his cell phone for new texts and emails. Nothing earth shattering.
“I reported everything I know to the assistant chief yesterday,” he said.
“That was yesterday. This morning, the press is all over City Hall. They want a sign of progress, some reassurance that we’re not sitting on a powder keg.”
“Who does?”
“Everyone.” Pause. “Well, the press probably doesn’t care. They just want a story. We know that. Maybe a powder keg is an even better story. But the best story of all is the mayor sitting on a powder keg and his minions too stupid to realize it. You and I both know they’ll eat that for lunch.”
“I can’t predict the future, but nothing we have now points in the direction of a wave of violence.” He gave Gowen a fill on the evidence—at least as much as he knew from Kahn yesterday. “I have our best man on it,” he concluded.
“Agree with you there,” Gowen said. He’d been the one to recommend that Kahn apply for the squad years ago. “I don’t suppose you’d think it wise for the chief to go public with the serial number thing?”
“A guy named Gowen once told me that information is neither good nor bad, but leaking makes it so. The one who has it controls the game. So why broadcast anything to the world right now?”
Cap heard Gowen breathing, thinking. He threw off the covers, feeling warm and stuffy. “We have very little, at this point, to suggest motive. But Kahn tells me that O’Shea of A and E says the man was in a fragile emotional state for weeks before he blew himself up. That doesn’t sound like a terrorist cell to me. You?”
“No. So why’d he choose the recruiting station?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The sorry bastard lost his legs in Iraq. Does the press have that?”
“I don’t think so. The administration hasn’t even released the suspect’s name.”
“Let the chief give that to them—the name and his status as a disabled vet. They’re bound to find out soon, anyway.”
“Better just to release the name. Let them dig up the leg thing on their own. Give them something to do.”
“Good call, Hank.”
“Listen, I know the hardest thing is when your only suspect lies dead. What’s your instinct on this?”
Capobianco already knew, but he paused for effect. “Last act of a lonely desperate man.”
“Yeah, me too, if it means anything to you.”
“Sure, it does. You’re the master. But make sure City Hall knows that we can’t prove anything just yet. We’re still working it from all quarters.”
“Commander of A and E says the same.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Feel better, Cap.”
“Yeah, thanks. Stay safe and keep your ass covered.”
“Hah!” Gowen laughed. “Always do.”
KAHN BARELY HAD HALF HIS coffee and egg sandwich down when Patti Morris patched through a call he hated to take: Andy Stoltz of ATF. He grabbed another bite of the sandwich before picking up. Let Stoltz know he was interrupting breakfast, as if the dolt could read a clue.
“Kahn—Stoltz here.”
“What’s up, Andy,” Kahn mumbled through the kaiser roll.
“Thirty-six hours and no one called me, that’s what.”
Kahn chewed and swallowed, immediately tore off another bite of his sandwich. “Called you about what?”
“You know what, Kahn. We were still part of the Task Force, last I checked. Why didn’t you notify me?”
Because you’re a dickhead, Kahn wanted to say. Instead he said, “I got enough bureaucracy to satisfy within my department without getting involved with more initials. You’re on the JTTF, you should already know what’s going on. FBI’s your source by the book, aren’t they? Call Burbette if you want to bust balls.”
“Well, what’s going on?”
“We got a vet who lost his legs twice. For my money, it’s a lone nut, shouldn’t involve the whole federal government.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“Didn’t say it was, but I got work to do. You need anything else, Andy?”
“That’s all you have?”
“What else do you want? If I come across some guns for your Mexican drug lord friends, I’ll let you know. Deal?”
“Fuck you, Kahn.” He hung up to get the last word and Kahn gave a smug grin to no one in particular.
He finished his sandwich and chuckled to himself. Stoltz was the kind of guy who showed up at a championship game in the ninth inning, last into the stadium but first into the picture when they hoisted the trophy. No doubt Burbette felt the same way about him, which is probably why he forgot to call him accidentally on purpose. That was a mark in the FBI’s favor, so far as Kahn was concerned.
He picked up the phone and called Capobianco.
Jill answered. She passed it to Cap and Kahn heard her say, “Five minutes.” Protective of the lieutenant.
When he came on, Kahn said, “ATF was just poking around.”
“That’s all they ever do. Beats real work. Don’t worry about it.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“Anything since last night?”
Kahn looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even nine a.m., Cap.”
“So?”
“It was quiet, from what I hear.”
“They’re pressing us down at City Hall now.”
“What for?”
“Because their boss is an elected official and must appear to be in charge at all times. Do I have to tell you? And—part and parcel of that—they want to know there isn’t another bomb out there.”
“There’s always another bomb out there…eventually.”
“Cut the crap, Sandy. You got anything reassuring?”
“Since what I told you last night, no. But a couple guys are on the board this morning who haven’t been seen for a while. Maybe the flu epidemic’s receding. You coming in soon?”
“I wish. My wife’s got me chained to the bed.”
“I’ll call if I get anything new. I promise.”
Capobianco started to say something, but i
nstead gave a cough and kept coughing. By the end it sounded like he’d hacked up a lung.
“You all right, boss?”
“Shut up, Kahn.”
NO SOONER HAD KAHN HUNG up the phone than he saw Peter Hernandez cross the room in a cardigan sweater and faded jeans.
“You look positively grandfatherly, Pedro. What are you—undercover or something?”
“I’m not on duty till four, came in special to speak with you.”
“Oh?”
“Diaz around?”
“He’s due but I haven’t set eyes on him yet.”
“Mind if we take a walk? I don’t want—”
Kahn held up a hand, getting that this was sensitive. “I don’t have time for a stroll just now,” he said. “We can use Cap’s office.”
Hernandez slipped his hands into his pockets, looking hesitant.
“We can close the door, pull the blinds.”
“Someone might see us come out.”
“That bad?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Aw, hell. Let’s go get a bagel at that place on Hudson. I’ve only had one breakfast so far this morning.”
They didn’t make it to the bagel store, though. In front of a veterinarian’s office, Hernandez stopped and pulled Kahn aside. There were beautiful black-and-white pictures of dogs in the window.
“That golden lab in the picture, you think it’s one of ours?”
“Popular breed. Had one of them as a boy.”
“Never been much for animals myself. But I’d bet you wouldn’t let one get into trouble, would you? I mean without doing anything about it?”
“Course not. What the hell’s this about, Hernandez? I’m short on patience this week.”
“It’s Diaz.”
“You said.”
Hernandez told him what he’d seen on the parkway last night. “Weird—risky behavior like that. What’s the word—gratuitous. Like we don’t have enough danger in this job every day.”
“Hmm.” Kahn bit a lip.
“Anyway, I thought you should know, Sarge—being kind of his partner and the most senior guy in the room, what with the lieutenant out.”
Kahn rubbed his chin. Diaz playing in traffic? The guy must be coming unhinged. But it wasn’t his place to share these concerns with one of the detective’s peers. “Thanks for telling me,” he said with as little emotion as possible. “You did the right thing.”
Hernandez nodded and let out a sigh, clearly relieved to have it off his chest. “That bagel,” he said. “I’ll buy.”
“Never mind. I don’t need it.”
“You’ll keep this between us? Diaz won’t know?”
Kahn rested his hands on his hips. “I can hardly do that if I have to act on your information, can I? It was direct contact, after all. You said you got out of the car and everything.”
“I had to make sure he was all right.”
“Admirable enough. But if I have to discuss it with him, I can hardly say a little birdie told me.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe don’t say anything after all.”
“That’ll be for the lieutenant to decide. You did the right thing, Hernandez. From here we’ll have to play it as it lays.”
Kahn left him standing on the sidewalk and headed back toward the precinct house. He had no bandwidth for handholding Hernandez just now, felt the downward tug of managerial responsibility like a weight on his back. No wonder Cap had gone gray at the temples in just nine months on the job. Maybe they should give these guys psych tests before taking them into the squad.
He walked slowly, staring at his feet. Diaz had always been a little too much his own man, but since the Times Square bombing he seemed to be growing an enormous chip on his shoulder. No—Kahn caught himself—it started before that with the package by the steps of St. Pat’s. Deep down Kahn knew that Diaz meant well, had passion, cared about what he was doing. But if the detective had begun to go rogue, it would be Kahn’s job to rein him in before someone got hurt.
LEWIS SALINOWSKY WAS SLICING POTATOES when Father Igor strolled into the church kitchen. He liked the deacon, who wasn’t an actual priest but whom Salinowsky insisted on calling Father out of respect. Father Igor ran the charitable end of St. Euphrosyne Ukrainian Church. In that position, he’d given the vagrant a lot of breaks in the past year, paid him a little sometimes for his “volunteer” kitchen work, made sure his bunk in the shelter kept him away from the creepiest individuals. Now Salinowsky was eager to ask another favor of his benefactor.
“You’re at it early,” Father Igor said, brushing a shock of blondish gray hair off of his own forehead. He had a clipboard in his other hand, had come to count the stocks.
“Too cold this morning for panhandling,” Salinowsky said truthfully. He set down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron, and pointed to the mound on the chopping block. “That’s thirty pounds there, in case you were wondering.”
“Well done, Lewis.”
Salinowsky’s shoulders hurt. He’d been sitting, and the stainless steel counter was too high for sustained work from there. Now he stood, a little shaky.
Father Igor reached out to catch him, but Salinowsky steadied himself without assistance. The blister in his stump was bad, though. He did his best to ignore it. “That methadone clinic you turned me onto,” he said, “I’m planning to go this week. Check it out.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You deserve better for yourself.”
Salinowsky nodded, knowing he’d raised the subject of the clinic only to suck up a little. “You’ve been very kind to me,” he added.
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for me if the situation were reversed.” Father Igor blinked slowly, as if letting a split-second of meditation pass.
“I never volunteered for anything in my life except for the army,” Salinowsky conceded.
“That was enough. No one’s keeping score.”
“I am, though. I owe you big time, Father, and I have another thing to ask.”
“Oh?”
“Someone’s been messing with my stuff.”
The vagrants slept in a big room, thirty cots lined up like checkers with a small locker at the foot of each. They couldn’t leave anything outside the locker when they left the premises in the morning. That’s why the ones who traveled heavier never came to stay at St. Euph’s. They used the City shelters or slept on the street.
“Here or outside?” Father Igor asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re missing things?”
Salinowsky shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s more of a feeling.” He scratched his arm, getting the creepy-crawlies just to talk about it.
Father Igor studied him. “Tell you what. You promise me—promise me—that you’ll go to the methadone clinic this week and I’ll make a space for your things.”
“It’s a deal.” Salinowsky rocked in his eagerness. “Can I go get them?”
Father Igor nodded. Salinowsky felt eyes on his back as he hobbled out to his regular cot and gathered his possessions from the footlocker. There wasn’t much, just two armfuls. He hugged them to his chest.
“There’s a place in the pantry with some room,” Father Igor said. “I’ll show you.”
DIAZ ENTERED THE SQUAD ROOM while Kahn was on the phone. Since last night, a feeling of resolve had settled in his gut. He accepted the incident of Hernandez seeing him out there on the parkway as a wake-up call. The time had come to stop allowing his emotions to rule him so. What had gotten into him of late, he didn’t know. He’d been reporting to work under a cloud of dread for weeks, like the department was going to crush all life out of him, like he had to flail just to get his breath. But he now hoped being caught out last night by Hernandez would serve as a tap of the reset button. No more indulging his instincts, good or bad. Keep the head down, do the job, get on with it.
“Detective Diaz,” Morris called. “I have Donald Burbette of FBI on line three. He asked for Kahn but said he�
��d settle for you.”
Settle. How was that for a fresh start? Diaz swallowed hard, forced himself not to go straight from being settled for to second-class citizenship. Of course he was second choice. The detective sergeant outranked him. “Sure, I’ll take it.”
He went to a free desk and picked up. “Diaz.”
“What happened...Kahn out for donuts?”
“I dunno. He’s on the phone. How you doing, Don?”
“Peachy. Trying to spread the info around here, in case someone besides O’Shea is capable of an insight.”
“I’m game.”
“Lucky for us the army’s trying to be better about controlling its most dangerous weapons. Or maybe that was just the cause of the week when this batch of C4 came through. Either way it’s my good fortune to report that they were able to track the taggant from Horn’s device specifically to the Grafenwohr Army Training Center in Germany.”
Diaz nodded to himself. It was a one-in-a-hundred break, but the history of law enforcement was rife with them. “The seven-oh-second EOD is there. Any known connection to Horn?”
“Negative.”
“Engineers? They have access to C4 sometimes.”
“Well, we know our man is cavalry, so no.”
“He passed through Germany, though. All the seriously injured do, coming out of the Middle East. They fly them into Ramstein and patch them up at Landstuhl Medical Center.”
“You been to any of those places, Diaz?”
“All of them. Not as a patient in Landstuhl, though. Went to visit friends a couple of times. It’s pretty surreal.”
“All war is surreal.”
“This is like dying and going to heaven. One day you’re eating dust and getting shot at. The next day or soon thereafter you’re lying in this sterile environment, crisp clean sheets, people being all civil to you and shit. But, just like heaven, no one wants to go there voluntarily. Know what I’m saying?”
“No doubt our man Horn didn’t choose that stop for himself. The hospital, I mean.”
“Who does? Some of these guys would be better off dead. I had a guy beg me to shoot him once, put him out of his misery.”
A Danger to Himself and Others: Bomb Squad NYC Incident 1 Page 9
