Enigma Page 11

  Amanda frowned, the gesture deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth. “But I used it this morning when I left for my meetings. And I’m sure that Walter did, too.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Amanda. The bomb could have been set later in the day, or maybe it was attached to a timer.” Sam looked as if each word were twisting her heart. Payton’s anger at Cullen grew exponentially. It was his fault she’d been put in this position. Sam would no doubt have wanted to see Amanda before they went back to Austin, but it would have been in a setting far different from this.

  “You’re saying the thing could have been there all along. That we should have seen it?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. If it was already in place it would have been well hidden.” Sam squeezed Amanda’s hand. “Look, Cullen, this isn’t the time or place to discuss this. We need to finish our site investigation, and then analyze the data. All of which takes time. It could be weeks before we have definitive answers.”

  Amanda met Sam’s eyes head-on, and again Payton was impressed with the woman’s strength. “Just tell me one thing. Do you believe this is connected to the bombing in San Antonio? Walter was working on it day and night. I’ve never seen him so driven.”

  “There are similarities in the materials used. And in the execution.” Sam flinched at her choice of word, darting a glance at Payton. He subtly shook his head, satisfied that Amanda had missed the double entendre. “I’ll know more when I get the fragments back to the lab.”

  Amanda nodded, obviously turning Sam’s words over in her mind. “And you’re in charge of this investigation. You and Mr. Pulaski, here.” She tipped her head toward Cullen, who had been uncharacteristically silent since his arrival.

  “I’ve got a crack team of experts working on it, Mrs. Atherton,” Cullen inserted. “Sam and Payton here are two of the team. Sam of course is taking lead because of her expertise in dealing with this type of situation.”

  “Bombings, you mean.” Amanda’s tone was dry, as if she loathed the word. But then again, considering what had just happened, she probably did.

  “Yes. She’s one of the best in the country.” Cullen’s response bordered on patronizing, and Payton waited for Amanda Atherton’s reaction, expecting fireworks.

  “I assure you, Mr. Pulaski, I’m quite aware of that fact. My husband is in large part responsible for her career, as well as her expertise.” Amanda turned her concerned gaze on Sam, reaching out for her hands. “You be careful, Sam. Whoever this is, he’s lethal. And he’s already killed one investigator. You could be next. I don’t want to lose you, too.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears, and Sam reached out to hug her again, the two women holding on to each other, giving and getting support.

  Sam met Payton’s gaze over Amanda’s shoulder, her eyes filled with tears. And Payton felt a rush of emotion that surprised him with its strength.

  If the bastard ever tried coming after Sam, he’d have to get through Last Chance first. He might not trust Cullen—hell, he didn’t even like the man—but he had put together a crack team, and none of them, Payton most particularly, was going to let anything happen to Sam.

  Of that much he was absolutely certain.

  SAM LEANED BACK against the cool leather seat of Cullen’s private jet, trying without success to get some sleep. It was late. Almost morning, actually, and she’d been up for almost thirty-six hours. But despite utter exhaustion, her brain simply wouldn’t turn off.

  This was her fourth trip in the jet, and she had to admit it wasn’t a bad way to travel. Still, she’d rather go by bus if it meant that she wouldn’t have to deal with Walter Atherton’s death.

  There weren’t many people that had touched Sam’s life. She was too self-contained for that. But her father had been one, and Walter Atherton another. Maybe if she was really generous she could add a couple other names, but basically, when she thought of the people instrumental in her life, her dad and Walter summed it all up.

  And now they were both gone.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to cry. Wasn’t going to do it now, either. Despite the fact that Payton was sound asleep in the seat next to hers.

  Cullen was sitting several rows back, and the last time she’d checked, he too was out like a light. Gabe and Madison were still in Austin, coordinating things from that end. And Harrison was sitting a few rows up, tapping diligently at his computer. Nothing new in that. But Sam had to admit there was a certain comfort in the sound of clacking keys.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax, but she had no more luck than she’d had the first hundred times she’d tried. It had been hard to leave Amanda, but her daughter had arrived from Radcliffe, and her son should be there by now. They needed time alone. Time to grieve. And despite Sam’s relationship with the family, she was still an outsider. Besides, there was work to do.

  If they were going to nail the bastard behind all of this, she had to stay focused on the evidence. Piece together the puzzle. There were definite similarities. She just had to tie the two bombings together. Once she’d established a pattern, then they could start to look for other incidents.

  Harrison had already found five. She could start there. Maybe if she understood a little more about them, she could begin eliminating. In addition to that, she needed to get Harrison’s take on the photos of the fragments she’d given him.

  She doubted he’d had time to analyze much since they’d just spent the last twenty-four hours in Virginia, but there was no time like the present. And at least talking to him, she’d feel like she was doing something constructive.

  Moving carefully so as not to wake Payton, she slid out of the seat and made her way up the aisle to Harrison, leaning on the armrest of the seat across from him. “Burning the midnight oil?”

  Harrison looked up with a rueful grin. “I know, I should be sleeping, but this stuff just sticks in my head and won’t go away.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sam smiled. The first genuine one she’d had all day. There was just something comforting about Harrison Blake, like a favorite blanket or sweatshirt or something.

  She shook her head at her musings. It seemed that Last Chance was full of intriguing men. Score one for Cullen.

  “So tell me what you know about the five unsolved bombings?”

  “Not much really.” Harrison hit a couple of keys and brought up a report. “They’re all in Texas.” He shot her an apologetic look. “I figured these guys typically stay close to home, so I used San Antonio as the center. With Virginia in the mix I probably ought to take the search national.”

  “I searched the databanks myself for anything as big as San Antonio that might match up, and came up with zilch. So I think you were right to stick to Texas. We’re looking at priors here, and so whatever we find might have a similar M.O., and should certainly have the same signature, but it won’t necessarily be as big or as well done. So you did fine,” she said, stifling a yawn.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be sleeping,” Harrison said, his gaze meeting hers, his smile crooked.

  “I’ve been trying, but my brain and yours are on the same wavelength, I think. So tell me about the possible incidents.”

  He turned his attention back to the screen. “They’re all across the state. Two in west Texas, two on or near the coast and one in east-central Texas. Nothing in the immediate area around San Antonio.”

  “Let’s start with the ones in west Texas.” She leaned over so that she could see the computer screen.

  “Sure.” Harrison hit a button bringing up a more detailed screen. “The first one was four years ago in Lubbock. Pipe bomb. Welding.” He paused to look up at her. “That was part of my search parameter.”

  “Did you specify detonation?”

  “I said electrical. And described what we found in San Antonio.”

  Sam nodded as Harrison turned back to the computer screen. “Anyway. This one happened at a bus station. The investigation shows three deaths. Two tr
ansients and the night watchman. The bomb was triggered by the man’s radio.”

  “Battery-powered or electric?”

  Harrison scrolled through the report. “Electric. Which would be why the computer spit it out. Investigation centered on the night watchman since it was his radio. Although according to the police report, the radio never left the bus station.”

  “So it could have been about something else.”

  “Exactly. But our guy would have known he was killing someone, since it required turning on the machine to close the circuit for the blast.”

  “All right,” Sam said, frowning. “Let’s hear about the other one.”

  “This one was in Abilene.”

  Sam’s frown deepened. “When was the bombing?”

  “Almost three years ago. The city office complex across from the courthouse.”

  “Common target. I actually defused a bomb there something like twelve years ago when I was working CSU. What are the specifics this time?”

  Harrison brought up another screen. “Same type of bomb as Lubbock, this one detonated by the security system. Once the security system was activated for the night, a timer started, three hours later, there was no need for the system. It was assumed that it was some local group at odds with the government, but nothing was ever proved.”

  “Any casualties?”

  Harrison shook his head. “You want to hear about Brownsville?”

  “Yeah.” She chewed the side of her lip, trying to put the newest pieces of information into coherent order.

  “This one was a year and a half ago. Same M.O. for the bomb. Detonator was also a security system. This time to the computer room of the city building. A janitor punched in the code and kaboom. Two fatalities.”

  “Both janitors?”

  Harrison nodded, opening yet another screen. “The other bomb on the coast was in Refugio. It was the longest ago. Sixteen years. And barely fits our parameters. The bomb construction fits the bill, but the work is a lot cruder. The target was the county museum, specifically an exhibit of Nolan Ryan memorabilia. He was born in Refugio. Anyway, the bomb was detonated with a kitchen timer hooked to an electrical circuit powered by a battery.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t as sophisticated as the others. But let’s not rule it out. It could have just been part of his evolution. Anyone killed?”

  “Nope. The explosion occurred on a Saturday night just after closing. No one was on the premises.”

  “So we’ve got four possibilities. What about the last one?”

  “Bryan.” Harrison hit a button to display the final screen. “This one occurred six years ago in a barbeque restaurant. At first they thought it was a fire, but later investigation turned up bomb fragments. The place was small and evidently a hell of a tinderbox, so there wasn’t much left. Nothing to firmly tie to a detonator. But there were fragments of wiring there that indicated an electrical detonation of some kind. It fits the pattern the least.”

  “But part of that’s because there wasn’t much to go on.”

  “That and the fact that there wasn’t a lot of investigation. Apparently the owner was suspect from the get-go. He evidently owed a lot of money to the wrong sorts of people. Speculation was that either he did it himself for the insurance money, or his loan sharks did it to teach him a lesson.”

  Sam sighed. “We’re going to need something more definitive to tie any of these to our guy. You get a chance to look at those photographs yet?”

  “Not much. I started, but then this thing in Virginia happened, and it sort of got crazy.…” He shrugged, his expression apologetic again. “I need a better computer than this one,” he waved at his laptop, “to properly enhance what you gave me. But I did notice something right off. In comparing the San Antonio photographs to other fragment photos in the FBI database, I was surprised to see no tool marks. It’s like the guy polished the pieces after he’d assembled them or something.”

  “The Unabomber did that. Meticulous to a fault.”

  “So maybe we’re dealing with a similar personality?” Harrison’s eyebrows raised with the question.

  “God, I hope not.” The Unabomber had gone undetected for years. And Sam wasn’t about to entertain the notion that this guy would follow a similar path. She wanted to nail the bastard now. Before he managed another attack.

  People like him didn’t stop. The need to demonstrate his power would be like a virus growing inside him. Which meant there was potential for it to get a hell of a lot worse before it got any better.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I DON’T KNOW what the hell we’re dealing with here, but whatever it is, it’s getting attention from everyone in the free world.” Cullen stood in the operations conference room, his hands waving through the air underscoring his words. “Which means the fire under our butts is reaching the broiling stage.”

  “I’d say that’s hitting a little too close to home.” Gabe grimaced, glancing down at the photographs he held in his hands. Pictures of the remains of Walter Atherton. Payton had just spent the past half hour bringing Gabe up to speed. They’d communicated by telephone in Virginia, but it wasn’t the same as a firsthand account.

  “If the shoe fits…” Cullen’s face had turned red, his frustration building into anger.

  “Come on, Cullen, you know we’re working as fast as we can,” Madison said, her voice soft and unaffected. She was the only one who seemed completely impervious to Cullen’s outbreaks. But then she’d been dealing with the man for years. “You’ve got to remember the guy on the other side of all this knows why he’s doing what he’s doing. We don’t have that luxury.”

  “I thought that’s what you were supposed to excel at. Thinking like this vermin.”

  Madison smiled, her hand on her stomach, the gesture touching somehow, as if even in utero she was protecting her child. “It’s not as easy as all that and you know it. I have to have more to go on than just his handiwork.”

  Cullen sank down onto a chair, running a hand through his hair. “I know that. And I didn’t mean to lash out at you.” He shot her a chagrined look, and for a moment Payton almost forgot he hated the man.

  “We’re all under a lot of pressure here.” This from Gabe, who was holding on to his temper by a hairsbreadth. Cullen and Gabe had never been the best of friends, but things had eased a lot with Madison’s intervention. However, in light of her current condition, Gabe was more protective than usual.

  “Well maybe we can help.” Harrison and Sam stood in the doorway, Harrison waving a sheath of photographs for emphasis. “We may have a signature.”

  “Let me see.” Cullen stood up and was across the room in two paces. Harrison however, was one step ahead of him.

  “Hang on,” he said, lifting the photos over his head, well out of Cullen’s reach. “This is Sam’s show.”

  She shot Harrison a warm smile, and Payton swallowed a surge of irritation. The two of them had been thick as thieves since they’d boarded the plane back to Austin.

  “Why don’t you quit with the histrionics and just tell us what you’ve found.” His words sounded harsh, but there was no taking them back.

  Sam’s eyebrows rose, her gaze knowing, and he silently cursed his own weakness. “Believe me, it’ll be better if we show you. And thanks to Harrison and all this amazing equipment, that’s exactly what we want to do.” She nodded to Harrison who had attached his computer to some audio/visual equipment, the enlarged image of a bomb fragment projected on the whiteboard.

  Sam moved over to stand next to him, a laser pointer in her hand. “This is fragment 18A from the San Antonio bomb site.” She circled the image on the screen with the red laser line, as Harrison turned out the lights. Cullen and Gabe had taken seats flanking Madison, the three of them intent on the projected image. “This is the largest fragment we found. A part of an end cap. At first I thought it was a fluke that it survived. The evidence indicates that our bomber welds his end caps. And if that’s the case, this piece
should never have remained intact.”

  Payton leaned forward, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the newly created gloom. The picture changed, the computer acting as slide projector. “This is a picture of a fragment of the other end cap. You can see that it’s a lot smaller. We found three fragments like this one.”

  “And the rest of the end cap?” Cullen asked.

  “Was destroyed in the blast. Exactly as the other one should have been.” The photo switched again, this time to a close-up of the previous slide. “The markings you see at the bottom of the fragment are welding marks.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Madison said.

  “That’s because they’re really faint,” Sam said. “Harrison, can you enlarge the picture any more?”

  “Sure.” The picture obediently changed sizes, this time the markings becoming more apparent.

  “They’re right here.” The laser’s red dot highlighted each of the marks. “I didn’t see them myself at first. One of the interesting things about this guy’s work is that there are no tool marks. Harrison thinks maybe he’s polishing the parts after he makes them.”

  “Like the Unabomber.” This again from Madison.

  “Exactly.” Sam shot her a triumphant smile. “But a weld isn’t as easy to get rid of. The metal itself is chemically altered. And so even though he did his best to remove them, the marks remain.”

  “So what if the guy welds his end caps? Madison just said someone else did it, too, that hardly makes it a signature,” Cullen interjected, his impatience showing.

  “It’s not the welds themselves that are important. It’s the lack of welds on the other end cap.” The image on the screen changed back to the original one. “Enlarge it, Harrison.”

  Again the image came into sharper focus, the edge clearly unmarred.

  “What I’m thinking is that he only welded one side. Which would pretty much guarantee that the unwelded end cap would survive a blast. The pressure inside the pipe builds against the welded side until it blows the other end off like a pop bottle top when you shake it.”