‘A two-hundred-buck tip,’ Trip said. ‘Whoever did this expected the phone to be destroyed. No loose ends. Although the hostess is a loose end, as are her cell records.’
‘Maybe he was hoping she’d be killed in the blast. That no one would look at her cell phone. The hostess podium was about fifteen feet from Meredith’s table. What about the TATP? Where did it come from?’
‘Somebody’s basement?’ Trip shrugged. ‘It’s easy enough to make. Just acetone and peroxide, both legal to purchase anywhere. There was a lot of it in those pipes, though. A few grams could blow off a finger. There was close to two pounds in the pipes. It’s highly unstable, so the bomber was taking a risk just working with it. For that reason alone, I’d have to say the bomb maker had experience.’
‘There was no “signature fuse” or anything that would ID the bomb maker?’
‘Nope. The only thing is, TATP is so unstable, only a lunatic would store it for very long. We could track any large purchases of acetone or peroxide. Quincy is figuring out how much of the raw materials the bomb maker would have needed.’
‘Was there a number in the cell phone’s log?’ Adam asked.
‘Yes. Untraceable. Another burner.’ He pointed to his notes. ‘That’s the number.’
Adam nodded in satisfaction. ‘That’s the number that called the hostess.’
Trip’s eyes gleamed. ‘We have a link. The call time in the log is seconds before the John Doe was shot. Obviously the shooter tried to detonate and, when he failed, he shot him.’
‘Then tried to shoot Meredith.’
‘Hostess-girl is really lucky the guy didn’t try to shoot her as he drove by.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s not feeling so lucky right now. I’m exploiting that to get her to do an ID of the man who called her.’
‘This Voss guy?’
‘I hope so. He’s the only lead we have so far. I only know that he’s the CEO of Buzz Boys. Nothing on his personality, other than he’s a sociopathic stalking asshole.’
‘Not a bad place to start. You also know he has a kid under Meredith’s care.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I wonder what he did that he doesn’t want Meredith to know.’
‘If it was criminal, she’d have to tell, right? The safety of the child comes before their privacy or confidentiality.’
‘True again.’ He Googled Broderick Voss and children. Then swore when the search results came back. ‘Fucking hell. He’s got an alibi for the time of the shooting. He was speaking to a whole room of people. Political fund-raiser.’ Adam scrutinized the photo of Voss smiling at the crowd. The man’s suit alone had to have cost two grand. ‘Although, if I was that rich, I certainly wouldn’t want my hands dirty. Just because he has an alibi—’
‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,’ Trip finished.
‘Exactly. He certainly has the money to contract it out.’
Trip had his own phone out, Googling. ‘Looks like his fund-raiser was for some state senator’s reelection fund. Maybe the man has an interest in politics himself?’
Adam nodded. ‘And while politicians can weather most scandals these days, any scandal involving a child is still poison.’ He scrolled through the images served up by the search engine. ‘Here’s a picture of his family last Christmas.’ He turned the phone for Trip to see. ‘Pretty wife, adorable little girl. She looks about four, maybe five in this picture, which is about a year old.’
Trip was nodding. ‘He and the missus had a bunch of those photos made over the years. But nothing’s showing up for this year.’
‘I wish we knew what Meredith knows about this little girl. Otherwise, we’re walking blind into this interview with Voss. On the other hand, we can truthfully say we didn’t get his name from her.’
‘I say we’re ready for round one with Mr Voss,’ Trip said, opening the Jeep’s door. ‘I have the address. I’ll meet you there.’
The low ring of Adam’s cell startled him. The caller ID startled him more. Diesel. A text notification popped up at the same time, also from Diesel. Answer my call.
Shit. The man had just said Meredith was all right. Adam gave Trip a sign to wait and answered. ‘Diesel. What’s wrong?’
‘She’s fine,’ Diesel said quickly, but his voice was off. Half excitement, half dread. ‘I need to see you, stat.’
‘What is it? Tell me, for God’s sake.’
‘No,’ Diesel said firmly. ‘In person.’
‘Okay, but Trip’ll be with me.’
A slight hesitation. ‘Fine. Use your blue-light special and get here fast.’
Kiesler University, Chicago, Illinois,
Saturday 19 December, 8.20 P.M. CST (9.20 P.M. EST)
Shane Baird left the library, immediately shivering against the biting wind coming off Lake Michigan. He’d barely cleared the library door when his cell phone began buzzing like it was having a seizure. Hunching away from the wind, he pulled it out of his pocket and saw an explosion of texts, all from his friend Kyle.
The latest in a string of texts caught his eye.
Dude. Call me. Freaking the fuck out here.
Frowning, Shane jogged back to the library and leaned against the brick wall, out of the wind. Quickly he swiped at his phone screen down to the first of the texts.
Some guy just stopped by. Looking for you. Spidey senses off the Richter scale. Guy was all big and mean looking. Dressed cas but was packing. WTF? Why he looking 4 u? Call me! There were five other texts, all from Kyle, becoming increasingly agitated because Shane hadn’t called.
Shane’s breath froze in his lungs, old memories playing like a shitty movie reel. Hand shaking, he called Kyle’s cell. ‘I just saw your text.’
‘Oh shit,’ Kyle said on a relieved whoosh of breath. ‘I thought you were . . . I dunno. Dead or something. Where the fuck have you been?’
‘In the library basement, studying. No cell bars down there. What happened?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened. That guy scared the motherfuck outta me.’
‘What guy?’ Shane’s voice pitched higher, panicked. Was it a cop? This can’t be happening again. It just couldn’t. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Okay, fine.’ Kyle loudly sucked in a breath and let it out. ‘Okay,’ he said again. ‘I’m on desk duty tonight. At Lamarr.’ The residential hall where Shane had lived until the beginning of this semester. The hall where they’d met and bonded over video games and a mutual love of nachos and sci-fi. Kyle had been his first friend in Illinois, when he’d been so damn lonely. ‘This guy came in, about an hour ago. He was trying to look, I dunno, young or something. Like he belonged here. As if. He had to have been thirty and looked like he should have been in a boxing ring. He was no college kid, I know that. He smiled and that made him look even scarier. He said he was just visiting a friend and could I give him the dorm number? I said no, but I could call the student and say he was waiting in the lobby. He looked really pissed and for a second . . . Hell, Shane. I thought he was gonna hit me.’
Shane made himself breathe. ‘You said he asked for me? Me specifically?’
‘Yeah. I told him that you didn’t live here anymore. He asked for your address and I told him I didn’t know it. But he didn’t believe me.’ Kyle made a choked sound. ‘He said I was lying, that he knew we were friends. He said he saw us together on Facebook. Dude, who the fuck was that guy?’
‘I don’t know.’ Shane swallowed hard. ‘Swear to God.’
‘Well, he knows you. I told him that I wasn’t allowed to give any information on a student and I hit the panic button under the desk. He got all mad then and I thought I was dead, right there. Seriously. I managed to tell him that the campus cops were on the way. He gave me a really long look and told me to be smart. That’s all.’
‘What does that mean?’ Shane could hear his own panic.
‘I think he meant for me not to tell the campus cops what went down.’
‘Did you?’