“We need a bomb squad checking out the For Sale vehicles at the end of the lot,” I said. “That’s my highest priority here, and I need agents. Send everyone you can. We need the first responder vehicles out of here. We need to establish a perimeter. Let’s coordinate with Las Vegas Metro and cordon off ten blocks and search.
“There are apartment or condo buildings across and down the street with a good view. I’m looking at them right now. Whoever detonated this could be there. I was a mile away on Lake Mead when it went off. Could have been someone on a balcony there watching. A cake arrived when I was on the phone with my brother-in-law, Captain Jim Kern. The driver that dropped the cake may have passed by me going the other way. I saw a Hullabaloo van. That driver may have been the last one inside.” I paused, gathered myself, then said, “Text me as our bomb squad rolls.”
“You’re not staying.”
“The fuck I’m not. I’m not leaving here. I’m a material witness and the best we have for bombings.”
“You’re leaving.”
“My sister and brother-in-law and nephew are dead in there. There’s no way I’m leaving.”
“I’m ordering you to come in.”
“I’m telling you, I’m not leaving.”
“There are other issues I’ll explain in here.”
“Explain now or come here. I can’t leave.”
“Jane Stone is on her way. Brief her, and she’ll take charge of the scene. Then come in, and we’ll get you back out there as fast as we can.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Grale, listen, we’ve got a problem we can only solve in here. We’ve just been contacted by the Department of Defense. This is non-negotiable.”
“Talk to me. What’s the problem?”
“I can’t stay on the phone. I’ve got calls stacked up. You’re getting pulled temporarily because of a former drone pilot you were with tonight.”
“Jeremy Beatty?”
“Correct. Department of Defense investigators just contacted us. A pair from their Criminal Investigation Division are on their way here. They believe he’s involved. The rest you’ll have to get from them. We’ll get you back out there as fast as we can.”
Venuti broke the connection. When I called back, I got Venuti’s voice mail. I tried twice more, and then watched Julia being carried out on a backboard.
4
My niece was eased from a backboard to a gurney, and then strapped and lifted into an ambulance. As the doors closed, a first responder described a wound in the middle of her back near her spine and multiple shrapnel wounds on her legs. She had an arm wound and a torn ear. I thought of Melissa’s call yesterday, ostensibly about the party, though really about her kids. She was cheerful about Julia getting her learner’s permit, and told a funny story about Julia parallel parking. I’d felt her happiness with how her kids were growing up. Intense grief swept through me again as the ambulance carrying Julia pulled away.
I turned and saw a radio pole rising just beyond some For Sale vehicles at the edge of the Alagara lot. It looked like a police mobile command station setting up on Lake Mead Boulevard, too close to be safe. The line of For Sale vehicles there were yet to be cleared by a bomb squad, so I headed that way to get them to move.
The vehicles included two panel vans, two pickups, an older Cadillac, a dusty Jeep, and a tired Toyota sedan. All faced the street. I passed between a pickup with tricked-out wheels and custom gray fleck paint and the vintage Caddy, and then stepped over a heavy link chain bordering the lot. My focus was on the deputy commander overseeing the setup of the mobile command station. I recognized his drill sergeant posture. His name was André Dubrious, or “Dubious,” as he was called behind his back at Las Vegas PD Metro.
“You want to back your officers away until these vehicles for sale are cleared,” I said as I reached him.
“Our bomb squad will clear them.”
“Then let them do that first.” I pointed at the Las Vegas Metro bomb squad vehicle arriving. “Give them time, or set up farther away.”
He didn’t like that at all.
“Aren’t you the agent who got blown up playing soldier in Iraq that the Las Vegas Sun wrote up as a hero? I heard they bent the rules to let you back onto active duty.”
“We’re not talking about me. At least back your officers away. You stay. Only you. How about that?”
Dubrious pointed a finger at the Alagara where smoke still seeped from the roof and blast debris had sprayed across the lot.
“What happened here happens every Fourth of July,” he said. “When this is over, it’s going to be a fireworks explosion. Checking these vehicles is just practice for the bomb squad.”
“You’ve seen all this before?”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“What in the fuck does that mean?”
I don’t know where the anger that enveloped my grief came from, but it was bright and intense. Maybe it was because Dubrious had primped his hair in anticipation of a TV interview with the destroyed Alagara in the background. I took a step toward him, then had to get a grip.