Ten Plagues (10 page)

Keren clapped the magnetic police light to the roof of her car as she drove back to the station.

“Isn’t that overkill, Collins?” O’Shea asked.

“I’m going to speed anyway.” She shrugged and added wryly, “This will save some uniform the bother of pulling me over and having me rage at him until he lets me go on my lawbreaking way.”

“You could just try obeying the law,” Paul said from the backseat.

Keren looked sideways at O’Shea.

“You heard the citizen, kid,” O’Shea said. “The minute we get back to the station, I’m going to borrow a pad of tickets from a patrol officer and write you up.” He heaved his bulk around so he could look at Paul. “How’s a citizen’s arrest sound to you, Pastor P?”

“It suits me, Mick. I’m in the mood.”

O’Shea grinned at Keren, and she slowed down with a glowering look. She reached up and pulled the light back in. “Okay, fine. I’ll slow down.”

“What’d he mean with that ‘fairest in the land’ crack?” O’Shea wondered.

“I know what he meant.” Keren tried to think of a way to change the subject. “It was just his way of letting us know he’s keeping close track. He’ll probably say something about you next, O’Shea.”

“Yeah, but how did ‘fairest in the land’ mean he knew you? I don’t get it.”

“Me neither,” Paul said.

Keren squirmed. It was no big deal, really. It was just personal. On the other hand, it meant Pravus had done a pretty thorough background check on her. “I’ll explain later. Every time I get to talking I start speeding, so shut up and let me drive.”

After a few more minutes of blissful silence, Paul cleared his throat. Keren glanced down and saw that her speed had built back to fifteen miles over the speed limit. She forced herself to slow.

“It’s just that I’m so anxious to get back and examine your old case files.” She glanced into his eyes using the rearview mirror. “It’s almost noon now. If we push hard, we can get through them tonight.”

“Don’t forget, I promised Rosie an escort to the bus station.”

“I’ll send a squad car for her. They can see her to the bus station or drive her wherever she needs to go.” Keren waved his reminder away. “We don’t have time to let you go help ladies cross the street.”

“If I’d have told Rosie I was going to do that, I would agree. But I made a promise to a very special young woman. One who has done me the huge honor of trusting me when she never trusts anybody. I’ve got to go.”

“Call her, Paul,” Keren suggested. “She’ll understand.”

“The people in that neighborhood aren’t comfortable with the police. If I send a policeman to take her anywhere, she might just react by ducking out the back door and hustling to the bus stop on her own.”

Keren tried to burn through his overblown sense of duty by banking a blazing look off the mirror. He merely settled more stubbornly into his seat.

“If you go, at least one of us has to go with you,” O’Shea pointed out.

“I’ll be fine for an hour on my own. I can take care of myself.”

“Not if Pravus phones. Having us there when you got the earlier call helped, even if you don’t want to admit it.” Keren could have easily gone back to sparring with him. “All of us thinking together helped come up with the right questions for him.”

“Fine then.” Paul crossed his arms. “You’ll have to come. We can bring case files along and work while we drive. Figure something out, because I’m going.”

O’Shea shook his head in disgust. “I’m going to play the tape again. Listen for specifics. Maybe we can narrow our search.”

The odd voice of Pravus-the-demon haunted them as they drove. It did nothing to improve Keren’s mood. She could tell they were all edgy by the time they’d heard it through three times. Keren pulled into an empty spot near the precinct and threw her car into P
ARK
with more force than necessary. “Let’s get to work.”

They hurried into the station, all of them nearly frantic to cull the files for information.

“Pravus said, ‘I’m glad they’re dead. It was my first act of rebellion against the pharaoh, and you were too stupid to even know it,’ “ O’Shea said as they settled around Keren’s desk in the squad room.

“I’m glad
they’re
dead. They. More than one person,” Keren said.

O’Shea nodded. “We look for a case with more than one death. You do the search, Keren. This machine likes you more than it does me.”

Keren turned to her computer. “Great, we’ll want the paper files later, but right now let’s eliminate a bunch of them.”

By the time the computer was done sorting, they had narrowed the cases to eighty-three. “I’ve left all the supposed accidents and suicides, as well as any case where there was more than one death.”

“Did you get rid of all the first-degree murders? He said I was too stupid to figure it out. So I must have charged him with something less than deliberate first-degree murder.”

Keren went back to the computer. “Okay, not a lot of people go down for first degree, thanks to plea bargaining. I’m down to forty-six cases.”

O’Shea said, “Have you taken out the women perps?”

Keren nodded. “I did that first.”

“And all the ones who are still in lockup?”

“Done.”

O’Shea looked at the vastly reduced number of files listed on Keren’s computer screen. “There’re still a lot of ‘em.”

Paul glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time before we have to go back to the mission. Let’s move it.”

“I’ll print out the names of the cases remaining.” Keren did so and handed them each a copy of the file numbers and names. “We can pull them from the files and start reading.”

“Let’s see how many are known to be in the area,” O’Shea said.

Keren added, “Some of them may be dead, too. That wouldn’t be in the computer. We may be able to narrow this list pretty quickly.”

They were only into their first few cases when Paul’s phone rang. All three of them froze.

Paul said, “Do you need time to get ready?”

Keren and O’Shea sat poised, their phones already to their ears. They both shook their heads. Paul answered, holding his breath.

“I just wanted to tell you, Reverend, you should remain at home tomorrow morning. You’re expecting a package.” Hysterical laughter broke through the carefully modulated voice. Then the call ended.

All three of them looked at the stack of files. Paul glanced anxiously at his watch. “It’s almost six. I’ve got to go.”

“Paul,” Keren said impatiently, “we’ve only got tonight. You know what to expect tomorrow morning.”

Paul stood from his chair. “Do you think I need to be reminded?”

He turned away with an effort Keren could read in every line of his body. She said, “O’Shea, give me the recorder phone. Chances are the wacko is done calling for the night anyway. I’ll go. You stay here and work.”

She stormed after Paul. “This time I’m using code three, and you’re not going to guilt me into stopping. I think this warrants lights and sirens.”

“As long as you turn them off well before we get to the mission.”

“Deal.” When she agreed, he finally quit arguing. Nice change.

With a giggling Rosita delivered on the first step of her date with Manny, Paul and Keren returned to work. O’Shea pounced on them when they returned to the precinct house. He had the report on the cause of the blast at the gang hangout. “Pure low tech. Just like those listening devices. This guy is no electronics genius.”

Keren asked, “What’d he use, dynamite? C-4?”

“Gasoline.” O’Shea flipped open the report. “Like I said, low tech. He soaked the basement with gasoline and had containers of gas duct-taped to every creaky support beam in the basement of that building. The bomb squad figures at least ten bombs.”

“It’s a condemned building overrun by a gang. How’d he get in carrying gallons of gasoline?”

“It wouldn’t take that much. A couple of gallons to splash around and another gallon or so to make a bunch of Molotov cocktails, waiting for a spark to set them off,” O’Shea said. “According to the few gang members who would talk to us, they never went down to the basement. It was full of junk and the foundation was crumbling. Pravus could have brought the gasoline in early in the morning. He could disguise himself like a homeless man and no one would look at him twice, especially since the people who live in the house are stoned most of the time. No one is prowling around much—not in the morning. Two gallons at a time under a big coat. He could have done it in a couple of trips.”

“How’d he detonate it?” Keren reached for the report.

“They’re not sure yet, because everything was blown to smithereens.” O’Shea didn’t hand it over, evidently in the mood to be the center of attention.

“He might not use the same trick again,” Paul said as he tried to picture the bomb. Tried to figure out what he’d do if he saw one.

“Let’s hope we get him before we find out.” O’Shea looked the report over as he talked.

“We’ve got an ID on the cell phone. The couple who lost it only realized it was gone when a detective came to their house to ask about it. They keep it in the car for emergencies.”

“Are you sure?” Paul leaned forward. “How closely were these people questioned? Some serial killers work as a team.”

“We’re checking their backgrounds, but they’re in their late seventies,” O’Shea said. “They live in an assisted-living apartment complex on the North Side. She’s a retired social worker, he was an accountant for thirty-five years. They have six kids and seventeen grandkids. They pay their taxes, don’t get speeding tickets, and they host a Bible study in their home every Wednesday night. It’s just not them, Paul. No amount of stretching will make it fit. They’ve even got an alibi for the morning of the explosion. They’d gone with a group from their church on a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. We’re canvassing the area, hoping we can find someone who saw their car burglarized, but so far, nothing. They don’t have a clue how long their phone has been missing. We checked their call records, and the last time they made a call was two weeks ago to one of their daughters.”

On that note they all turned back to the files.

It was midnight and no one suggested leaving. They culled the stack to two dozen people in the area who were still among the living. Keren ran them through the computer, looking for current addresses.

She arched her back in her creaking desk chair. She tried to force her spine to bend into a straight line. “If the FBI were here, their profiler could maybe pare this list down further.”

She reached for a slice of cold pizza. One of the other detectives had taken pity on them and had one delivered.

O’Shea rubbed both hands over his eyes. “They’ll do that in the morning.”

“Morning is going to be too late for LaToya,” Paul reminded them darkly. He stood from his chair. “More coffee?”

Keren nodded and set the pizza aside. After two bites her appetite was gone.

O’Shea said, “It’s better than that syrup I bought yesterday afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Paul said sarcastically. “But it’s still lethal.”

“No argument there.” O’Shea went back to the files.

Keren said, “Was that just yesterday? It seems like a month ago.”

Paul gathered all three cups and went to the coffeemaker. The dregs in the pot were burned black. His stomach was boiling with the acid from the coffee and the tension of the night. He threw out what was in the glass carafe and started a new pot then went back to the chair he’d pulled up to the side of Keren’s desk.

When the sun began lighting an east window in the squad room, Paul rubbed his burning eyes. “I’ve got to go. That first package came early. And I want to be there to question the delivery guy. The one before had a uniform on but no company marking. He could have been hired privately, which means his company wouldn’t have a record of who ordered the delivery.”

“We’ve been through nearly all the files.” Keren closed the folder she was studying with a soft
clap
. “I’m going to send someone out to follow up on the possibles. The FBI will want to hit the ground running.”

She opened her desk drawer and produced two phones. “I’ve got a borrowed cell—besides the one I’ve got linked to your number. The FBI can call me if their profiler comes up with anything that might help. And here’s a spare one for you, Paul. Now we can stay in communication without messing up an incoming call from Pravus.”