Chain Reaction (14 page)

‘Do any of them have any grudge or problem with Fred Garcia?’

‘Fred? You think he was the reason for what happened here?’

‘Just covering all the bases – no matter how unlikely.’

‘I can understand that,’ Rose said with a sigh, ‘but I think that avenue of inquiry is a waste of time. Fred was everybody’s friend. Even though it wasn’t his job, he’s the one they all turned to when they had a flat tire, a car that wouldn’t start or something heavy to carry into the school. And Fred helped them all, every time they asked. Well, look, here’s Annie. I’ll leave you two to get your job done.’

Annie appeared young enough to be one of the students. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a perky ponytail and a meteor shower of freckles spread across her cheeks and nose. She wore jeans, a T-shirt and a big white apron folded over and tied tight behind her back.

‘Annie, you can take off that apron and leave it here if you like,’ Lucinda said.

‘Shoot, ma’am, nobody would recognize me without it,’ she said with a big grin. ‘Fact is, they’d probably hustle me outside and tell me that classes won’t start till tomorrow. I learned at the beginning of the school year that the apron is all that stops me from being sent to the office when I’m caught in the hallway in the middle of class periods.’

‘You do have a point,’ Lucinda said with a laugh. ‘I’d like to talk to Chet Bowen first.’

‘I’ll be right back,’ she said and bounced off with her ponytail swinging.

J
ake grew more and more exasperated with Connelly with every passing mile they drove. Jake tried logic, teasing, reverse psychology but nothing seemed to ease Connelly’s obsession with a Muslim plot. They visited a mosque where Connelly threatened and insulted an imam. They stopped in at every Pakistani-owned convenience store in town – even going out of the city limits to badger the handful of shopkeepers in the suburbs.

Connelly topped it all when he went into Dr Abhinav Singh’s office and barged into an examination room where a patient sat on the end of the examination table in his street clothes. ‘You,’ he said, holding up his badge and pointing to the turbaned physician, ‘have some questions to answer.’

‘Sir, I am in the middle of examining a patient. Please return to the waiting room and I will be with you momentarily,’ the doctor said in a measured, calm voice.

A nurse stepped into the doorway. ‘Doctor, I am sorry, I tried—’

‘Do not worry, Miss Frazier,’ Dr Singh said.

‘Come on, Connelly. This is highly inappropriate,’ Lovett objected, half convinced that if the cuffs belonged on anyone, it was Connelly.

‘Cuff him, Lovett,’ Connelly ordered.

‘No,’ Lovett said, shoving the ATF agent back. ‘Out of here now.’

‘Look at their headdresses, Lovett,’ Connelly said, pushing back. ‘They are probably conspiring in here right now. Terrorists are always making political statements with their headgear.’

‘They are Sikhs, not Palestinians, Connelly. It’s religious, not political. Get out of here now or this is not going to end well.’ Jake winced when he glanced over at the two other men, now standing side by side, appearing alarmed and uncertain of what to do.

‘I’m taking them both in, Lovett. And that’s that.’

‘Then you are doing it on your own and you won’t be bringing them into the FBI office.’

‘Fine, Lovett. I’ll have you off this case by lunchtime. You might want to start clearing out your desk, too. I’d lay odds that you’ll be terminated before day’s end.’

Jake thought about trying to overpower Connelly and force him outside. That action, though, seemed destined to escalate the situation into a violent response – someone could get injured or even killed. He spun around, walked out of the doorway, passing the shocked faces of the staff nurses, and went outside. He needed to get help for the ATF agent – Jake was now certain that Connelly was unstable and obsessed. Jake wished they’d taken his car. If they had, he could have left Connelly here without any transportation and easier to intercept.

He headed up the sidewalk in the direction of the coffee shop he’d seen just up the street. Stepping inside, he ordered a coffee with a shot of espresso and sat down to think over the situation. Connelly clearly had an unhealthy obsession with anyone whose skin color and features made them appear Middle Eastern. He seemed willing to believe that they all were Muslim and that every Muslim was a terrorist. And it appeared to Jake as if Connelly had come completely unhinged. Was he having a serious mental breakdown or a psychotic break? Or was it all a symptom of the early onset of dementia?

Jake had worked with ATF agents before and found every one of them to be competent professionals who didn’t jump to conclusions or take rash actions. They were analytical, logical and knowledgeable. Connelly didn’t appear to be any of the above.

But what exactly can I do about it?
Jake wondered.
Should I call the Wicked Witch or should I go directly to the ATF and let them handle what is their internal problem? Would that look like a power play? Or would the Deputy Federal Security Director appreciate my discretion?
It was hard to tell. Wesley clearly had a bias against local law enforcement. Did that extend to every agency but his own?

Jake got up and ordered another cup. He knew he could not sit on the sidelines. Connelly had authority over the general public and he was misusing that power in a way that indicated psychiatric problems of some type.

He stepped outside, coffee cup in one hand, cell phone in the other. He stared at the keypad for a moment and then placed a call.

C
hemistry teacher Chet Bowen did not look capable of speaking to a group of three or four, let alone a whole classroom of teenagers. A red bow tie bobbed on a prominent Adam’s apple. His striped shirt struck a discordant note with a plaid sports jacket that appeared to be a refugee from the 1970s.

Lucinda started to stand when he entered the room. Then she noticed his tiny stature and the expression of meek surrender behind his dark-framed glasses and decided that he required gentler handling to get his full cooperation.

Chet stood in the doorway as if waiting for her permission to enter. When Lucinda greeted him, he walked into the room with tiny, hesitant steps as if he was afraid the floor might collapse beneath him at any moment.

‘Please have a seat, Mr Bowen,’ Lucinda said, gesturing to a chair on the opposite side of the table from hers.

He eased down and folded his hands on the surface. ‘I don’t really think I know anything about the explosion at the school but I will be glad to answer any questions you have for me.’

‘You drive a red pick-up truck?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Did you drive it up to the school on Sunday morning?’

Chet furrowed his brow. ‘No, I did not. You think my truck was here that morning? That’s not possible.’

‘Did you loan your truck to anyone else or give anyone permission to drive it?’

‘Not since last summer.’

‘Who did you loan it to then?’

‘My neighbor – but he had it for less than an hour. He needed to pick up a dresser he bought at a yard sale.’

‘Could he have made a copy of your key?’

Chet’s eyes widened. ‘A copy of my key? Why would he do that?’

‘Maybe he wanted to use your vehicle without your knowledge in the future.’

‘We’ve been neighbors for nineteen years, I can’t imagine—’

‘I’ll need his name and address, please.’

He provided the information and then added, ‘Please make it clear to him that I have not accused him of anything.’

‘Certainly, Mr Bowen,’ Lucinda said. ‘Do you know a student named David Baynes?’

‘The boy who died? No, he was never in one of my classes. I can’t recall ever hearing his name before learning about his death.’

‘How about Todd Matthews?’

‘The name sounds vaguely familiar but I can’t place it. I don’t think he was one of my students. I could check the school records if you like.’

‘You did know Fred Garcia, didn’t you?’

‘Of course. Fred’s as much a part of this school as the roof above our heads.’

‘How would you describe your relationship with him?’ Lucinda asked.

‘Well, we weren’t friends, we didn’t socialize outside of the school, but we had a cordial acquaintance. Exchanged greetings when we passed, like that. He once helped me tie up my muffler tailpipe when it was dragging. Good Lord, Lieutenant, you don’t think Fred was involved in this conflagration, do you?’

Lucinda ignored his question and asked, ‘Where were you on Sunday morning, Mr Bowen, and what did you do?’

‘I was home until sometime after noon. I rose at approximately six twenty-five a.m. Answered the call of nature, brushed my teeth and then brewed a pot of coffee. After putting on my robe and slippers, I walked out front to collect my newspaper. Then I read it while drinking coffee. About nine a.m., I set that down and turned on the CBS
Sunday Morning
show, then switched over and watched the last half of
Meet the Press
. After that, I read a couple of journal articles until the phone rang and I heard about what happened at the school.’

‘Would you call that a typical Sunday morning for you?’

‘Until the phone call, yes. I am very much a creature of habit,’ he said. A weak grin flashed across his face and then faded as quickly as it had arrived.

‘After the phone call, you left the house?’

‘Yes, I went up to the school but I left right away when I saw all the media there. We’re not supposed to talk to reporters ever, unless it’s been cleared by the principal.’

‘Do you have any students who have demonstrated an abnormal interest in chemical reactions that cause explosions?’

Chet chuckled. ‘Adolescents – particularly the boys – are very destructive by nature. Every year, someone asks me how to make a Molotov cocktail or how to blow up an anthill or something like that. But abnormal interest? I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Anyone specific stand out in your mind?’

‘No, Lieutenant. I really don’t pay them any mind. Some of them – possibly all of them – ask their questions hoping to shock me. I can’t say I have ever had a student who seemed to be serious about actually doing it – except maybe the anthill guy, but that was a while back and I don’t remember who that was.’

Lucinda looked at her watch. She was running out of time. She needed to get back to the Justice Center for her eleven o’clock appointment and then return here to interview the other two teachers. She slid a business card across the table. ‘If you think of anything, Mr Bowen, please give me a call. What might seem frivolous or pure conjecture, on your part, could open doors in this investigation.’

‘I certainly will but I doubt if anything will come to mind,’ he said, standing with a look of relief on his face.

‘But, sir, just make sure you do not go out of town until we can eliminate your truck as the one that was at the school that morning.’

‘I–I–I am a suspect?’

‘Everyone connected to this school is a suspect, Mr Bowen. Please do not share our conversation with anyone.’

He nodded and hurried out of the room in his short, mincing stride.

Not a likely suspect, Lucinda thought, but, then again, a lot of bombers are introverts. It can be their way of making a statement without having to speak.

J
ake hesitated before he finished inputting Deputy Federal Security Director Franklin Wesley’s number. He decided that having a delicate conversation with him about Connelly standing on a sidewalk wasn’t a good idea. He’d rather be in the confines of his office. He decided to call a taxi instead but stopped when he saw Sergeant Robin Colter pull up to the curb.

‘Need a ride, Agent Lovett?’

‘Sure do,’ Jake said. ‘And I could use your help with a few other things, too.’

When Jake entered the office, one of his agents intercepted him with an urgent message from Marguerite Spellman. He sat behind his desk and called her first.

‘Hello, Special Agent Lovett,’ she said. ‘I’m up in the FBI Terrorist Explosive Device Center in Quantico and I wanted to give you a heads-up on the report that will be headed your way shortly. The experts here agree with me that the explosion most likely originated in the file cabinet. It appears to have been ANFO – an ammonium nitrate bomb. Somewhere between ten and fifteen pounds of the stuff would have produced a sufficient amount of expanding gasses to create a shockwave commensurate with the damage on the site.’

‘Ammonium nitrate? That’s pretty common stuff. Can we narrow down where the bomber acquired it?’

‘Common is right. It’s actually a chemical fertilizer – not a problem in and of itself – but combine it with a little gasoline and/or propane and you’ve got a disaster in the making. The good news is that since Timothy McVeigh used an ANFO, there’s a law requiring that inert markers are incorporated into the ammonium nitrate to make it traceable. They are tracking down that data right now to determine the origin of the explosive. They found a bit of fuel oil residue as well but unless it contained additives that will show up in the gas chromatograph, that won’t be much help.’

‘Any indications of the trigger that detonated the bomb?’

‘The analysis of the debris has uncovered a small piece of the accelerometer which could have been rigged up to a file drawer so that when the victim pulled it open, it would have activated. You’ll get a full report when they finish collecting data. Just wanted to let you know where things stood at this moment in time.’

‘Thanks, Marguerite. I really appreciate this.’

‘Any time, sir. Is it true that Lieutenant Pierce has been pulled off the case?’

‘Yeah, unfortunately, it is. But that’s probably not the end of the story.’

Marguerite laughed. ‘Knowing the lieutenant, I am certain that it is not.’

Jake disconnected the call and started to dial the Deputy Federal Security Director but stopped when his door flung open and an agent shouted, ‘Local police chief on line three. He said he didn’t care what the hell you were doing but if you weren’t talking to him in thirty seconds, he was sending officers over to arrest you.’