Shutter Man (17 page)

When Byrne picked Jessica up at home, it felt like no time at all had passed.

The best part, for Jessica, was that she was able to dress down for a change.

ADAs frequently visited crime scenes, but rarely when the scenes were fresh. The possibility of witnessing evidence being collected left too much room for defense counsel to claim that it had been tainted by prosecutorial zeal and was thereby inadmissible.

This was different. This crime scene was now two months old. The forensics had long been collected, collated, analyzed and recorded. The crime-scene tape was down.

Still, even though the scene was cold, the charge was hot.

The bomb unit of the Philadelphia Police Department was headquartered in a new facility on State Road. Also in the complex was the police academy, as well as the K-9 unit.

Jessica and Byrne had visited the exterior of the crime scene building once, taking a few photos of the space, which was still boarded up. Today they would get inside.

On the way to the location, Jessica reviewed the reports generated by the South Detective Division, the unit that had investigated the original case. She knew that no detective ever wanted a case taken away from them – when you had your boots on the ground first, you wanted to cross the finish line, including testifying in court and seeing the suspect convicted, all based on your due diligence.

Still, the moment Jacinta Collins died, and the ME ruled it was a homicide, the two South Division detectives who were running the case knew there would soon be a knock on the door. Jessica felt for them – she’d worked on a number of cases with Byrne where the FBI stepped in when federal laws were found to have been violated.

Today they would meet with an officer from the PPD bomb squad and get a walk-through.

Byrne parked the car on Webster Street. Before he could get out, Jessica reached into her bag, took out an envelope. She handed it to Byrne.

‘What is this?’ he asked.

‘Open it.’

Byrne gave it a moment. If Jessica knew anything about her partner, she knew he didn’t like surprises. He slowly lifted the flap of the envelope, took out the contents.

‘Oh my God,’ he said. It was a 4x6 print of a photograph of Sophie Balzano.

‘She took a selfie,’ Jessica said. ‘She wants you to have it.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ Byrne said. ‘I can’t believe how much she’s grown. I just saw her two months ago. How does this happen?’

‘Tell me about it.’

Sophie had changed her outfit ten times before deciding on her best navy-blue cashmere sweater and her silver crucifix pendant. Because of her braces she didn’t smile, but she decided after printing off the picture that this made her look even more mature. It did.

‘I love it, Jess,’ Byrne said. ‘Thanks. Tell Sophie thanks. I’ll cherish this.’

‘Ahem.’

Byrne looked over. ‘What?’

‘She wants a picture of you.’

He reddened a little. ‘Oh. Okay. Sure. Remind me in the next day or two. I’ll take one.’

Jessica held up her iPhone. ‘No time like the present,’ she said. ‘A famous detective friend of mine used to say that to me all the time.’

‘What?’ Byrne asked. ‘Now?’

‘Fix your hair.’

The commander of the PPD bomb squad was Zachary Brooks. After twelve years as a patrolman on the street, where he worked the 14th District, a slot opened up in SWAT, the Special Weapons and Tactical Unit. At thirty-six, much older than anyone else in the highly physical unit, Zach Brooks took the job and became one of its top officers. Four years later, he moved over to the bomb squad.

The bomb squad often worked with the homicide unit on fire-related deaths.

They met outside the crime-scene location. Zach was about thirty minutes late.

‘Zach, this is Jessica Balzano. She’s with the DA’s office now, but she was my partner in Homicide for ten years.’

‘I’ve heard the name,’ Zach said with a smile. ‘A pleasure.’

‘Here too,’ Jessica said.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘Had a job.’

‘Was that the call to the Federal Building?’ Jessica asked. She’d seen something about it on the early-morning news.

Zach nodded. ‘A package was left on top of one of the cars in the underground parking level. We went in to assist the BATFE. Did an RSP.’

An RSP was a remove safe procedure. Depending on the device, the threat level, it could be as simple as an X-ray to determine whether the package was benign, or one that required the use of a blast containment receptacle.

‘What was it?’ Byrne asked.

‘Believe it or not, it was a spice rack. Someone in the US Attorney’s office brought it in to give to a co-worker at a bridal shower, and left it on top of her car.’

‘Are you sure that was garlic powder in there?’ Byrne asked.

Zach laughed. ‘Situation volatile but contained, detective.’

‘Glad you could make it down,’ Byrne added. ‘Much appreciated.’

‘Any time.’

Most of the questions they were about to ask had already been asked by the detectives from South. Now that the charge was going to be murder, they needed to be asked again.

Zach held up a set of keys. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

He took a laptop out of his shoulder bag, opened it, put it on the roof of Byrne’s car. He pointed to the boarded-up window facing Stillman Street.

‘According to the surveillance video shot by the pole cam on the corner, the suspect walked east on Webster Street at approximately 9.21 p.m.’

Zach played the surveillance video. On the screen, made a glowing green by the low light level, they could see a man walking toward the crime scene building. It would not stand alone as evidence in court, but it was a man they knew to be Danny Farren. When he was arrested two days later, the clothing he wore on the video – a gray leather jacket and dark flannel slacks – was taken as evidence.

On the recording, Danny Farren disappeared from view at the left side of the frame.

For the next five minutes the only movement on the video was the occasional car moving up or down the street.

At the 9.26 mark, Farren re-entered the frame, walking away from the building.

At 9.28, the camera shook violently, just as a blinding flash filled the frame. Glass was blown into the street, and what appeared to be a cloud of gypsum rained down. Smoke billowed.

When the smoke began to clear, the street and sidewalk could be seen to be covered in small shards of glass. A few minutes later, a handful of residents began to gather on the opposite side of the street. Nearly all had their cell phone cameras out.

At the 9.46 mark, a PFD ladder truck arrived on scene.

‘Can we see that again?’ Jessica asked.

‘Sure.’

Zach tapped a few keys. The video restarted.

Jessica looked closely as Danny Farren entered the frame. The image was grainy, but he seemed to be holding something in his left hand. It appeared to be a rolled-up newspaper. Perhaps a magazine.

‘Can we stop it right there?’ Jessica asked.

Zach did.

Jessica tapped the screen. Specifically, Danny Farren’s left hand.

‘Is that consistent with the size and shape of the device used here?’ she asked. It looked as if Farren had his hand wrapped around the object, as opposed to carrying it like a bag.

‘I’ve watched this a few times during the investigation by South detectives, and afterwards, in anticipation of testifying at trial,’ Zach said. ‘Obviously it’s not the clearest picture, but I would have to say it is consistent.’

‘Can we move forward to where he walks back in frame?’

‘Sure.’ Zach moved the scrubber bar a bit to the right. When Farren entered the frame on the left, seconds before the explosion, he tapped a key to make the recording enter slow motion. With this type of surveillance footage, there was no smooth slow motion. Instead it was a series of still shots. With Farren dead center in the frame, Zach hit pause.

Jessica looked closely. It was impossible to tell if Farren still had the object in his left hand, as it was shielded by his body. It did not appear that he swung his arms much, so his left hand did not enter the frame.

‘Can anyone see if he still has something in his hand?’

Both Byrne and Zach admitted that it was impossible to tell.

Jessica knew that as an investigating police officer, it would have been enough to bring Farren in, and probably charge him. In a court of law, it would be a tough sell. It was a dilemma she was facing more and more as an ADA.

Zach let the video play. Once again, the force of the blast made Jessica wince. She’d been around firearms her whole life, had gone to a range with her father since she was ten, and had a healthy respect for weapons, but no fear.

Explosive ordnance was another matter.

When the smoke cleared, she realized that it was not only glass that was glistening on the sidewalk. According to the report, and the weather report for that night, there had been a slight drizzle on and off.

‘Let’s say that
is
a rolled-up newspaper or magazine in his hand,’ she said. ‘Was the device used the kind that needed to be kept dry?’

‘With the type of fuse that was used, the drier the better.’

‘And would a newspaper or magazine be enough to keep it shielded from the rain?’

‘Definitely.’

Jessica took the information in. She was beginning to formulate a case. She made a mental note to talk to the detectives who’d arrested Farren, and see if there was an inventory of items found in his car.

If there was a magazine or newspaper in there, dated the day of the bombing or before, they would process it for trace evidence to connect it to the bomb.

‘Can you walk us through the scene?’ Byrne asked.

‘Let’s do it.’

Zach closed the laptop, returned it to his shoulder bag. He took out a ring of keys, found the one he was looking for, slipped it into the padlock of the temporary door on the front of the store.

He unlocked the door, propped it open.

The first thing Jessica noticed was the smell of burned wood and plastic. Beneath it all was the smell of sulfur.

Zach crossed the room to a battery-powered halogen lamp, flicked it on. The room was instantly aglow with a bright white light.

Jessica got her first look at the crime scene. She’d seen photographs on the way in, but there was no substitute for standing in the place where the crime had been committed.

To the left was what remained of three long glass display cases. The frames still stood, but the glass was in piles on the floor.

Zach pointed to an area about five feet in from the side window.

‘This is the blast seat.’

‘This is where the device detonated?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yes. The suspect broke this window, tossed the device in. I’m presuming he wanted to have it detonate in the center of the room, but it looks like this hanging conduit may have stopped the forward progress.’

Jessica saw that there was a depression in the vinyl flooring, and a black oval.

‘What can you tell us about the device itself?’

‘It was a pipe bomb,’ Zach said. ‘The container was two-inch-diameter galvanized forged steel, approximately ten inches long. Available at any Home Depot.’

Jessica knew that a running joke among BATFE agents and bomb techs was to refer to Home Depot as Terrorists R Us.

Zach broke down the type of explosive, the blasting cap and the fuse. He walked to the back wall, shone his Maglite on it. He then ran his hand over an area of about three or four square feet. ‘Do you see these small fragments?’

Jessica slipped on her glasses. There, embedded in the drywall, were dozens of small metal shards.

‘This is from the container itself. The galvanized pipe. Had the explosive been black powder or flash powder, the pipe might have broken into only three or four pieces. With this material, it exploded into a thousand.’ He ran his light along the ceiling and the far walls. The fragments were everywhere.

‘Did you find any ball bearings, nails?’ Byrne asked.

‘No.’

Jessica looked at Byrne. A silent understanding passed between them.

‘It was a low-tech device, not that hard to make or de-arm,’ Zach continued. ‘If we’d known about it, we could have taken it out.’

‘What about the projectile?’ Jessica asked.

‘That was one of the end caps. The subject put the explosive in, along with the cap. He then drilled a small hole in the other end cap, put it on the pipe and ran his fuse through it. He taped the fuse to the side, lit it, tossed it through the window.’

‘And he could be sure that the tape wouldn’t put it out?’ Byrne asked.

‘Absolutely. They burn hot.’

Byrne walked over to the wall opposite the window where the bomb had been thrown. The force of the blast had all but fused the sheetrock to the studs, bowing the drywall between the uprights. In the center of the wall, behind where the glass display cabinets had stood, was a hole no more than three inches in diameter, the sheetrock pushed in all around it.

Jessica had seen the crime-scene photographs, and understood what this was, but seeing it in person brought with it a wave of sadness.

‘This is where the end cap went through?’ Byrne asked.

Zach crossed the room. ‘Yes. With something this highly explosive, a fragment – in this instance a five-ounce piece of galvanized forged steel – will travel at around thirteen hundred feet per second.’

Jessica knew enough about firearms to know that 1,300 feet per second was roughly the equivalent of a high-velocity .22 LR bullet.

On the evening Danny Farren tossed the pipe bomb into the store window, the row house just west of the scene had long ago been abandoned and boarded up.

Jacinta Collins had pushed in through the back door, apparently looking for a place to cook heroin. Detectives had found her dealer, who, on condition of immunity for this one sale, confirmed that he had sold Jacinta black tar about thirty minutes before the blast. The very definition of wrong place, wrong time. The heroin, spoon and works were found next to her body.