Page 75 of Delusional

I FELT AN edge to my day before I even opened the front door and slipped out. I couldn’t explain it. I’d managed to sleep reasonably well for a few hours. The kids hadn’t been any extra trouble while I made them breakfast. Yet when I kissed Mary Catherine good-bye, somehow I was sure it would be the last pleasant feeling I might experience today.

When I came out of the elevator on the ground floor, my mood took another step toward the dark side. Larry, one of the other doormen, was in the lobby, looking like he had just come on duty—and from a bar. His thinning brown hair was roughly combed across the top of his head to cover his bald spot. The left side of his collar was poking straight up. He didn’t even notice me until I cleared my throat.

I said, “Good morning, Larry. Did you talk to Rodney? Did he tell you about the guy who might be a threat?”

Larry held up his phone. “Yeah, yeah, I got the guy’s photo. Rodney told me all about it yesterday morning. I’m not sure what you want me to do, though.”

This blasé attitude was not what I wanted first thing in the morning. “Truthfully, Larry, I’d be surprised if you could even keep an eye open. You should’ve called in sick again. You don’t look like you’re ready for work today.”

“We can’t all have cushy jobs with the city and live in fancy inherited apartments.”

“You’re right, I am lucky. But we can all try to be professional and do our jobs. Is that too much to ask?” It looked like my snarky response had hit home. In fact, I regretted my comments. But I wasn’t in the mood to apologize yet. I’d see how Larry looked the next time he had to work early in the morning.

Minutes later, as I pulled into my usual parking spot under the elevated train tracks in front of my office building, I smiled at the sight of Maggie Chin leaning against her car in the very next spot. She made it look like she’d been waiting for a long time, though I suspected she hadn’t been there more than five minutes.

“Those rust stains on your roof are from little pieces of metal coming down from the track,” Maggie commented as I climbed out of my car. “Every time a train passes it rattles something off the track or the train itself.”

I glanced at my roof. I hadn’t really noticed the dozen or so rust spots previously, but she was right. There were several marks, most of them less than an inch or two long and very thin, like scratches from nails or bits of something sharp that had dropped from the tracks. “I guess that’s your engineering background, picking up on little details.”

“Or my common sense.” She gave me a quick smile, then patted her car. “Hop in.”

“I thought we’d go up and talk with Walter first, to see what he’s come up with.”

“Walter and the other analysts have been texting me updates. I already have a few addresses here in the city we can check. Even the FBI has kicked in some info and addresses.” She turned to open the driver-side door to her car, then looked over her shoulder and said, “C’mon. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

CHAPTER 92

TOM OWENS DIDN’T like being alone with Ellis Warrenton in Pry’s beat-up pickup truck, which felt like Ellis had claimed as his own after Pry’s arrest.

Overall, Owens was feeling more confident than yesterday, when he’d endured the threats and abuse from Ellis because he had no choice. Since then, he’d made a few adjustments that he felt would secure his safety if things went sour.

But sitting in the passenger seat of the older pickup truck wasn’t one of the places where Owens felt secure. In fact, this whole plan around planting a device on the detective’s car in a public parking area didn’t make Owens feel confident at all.

He’d spent much of the evening digging through the NYPD administrative computer files. He’d attempted to crack the investigative and intelligence files, but they were behind a much more secure firewall and on a different server. The administrative files, however, had been easy to hack into. Admin files were accessed by so many people, they couldn’t be behind firewalls.

He’d immediately found out that Bennett drove a blue Chevy Impala that appeared to be due for a tune-up in the next thirty days. It looked like the NYPD had a strong preference for buying Ford Crown Victorias, Chevy Impalas, Chevy SUVs, and Ford Explorers. Owens wondered if there was any reason, other than tradition, for the department to buy such gas-guzzling vehicles.

Ellis was fidgety; his hands couldn’t keep still on the steering wheel. He slowed the truck as he pulled up in front of the building they’d briefly surveilled yesterday. They hadn’t seen the Chevy then, but they’d arrived much earlier today. There weren’t nearly as many cars around the building or in the lot under the elevated tracks.

Ellis craned his neck in every direction. “I don’t see his damn car anywhere.”

Owens could hear an edge of panic in Ellis’s voice. He wondered if the snobbish leader of their little group wasn’t having second thoughts about a plan this bold. Owens himself questioned if saving Pry was worth the effort. He wondered if Ellis was now figuring his own odds of being arrested. This plan felt like it had an air of desperation. Sure, it might help Pry’s criminal case, but the long-term implications seemed more important.

Owens pointed toward the elevated tracks. “Isn’t that Bennett’s car parked over there?” He liked the spot. An explosion here could do a lot of damage. Owens figured the firebomb would be so powerful that it would probably even affect the elevated tracks, which would probably have to be evaluated before any train could travel on them.

Ellis swung the truck around in a wide arc. As they approached the parked car, he turned to Owens and said, “Are you ready?”

Owens nodded silently.

Ellis said, “I mean, once I stop, you only have a few seconds to do your thing. Are you ready with everything you need?”

Owens realized he needed to give Ellis a verbal reply. “I’m ready. Pull in next to the driver’s side. It should take less than thirty seconds.”

As soon as the truck came to a stop, Owens opened the door, jumped out, then dropped down on his knees and peeked under the Impala. He’d already looked up the schematics online, so he knew exactly where he wanted to place the bomb. He used a clip to attach the bomb to the driver-side rear spring, coiled over the tire and next to the gas tank. Then Owens ran the wire to the driver’s door. He secured the wire and checked the device. The next time the door was opened, the contacts would separate, and after a couple of seconds, the bomb would detonate and also ignite any gas in the gas tank.

He still wanted to see the explosion, but he wasn’t sure how to convince Ellis it was important.

It felt like the only thing Owens looked forward to anymore was seeing his devices detonate.