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Setting his beer on the table beside the couch, Hart leaned forward. “I took a look at the bomb site after I checked in.”
“And?”
“Someone built a nitroglycerine-based dynamite bomb which they planted behind a closet filled with various accelerants. Since that’s all I’m sure of at this point, why don’t you fill me in on what you know?”
“It isn’t much. Two days after the bombing the police chief—Ben Stone—organized a task force. Ten weeks later they still have nothing. No firm motive. Or solid suspect. Right now the cops are a million miles away from closing the case.”
Hart wasn’t a homicide detective, but he knew the first rule of any homicide investigation: look for a link between the victim and the killer. “Bonnie Brannigan said the people who died in the blast were salt of the earth. Have the cops come up with a reason anyone might want to kill them?”
“No. The police searched Dan and Meg Anderson’s house and found nothing suspicious. The task force combed through their bank records, checked their safe deposit box, talked with co-workers, friends, the IRS and the state tax people. No red flags popped up. Nothing to make anyone think something nefarious was going on. No indication that either of the Andersons was being blackmailed or had a gambling problem. The way it looks, they’d be the last people anyone would have a reason to kill.”
“Did they have a reservation that day at the Men’s Grill?”
“No. One of the club members chatted with Dan outside the restaurant. He said he and Meg had decided to eat there on the spur of the moment. Even they didn’t know they’d be there.”
“Who was supposed to be there?”
“I was, for one.”
Hart arched a brow. “Did you make a reservation?”
“No, but it wouldn’t have been hard to figure out I would be there.” As he spoke, Spence gave the back of his neck a long, slow rub. “During my stint in the marines I served under a lieutenant colonel named Phillip Westin. So did four other buddies of mine from Mission Creek. A couple of days before the bombing, Westin called me, Flynt Carson, Tyler Murdoch and Luke Callaghan to let us know he was flying in and staying overnight at the Lone Star. Westin had already scheduled a tee-time for all of us to play golf. He’d also made a reservation for us to eat in the Men’s Grill after the game.”
“Westin made those arrangements before he was even sure all of you would be available?”
“He didn’t have to ask first. During the Gulf War, Flynt, Tyler, Luke, myself and another man named Ricky Mercado were captured in enemy territory. If Westin hadn’t helped us escape, we’d have died. He knows all he has to do is ask and we’ll be there for him. Anytime. Anywhere.”
Hart narrowed his eyes. “Something tells me Westin wasn’t making a social call here.”
“Right. He stopped over on his way to Central America. Mezcaya specifically.”
“The unrest there has made a lot of headlines. Why was Westin headed there?”
“To join a joint mission between our government and the British to take down the terrorist group, El Jefe. Have you heard of them?”
“Yes.” Hart settled his elbows on his knees. “Terrorists are partial to using bombs, so my unit gets memos from the FBI, DEA and ATF on all known terrorist groups. From what I’ve picked up, El Jefe is Mezcaya’s answer to Columbia’s Cali cartel.”
“Right. Lately El Jefe has been flexing its muscle. The Brits want to take down the group because its thugs have started roaming across the border and terrorizing citizens of Belize. The U.S. wants El Jefe because of the increase in drugs coming from Mezcaya into Mexico, most of which get smuggled into the U.S.”
“So, El Jefe would have had ample reason to stop Westin from joining the mission,” Hart reasoned. “A bomb would have not only killed him, but sent a message to others that it’s not smart to screw with El Jefe.”
“Correct.”
Hart pictured again the devastation he’d seen at the crime scene. “The bomber planted the device near the rear wall of the Men’s Grill. Was that near Westin’s reserved table?”
“Yes. Right next to the table where a waitress seated Daniel and Meg Anderson.”
“What about timing? Where was your group when the bomb went off?”
“On the trellised walkway behind the club house. Our golf game took longer than expected so we would have gotten to the Men’s Grill about ten minutes after the time Westin scheduled the reservation.” Spence shook his head. “That’s the sticking point for me, Hart. There’s no way to exactly time a golf game. My gut tells me word of Westin’s mission leaked. The four of us whom he called knew a couple of days ahead of time he’d be at the Lone Star. So did everyone working at the front desk, the golf shop and in the Men’s Grill. That’s plenty of advance notice for one of El Jefe’s thugs to set up the bombing. But since the bomb went off so close to the time set for Westin’s reservation, I can’t say for sure he was the target. If he was, the bomber sure didn’t leave himself a very big window of opportunity.”
“You’re supposing the bomb went off when the bomber meant for it to.”
Spence frowned. “Of course.”
“It’s not rare for a bomb to explode before or after it’s intended to, so you have to take that into consideration,” Hart responded. “A lot depends on the skill of the person who builds the device. Luck, both good and bad, also comes into play. I’ve lost count of the calls I’ve answered where an unsuspecting bystander touched a bomb and caused it to detonate prematurely. Sometimes you don’t even have to touch an explosive device to set it off. Walk across a carpet or wear too much nylon and static electricity can detonate a certain type of bomb. Show me a female bomb tech and I’ll guarantee you she never wears pantyhose on the job.”
“Christ.” Spence sent him a long look. “How do you do it?”
“What?”
“Purposely walk toward a ticking bomb. You do that, knowing the thing could kill you if you touch it the wrong way, make the wrong decision or cut the wrong wire.”
“With my training, I’m not in any more danger than a patrol cop who responds to a domestic disturbance,” Hart replied. “Speaking of career choices, your being the D.A. guarantees you a few enemies. Have you put anyone with explosives experience in prison? Especially someone who got out recently?”
“My staff checked. Other than you, the only person I know with explosives experience is Tyler Murdoch. Since he was also in Westin’s party, I doubt Ty planted a bomb designed to blow himself up along with me.”
“Good point.” Hart sipped his beer, going over what Spence had told him so far. “What about Ricky Mercado?” he asked after a moment. “You said he served in the marines with you, but Westin didn’t include him in the golf game. I remember hearing talk about the Mercado branch of the Texas Mob. Is Ricky a part of that family?”
“Yes. Westin didn’t call Ricky because there’s bad blood now between him, Luke, Flynt, Tyler and me. Has to do with Ricky’s dead sister.”
Hart glimpsed the shadow of regret that passed over Spence’s eyes. “Do I need to know about that for this investigation?”
“No. I know Ricky as well as I know myself. He didn’t plant that bomb because of what happened among all of us in the past. It’s possible, though, that someone else in the Mercado family was behind the bombing.”
“For what reason?”
“Did Bonnie mention Meg and Daniel Anderson’s son to you?”
“Yes. Kid named Jake, right?”
Spence nodded. “Minutes before the bomb exploded, Jake walked out of the Men’s Grill to find the rest room. He took a wrong turn and wound up opening a door that leads outside. He saw two men dragging bags out of one of the clubhouse’s back doors and loading them into a car.”
“What kind of bags?”
“Some sort of green cloth or canvas bags.” Spence’s mouth hitched upward on one side. “Jake thought the bags looked like the one he’d seen Santa with. The kid thought the men were Santa’s helpers.”
“Did these so-called elves spot Jake?”
“Yes. They slammed the door in his face. Then the bomb went off.”
“I take it the police tried to find the bag men?”
“They interviewed employees and club members. If anybody knows who they are, they’re not saying.”
“Which leads us back to the Mercados. Do you think the bag men belong to the mob?”
“It’s possible. What if those bags were stuffed with money? Or drugs? That would point to illegal activity going on at the Lone Star. Maybe someone on the inside stopped cooperating in that activity, and the mob planted the bomb to either kill them or scare the hell out of them.”
“Hearing that makes me wonder about trusting anyone who works there.”
“That thought has crossed my mind several times.” Spence rose, walked to the fireplace and stared into its dark mouth. “The guys with bags could have also been cops.”
Hart sat back in his chair. “When you called, you said an MCPD cop had committed suicide, another is also dead, and two others are charged with the attempted murder of a fellow officer. What in God’s name is going on with the police?”
“Hell if I know. All I can say for sure is there’s a problem inside the MCPD. I just don’t know how big a problem.” Spence scowled. “After Jake got out of the hospital, a cop named Ed Bancroft snatched him and his adoptive mom. Bancroft’s partner, Kyle Malloy, was also in on the kidnap. Luckily, help got to Jake and his mom in time. Malloy got killed in a struggle and Bancroft was arrested. He clammed up, wouldn’t say a thing, then hanged himself in a holding cell.”
“Did Jake ID him or Malloy as one of the men he saw with the green bags?”
“Jake isn’t sure.” Spence paused. “There may be even more going on with the cops. The local rec center hired a basketball coach, an ex-con by the name of Danny Gates. He used to work for the Mercado mob.”
“Used to?”
“Used to,” Spence confirmed. “He’s gone straight. Gates and a cop named Molly French developed a rapport with a teen named Bobby Jansen—goes by the name Bobby J. After he figured out he could trust Danny and Molly he started opening up.”
“The kid gets close to an ex-con and a cop?”
“Strange combination,” Spence agreed. “A couple of weeks ago, Bobby got beaten and wound up in the E.R. Before he went into surgery he managed to tell Molly he’d been working for some bad guys. Because of Danny and Molly’s influence, Bobby decided to go straight. The bad guys got wind of that, beat him and left him for dead. Bobby told Molly the guys were cops who belong to a group called the Lion’s Den.”
“Damn.” Hart pulled at his lip, staring into space as his mind worked. “What happened after Bobby got out of surgery?” he asked after a moment. “Did he I.D. the two men who beat him?”
“Bobby went into a coma during surgery and hasn’t regained consciousness. When Molly French started digging into Bobby’s assault, someone took a shot at her. Later two of her fellow officers and a nurse involved with one of those cops, named Beau Maguire, tried to kill French. Maguire’s gone underground. His nurse girlfriend and his partner are in jail, keeping quiet.”
Snagging his beer, Hart rose and walked to the opposite side the fireplace from where Spence stood. “You a member of the Lion’s Den, too?”
Spence’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell do you ask?”
Hart gestured with his bottle toward the arm of the couch. “There’s a gold pin shaped like a lion on your suit coat’s lapel. Yance Ingram has one, too.”
“That pin, my friend, is an award conceived years ago by Mission Creek’s then mayor and city council.”
Hart gazed at the small gold lion pin, then looked back at Spence. “What did you do to earn yours?”
“Before I became D.A., I did pro bono work for the battered-women’s shelter.”
“What about Ingram? What good deed did he do?”
“You’ll have to ask him. Like I said, the award has been in existence for years. You’ll spot a lot of lion pins around Mission Creek.”
Hart nodded. “This Officer Molly French, is she on the up and up?”
“It’s Detective French now. You can trust her. I can’t say that about other cops because I don’t know what’s going on inside the P.D. If anything.”
“If?”
“I’ve lost count of the calls I’ve gotten from the public demanding the police make an arrest on the bombing. I know that’s one reason I’m feeling pressure. But that’s not the only problem here. Maybe the four cops were a rogue group operating inside the department. Or maybe they’re the tip of an iceberg that’s just surfacing.”
Rolling his shoulders, Spence walked to the nearest chair and sat. “That’s why I called you, Hart. You know about bombs. You know how a police department operates. I need you on the inside, telling me what’s going on.”
“Why isn’t Molly French doing that?”
“She is. Still, she can only dig so much. If there are more corrupt cops, it’s possible she’s being watched. Don’t forget someone took a shot at her. In my mind she’s in danger and needs to lie low.”
Hart leaned a shoulder against the mantel. “What about the department’s top cop? Do you think he’s righteous?”
“I don’t have a reason to think he isn’t. Ben Stone was born here, he’s been chief for years. Nothing like this has ever happened on the force. No evidence ties him to the Lion’s Den.”
“How did he take it when you told him you want to put your own representative on his task force?”
“Ben said they need all the help they can get.”
“That could be the PR spin. If I was a Mission Creek cop, I’d get my back up if I couldn’t solve a case and somebody came in from the outside to look over my shoulder. Some big-town guy.”
“Ben Stone’s in a tight spot, just like I am. He’s getting pressure from the mayor, city manager and the Lone Star’s board of directors to get the bombing solved and the crime scene released so the club can get on with remodeling. Ben’s people have had a ten-week shot at this and they’ve got nothing. Ben wants the case solved. Period. Who gets credit for that isn’t a prime consideration.”
“Stone understands I work for you? That I report only to you?”
“Yes. He’s agreed to give you access to all reports, crime scene and autopsy photos, everything. I told him you’d drop by his office sometime tomorrow to introduce yourself.”
“I’ll go there in the morning.” Hart settled back onto the couch. A question had nagged at him since he’d taken Spence’s phone call at the CPD’s bomb squad. That and his conversation with Bonnie Brannigan had him wanting to clear the air.
“Why me, Spence? Why did you call me?”
“I view it as pure luck, since we lost contact with each other.” He raised a shoulder. “I got a flyer for a criminal justice conference a few weeks ago and saw you named as a speaker on a bombing panel. I had no idea you lived in Chicago or were a cop, much less a bomb tech. But I figured there had to be only one O’Brien with the first name of Hart so I gave you a call.”
Hart shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. When I left Mission Creek, Zane Cooper accused me of stealing money from the golf shop. You and I worked together, I figured he must have told you I was thief. And I wondered if you believed I stole the money.”
“Cooper never said a word about stolen money. No one else did, either.” Spence’s eyes widened. “Is that why you took off the way you did? Because Cooper accused you of being a thief?”
“That had a lot to do with it,” Hart said through his teeth.
“Damn, Hart. That entire summer, whenever Zane Cooper looked at you all I saw was hate. Since Joan’s the one who flirted up a storm with you while you kept your hands to yourself, his attitude was far from fair.”
Hart drew in a slow breath. Spence didn’t know he and Joan had spent a night together. At this late date, it didn’t much matter.
“Think about it, Spence. I was the hired help from the trailer park. I don’t have to tell you that Cooper had a thing about maintaining appearances.”
“No, you don’t. Look, for what it’s worth, I felt lousy when you called a month or so after you left town and asked if I knew how you could contact Joan. Having to break the news that she’d run off to Dallas and married some lawyer didn’t sit well.”
“So, what happened?” Not that it mattered, Hart told himself. He didn’t care about the man Joan had married. Didn’t want to know any details of the life she shared with another man. He didn’t care.
“What happened with what?”
“The lawyer. I ran into Joan this afternoon when I checked in. Her name tag says Cooper. She’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
Spence winced. “I’ve had so much on my mind lately that it didn’t occur to me to tell you Joan manages the ladies’ spa at the Lone Star. I guess you were surprised to see her.”
“Yeah. I’m curious about her husband.”
