“Quit yelling. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the chair next to yours,” the Executioner said, downing his bourbon in a single gulp. He deserved Bowie’s tirade, but was tiring of it.
“I know I shouldn’t have deviated from the plan,” he said. “But I thought the house was empty.” Another fill and gulp. “They made it out alive. Both of them. So stop worrying. Nothing will stop tomorrow. Nothing. All right?” Bowie grinned from ear to ear.
9:32 a.m.
“Aw, come on,” Sanders groaned at the unending line of cars. I-88 was a parking lot thanks to lane reconstruction, and he’d been stuck much too long. “Let’s go.”
He did. Another three feet.
He swerved onto the shoulder, ignoring the shouts and horns. He’d take the next exit to Ogden Avenue, drive west till he hit Naperville. He wasn’t worried about tickets.
He’d get a police escort when they heard what he’d found.
9:46 a.m.
Cross dragged over a chair. Branch said his hip was fine. Cross tapped his gold badge, which read chief.
Branch sat.
“Emily should be here soon,” Marty said. Saying it aloud made him happy. A few more times and he’d float like on morphine. “Doc’s got her in lockdown to rest.”
Cross knew that because he’d arranged it with Winslow. Emily was a thoroughbred, and as such, needed the occasional forced cool-down not to cripple herself. “We just came from her room. She looks good. Came through it like a champ.”
“Course she did,” Marty said, though he wouldn’t actually believe it till they were face to face. He took a deep breath, let it out. “OK, tell me.”
“The house was bombed,” Branch said.
“How?”
“Gasoline,” Annie said as she tied a fist of get-well-soon balloons on the window latch. “Fire marshal figures 100 gallons give or take, given the size of the explosion.”
“How did it get inside?”
“Pumped through the mail slot,” Branch said. “The point of origin was the front door.”
Marty thought about that, nodded. Made sense. The slot was the only accessible opening on Emily’s first floor, as her windows were locked and her exhaust ducts too high to reach.
“Next time we’ll stencil a fake one,” Marty said, walling off the destruction to allow full concentration on the work ahead. “How was the gas delivered?”
“Most likely truck,” Branch said. “People eating downtown around the time of the blast reported a small fuel tanker driving south on Washington.”
“Markings?”
“None reported.”
“Plate?”
“Partials from six different witnesses,” Cross said. “None the same. Task force is running every combination, and rousting fuel suppliers to conduct an immediate inventory.”
“Checking sales, too?”
“New and used,” Cross said. “Wholesale and retail.”
“Good,” Marty said, for lack of anything better. He remembered the blast. Nothing after.
“Was anybody hurt?” he asked, holding up his wrists. They were black as shoe polish, with mustard-yellow dots throughout and purple flares off each side. “Besides me and Em?”
“Cinders ignited five houses,” Annie said. “But FD got everyone out. Including Shelby.”
“Outstanding,” Marty said, genuinely pleased. The yellow Labrador retriever lived a few doors down. He’d helped save Emily two years ago, and Marty had barbecued him a twenty-pound prime rib as thanks. They’d been pals ever since. It helped immeasurably when his own dogs died. “He’s got more lives than Garfield.”
“Yep,” Annie said. “So zero casualties other than your thick head.”
She danced away from Marty’s swat.
“We found two burnt matches,” Branch said. “On Jackson, where the gasoline fuse started.”
“The what?”
Branch explained.
“So it’s our serial killer,” Marty said, feeling murderous despite the compartmentalization. “And he clearly wants Emily dead.”
“Or you.”
“Me?” he said, startled. “How you figure?”
“You were there,” Cross said.
“Yeah, but how would the bozo know that? It’s Emily’s house.”
“The man does his homework,” Cross said. “Knows you stay over most nights.”
Marty thought about the rich irony in that, shrugged. “Well, yeah, I’d much rather he target me than her,” he said. “But I just don’t think that’s the case. Among other things, Emily being the target explains the Riverwalk knifing.”