Did you complain?
Of course not. Thats his job.
Well? He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.
Oh. She sighed. The old double standard.
Exactly. I wouldnt expect my wife to quit a job she loved, just to make dinner and wait on me every night.
She stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. You wouldnt?
Thats not love. Thats possession.
I think your wifes a very lucky woman, she said softly.
I was only speaking theoretically.
She frowned at him. You meanit was just a theoretical wife?
He nodded.
So he wasnt married. That piece of information made her flush with a strange and unexpected gladness. What on earth was the matter with her?
She looked away, afraid that he might see the confusion in her eyes. You, uh, said you needed to talk to me.
Its about the case.
It must be pretty important if you went to all the trouble of tracking me down.
Im afraid we have a new development. Not a pleasant one.
She went very still. Somethings happened?
Tell me what you know about the church janitor.
She shook her head in bewilderment. I dont know him at all. I dont even know his name.
His name was Jimmy Brogan. We spent all yesterday evening trying to track Brogan down. We know he unlocked the church door yesterday. That he was in and out of the building all morning. But no one seems to know where he went after the explosion. We know he didnt turn up at the neighborhood bar where he usually goes every afternoon.
You said was. That his name was Jimmy Brogan. Does that mean
Sam nodded. We found his body this morning. He was in his car, parked in a field in Scarborough. He died from a gunshot wound to the head. The gun was in the car with him. It had his fingerprints on it.
A suicide? she asked softly.
Thats the way it looks.
She was silent, too shocked to say a thing.
Were still waiting for the crime lab report. There are a number of details that bother me. It feels too neat, too packaged. It ties up every single loose end weve got.
Including the bombing?
Including the bombing. There were several items in the car trunk that would seem to link Brogan to the bomb. Detonating cord. Green electrical tape. Its all pretty convincing evidence.
You dont sound convinced.
The problem is, Brogan had no explosives experience that we know of. Also, we cant come up with a motive for any bombing. Or for the attack on you. Can you help us out?
She shook her head. I dont know anything about the man.
Are you familiar with the name Brogan?
No.
He was familiar with you. There was a slip of paper with your address in his car.
She stared at him. His gaze was impenetrable. It frightened her, how little she could read in his eyes. How deeply the man was buried inside the cop. Why would he have my address? she asked.
You must have some link to him.
I dont know anyone named Brogan.
Why would he try to kill you? Run you off the road?
How do you know he did it?
Because of his car. The one we found his body in.
She swallowed hard. It was black?
He nodded. A black Ford.
Five
Sam drove her to the morgue. Neither one of them said much. He was being guarded about what information he told her, and she was too chilled to ask for the details. All the way there, she kept thinking, Who was Jimmy Brogan and why did he want to kill me?
In the morgue, Sam maintained a firm grip on her arm as they walked the corridor to the cold room. He was right beside her when the attendant led them to the bank of body drawers. As the drawer was pulled out she involuntarily flinched. Sams arm came around her waist, a steady support against the terrible sight she was about to face.
It aint pretty, said the attendant. Are you ready?
Nina nodded.
He pulled aside the shroud and stepped back.
As an ER nurse, Nina had seen more than her share of grisly sights. This was by far the worst. She took one look at the mans face what was left of it and quickly turned away. I dont know him, she whispered.
Are you sure? Sam asked.
She nodded and suddenly felt herself swaying. At once he was supporting her, his arm guiding her away from the drawers. Away from the cold room.
In the coroners office she sat nursing a cup of hot tea while Sam talked on the phone to his partner. Only vaguely did she register his conversation. His tone was as matter-of-fact as always, betraying no hint of the horror hed just witnessed.
doesnt recognize him. Or the name either. Are you sure we dont have an alias? Sam was saying.
Nina cupped the tea in both hands but didnt sip. Her stomach was still too queasy. On the desk beside her was the file for Jimmy Brogan, open to the ID information sheet. Most of what she saw there didnt stir any memories. Not his address nor the name of his wife. Only the name of the employer was familiar: the Good Shepherd Church. She wondered if Father Sullivan had been told, wondered how he was faring in the hospital. It would be a double shock to the elderly man. First, the bombing of his church, and then the death of the janitor. She should visit him today and make sure he was doing all right
Thanks, Gillis. Ill be back at three. Yeah, set it up, will you? Sam hung up and turned to her. Seeing her face, he frowned in concern. You all right?
Im fine. She shuddered and clutched the mug more tightly.
You dont look fine. I think you need some recovery time. Come on. He offered his hand. Its lunchtime. Theres a café up the street.
You can think about lunch?
I make it a point never to skip a chance at a meal. Or would you rather I take you home?
Anything, she said, rising from the chair. Just get me out of this place.
NINA PICKED LISTLESSLY at a salad while Sam wolfed down a hamburger.
I dont know how you do it, she said. How you go straight from the morgue to a big lunch.
Necessity. He shrugged. In this job, a guy can get skinny real fast.
You must see so many awful things as a cop.
Youre an ER nurse. I would think youve seen your share.
Yes. But they usually come to us still alive.
He wiped his hands on a napkin and slid his empty plate aside. True. If its a bomb, by the time I get to the scene, were lucky to find anyone alive. If we find much of them at all.
How do you live with it? How do you stand a job like yours?
The challenge.
Really, Navarro. How do you deal with the horror?
My names Sam, okay? And as for how I deal with it, its more a question of why I do it. The truth is, the challenge is a lot of it. People who make bombs are a unique breed of criminal. Theyre not like the guy who holds up your neighborhood liquor store. Bombers are craftier. A few of them are truly geniuses. But theyre also cowards. Killers at a distance. Its that combination that makes those guys especially dangerous. And it makes my job all the more satisfying when I can nail them.
So you actually enjoy it.
Enjoy isnt the right word. Its more that I cant set the puzzle aside. I keep looking at the pieces and turning them around. Trying to understand the sort of mind that could do such a thing. He shook his head. Maybe that makes me just as much a monster. That I find it so satisfying to match wits with these guys.
Or maybe it means youre an outstanding cop.
He laughed. Either that or Im as screwy as the bombers are.
She gazed across the table at his smiling face and suddenly wondered why shed ever considered those eyes of his so forbidding. One laugh and Sam Navarro transformed from a cop into an actual human being. And a very attractive man.
Im not going to let this happen, she thought with sudden determination. It would be such a mistake to rebound from Robert, straight into some crazy infatuation with a cop.
She forced herself to look away, at anything but his face, and ended up focusing on his hands. At the long, tanned fingers. She said, If Brogan was the bomber, then I guess I have nothing to worry about now.
If he was the bomber.
The evidence seems pretty strong. Why dont you sound convinced?
I cant explain it. Its justa feeling. Instinct, I guess. Thats why I still want you to be careful.
She lifted her gaze to meet his and found his smile was gone. The cop was back.
You dont think its over yet, she said.
No. I dont.
SAM DROVE NINA BACK to Ocean View Drive, helped her load up the Mercedes with a few armloads of books and clothes, and made sure she was safely on her way back to her fathers house.
Then he returned to the station.
At three oclock, they held a catch-up meeting. Sam, Gillis, Tanaka from the crime lab, and a third detective on the Bomb Task Force, Francis Cooley, were in attendance. Everyone laid their puzzle pieces on the table.
Cooley spoke first. Ive checked and rechecked the records on Jimmy Brogan. Theres no alias for the guy. Thats his real name. Forty-five years old, born and raised in South Portland, minor criminal record. Married ten years, no kids. He was hired by Reverend Sullivan eight years ago. Worked as a janitor and handyman around the church. Never any problems, except for a few times when he showed up late and hung over after falling off the wagon. No military service, no education beyond the eleventh grade. Wife says he was dyslexic. I just cant see this guy putting together a bomb.
Did Mrs. Brogan have any idea why Nina Cormiers address was in his car? Sam asked.
Nope. Shed never heard the name before. And she said the handwriting wasnt her husbands.
Were they having any marital troubles?
Happy as clams, from what she told me. Shes pretty devastated.
So weve got a happily married, uneducated, dyslexic janitor as our prime suspect?
Afraid so, Navarro.
Sam shook his head. This gets worse every minute. He looked at Tanaka. Eddie, give us some answers. Please.
Tanaka, nervous as usual, cleared his throat. Youre not going to like what I have.
Hit me anyway.
Okay. First, the gun in the car was reported stolen a year ago from its registered owner in Miami. We dont know how Brogan got the gun. His wife says he didnt know the first thing about firearms. Second, Brogans car was the black Ford that forced Miss Cormiers Honda off the road. Paint chips match, both ways. Third, the items in the trunk are the same elements used in the church bombing. Two-inch-wide green electrical tape. Identical detonator cord.
Thats Vincent Spectres signature, said Gillis. Green electrical tape.