A Danger to Himself and Others: Bomb Squad NYC Incident 1 (23 page)

His face...he hadn’t washed his hair or trimmed his beard for two days, but that didn’t make him look nearly bad enough for his purposes. He wasn’t a makeup artist, not going to whip up a plastic face the way people so easily seemed to do in Hollywood movies. This was real. He needed real.

Manis took a scissors and cut some swatches out of his beard, making it uneven. That was better. He flicked a hand through his greasy hair—not much to be done with that. Then he reached for the damaged ear and picked at the scab. It hurt. He dug a nail under the edge and ripped it off, his eyes tearing in the effort, but now he had it bleeding pretty good again. He dipped a finger into the blood and smeared it on his face.

Better.

For clothing he had some old pants and a torn shirt that he’d soiled for the occasion. He had some tattered shoes and an old belt that he pretended to hold together with duct tape. On the street not long ago he’d found a filthy overcoat that smelled of the sewer. He fished it from a plastic trash bag under his workbench and waited until he was outside to slip his arms into the sticky sleeves.

He carried no identification on his person, just a beat-up canvas satchel that he’d stolen from a mason at a construction site. Inside that bag was a replica of Salinowsky’s leg, containing the largest charge of C4 that Manis had yet employed. Salinowsky, he figured, would be too high to notice the extra pound. In case he did, there was an anti-tamper switch in this one. Anyone who tried to open the casing would be dead before he knew what happened.

ALL THE WAY HOME, DIAZ
brooded, thinking not just about the case but about whether he’d ever receive his due. Things could get political in the department. Not that he was gunning for lieutenant or anything—not any time soon—but it was possible that Kahn was playing games. Might he be dissing Diaz on purpose, trying to use his underling’s shoulders for a ladder?
Perish that notion.
Diaz felt guilty even for allowing it to creep into his mind.

He shook himself—groggy from all the driving, not to mention the adrenaline letdown. He felt drained, a few thoughts short of rational, but sharp enough to ask himself what a pat on the head was going to do for him, anyway. He’d seen acts of great bravery in Iraq that barely garnered a medal. With or without the ribbon, you came home broken the same way. Now, all he’d done was make a few phone calls overseas and take a ride to visit a sexually perverse lunatic nurse. Not like he climbed a hill while death rained down in Iwo Jima or something. Meanwhile, the bomber was still out there, more mayhem in the offing.

In the Bronx, Diaz refilled his friend’s car with gas out of courtesy. Half an hour later, he parked it in Manhattan and dropped off the keys with a thank-you note. If he ever needed to do a stakeout, the jalopy would be perfect, he thought. It wouldn’t stand out like your average Crown Vic. On the other hand, it might go to pieces in a high-speed chase. Everything had its compromises.

He walked the few blocks home in the cold, feeling no temptation to the parkway path, maybe never again. Cap would return to the station soon, he hoped, maybe even tomorrow, and Diaz couldn’t look him in the eye if he ever drifted back toward that gratuitous danger.

By the time the dry heat of the apartment building hit him, Diaz felt dog-tired. The hallway smelled of Italian food, making his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since the sandwich in Bedford.

He used his key, but the door to his apartment caught without opening.

“Just a minute!” Jennifer called.

She pushed the door closed and it reopened a second later.

“You’re using the chain?”

“Don’t look so worried. Just didn’t want you barging in.”

He saw then that she’d dressed and had makeup on. She wore an apron over the dress, and behind her the table was set for two with candles on it.

The air went out of him. “You got a date?”

“I thought it was time I did something special.” She had a look on her face like none he’d ever seen there before.

“What? For me? Why? On account of my being such a sourpuss all the time?”

“C’mon. Don’t ruin it. I got a lasagna in the oven.”

“You can cook?”

“The recipe came from the Internet. It’s not a date, see? You’re the guinea pig.”

“That’s more like it. Should I pick up some beers?”

“We’re all set.” She looked at her watch. “You have time for a shower.”

Diaz didn’t argue. He wanted the feel of that nurse off his skin. When he was done, he climbed into his best jeans, braided loafers and a fancy guayabera. He gelled his hair, too.

“You look sweet,” Jennifer said.

“It’s the least I could do.”

He opened the Chianti while she cut two huge slabs of lasagna, then pulled off her apron and tossed it into a corner. She wore a knit dress that clung to her hips, black and white stripes. Diaz looked her up and down and she playfully pirouetted for him. He set the wine bottle down on the table and shook his head.

“Of all the roomies in all the apartments in all the world, she walks into mine.”

“Oh, stop.” But she laughed with him.

She dimmed the lights and lit the candles. When she sat down, she raised her glass. “A toast to roommates.”

“To roommates,” Diaz said, and they clinked rims.

By the second bottle of wine, the day felt a little less stressful to Diaz. He said, “Mmm. A lot of work, that lasagna.”

Jennifer shrugged it off. “There are shortcuts these days. Not like the way anyone’s grandma used to make.”

“You look better than anyone’s grandma, too.”

Hard to tell in the dim lighting, but Diaz had the impression that she blushed. “I was helping my folks reorganize their closets all day. I guess I was still in domestic mode, so I stopped at the grocery store and when I came home I just kept on going.”

“Pretty nice of you, after the way I’ve been behaving.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Were you out on that case today?”

He nodded. “Person of interest up in Boston. She has a thing for guys with mutilations.”

“Like piercings?”

“Way more than that. She gets off on missing limbs. You ever hear of a thing like that?”

Jennifer shook her head. “Makes me think of that stupid dentist, though.”

“This goes way beyond that. I showed her the scar on my stomach and she practically came in her pants.”

“You’re a sexy guy.”

“Not that sexy. I’m not exaggerating her reaction, either.”

“Well, why would you do a thing like that?”

“I was trying to get her to open up.”

“Sounds like it worked.”

“Too well. A flood came out.”

“So she’s connected to the murders?”

“I shouldn’t tell you that, but yes, somehow. She screwed both the guys who got killed. Seduced them in their hospital beds.”

“In the hospital?” Jennifer laughed. “I’m picturing that, all those tubes and stuff.”

“It’s not funny,” Diaz said. “She’s a real sicko. I mean, what do you make of that?”

Jennifer tightened her jaw, reflecting. “People have all kinds of fetishes. I guess that’s as good as the next. It’s not necessarily anything to be ashamed of.”

“It is if it leads to murder.”

“How do you figure it did, Manny?”

“I don’t know. There’s another guy, a loose end. He’s out there somewhere, and it’s possible that he did it or that he’s the next victim.”

“You don’t know?”

“We can’t find him.”

“What exactly did the woman say about that?”

“Said she, like, provided all three with a service that had mutual benefits. Hasn’t seen any of them since they left the hospital. She claims to have no reason to have killed them.”

“You believe her?”

“Anyone can build a bomb, but these bombs were pretty smart.”

“Don’t tell me she’s just a dumb woman.”

“I don’t mean it that way. You need to be pretty sophisticated to build bombs like the ones that killed these guys. Not so easily done without a lot of talent or a lot of practice. Preferably both. But I don’t make her that way.” He paused to think deeper. “She does have a forceful personality, though. She came on pretty strong, like she’s used to getting her way.”

“Jealousy.”

“What’s she got to be jealous about? Seems like she’s getting what she wants.”

“Not hers.” Jennifer sat forward. “Think of how you felt when I was with that dentist.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Just think of how you felt. You saw me with my clothes off not long before that. You couldn’t have me.”

“Correction. Didn’t want to.”

“Maybe not in your conscious mind, but somewhere deeper. Guys want to possess women. It’s fixed in their DNA. I’ve had gay friends with zero interest in my body who thought they had to protect me, keep me from being touched by straight guys.”

“Because you’re beautiful. They don’t want you to get hurt. This nurse—”

“She’s a nurse?”

“You didn’t hear that from me. She’s not like the nurse of a man’s dreams. She’s a scrawny thing, not much meat on her.”

“Not your type.”

“No.”

“But someone else’s. And if she offered it freely?”

“She did offer, if she’s telling the truth. If her come-on to me was part of a pattern.”

“But you have an issue right now, Manny. Besides, you were there for professional reasons.”

“What’s your point?”

“Someone more involved might want to protect her. Someone who’s jealous that she’s screwing these guys—or once did. Go back to how you felt emotionally when you heard me with the dentist.”

“Stop bringing that up.” He waved at the candles. “You’re ruining the atmosphere.”

“See? Multiply it times ten. Or times a thousand. That’s how it feels to him.”

“What are you, a secret FBI profiler?”

“I just know men and women. Can I ask you something, Manny?”

He went for the wine bottle but found it empty. The second bottle. “Is it about the apartment rules?”

“Uh uh.”

“You want me to do the dishes?”

“Later.” She reached across the table and ran her fingers over the top of his hand and between his knuckles. “Let’s go lie down.”

“I told you the score on that.”

“I don’t mind.” She stood up and led him by the arm to her bedroom.

He followed her, half feeling that he owed her something. How crazy this life could be—she so hot and sensual, he made by circumstances into such a reluctant suitor. A few years ago, he’d have killed for this.

Killed.
The thought brought him short. He kissed her and her mouth fell open, her lips and tongue like butter. Her dress clung like a second skin. She pulled him down to the bed. Twice in one day he would fail to deliver.

“I want you, Manny.”

She guided his hand between her legs, but he pulled it away.

“You know I can’t, J-Fo.”

“I got that.” She kissed him, ran her fingernails through his stiff hair, across his chest. “There are different ways to get a woman off.”

She guided his hand down again, this time to her bare thigh and used it to hike up the front of her dress. She placed his palm atop the mound of her underwear, which was warm and damp.

“You still got something to offer, Manny,” she said. “Maybe not all the parts are perfect. But I’m not asking for perfect.”

“What are you asking for?” He buried his face in her hair. She smelled like hot olive oil.

“Well, you still got the rest of your body, don’t you?”

MANIS STOOD BY A WIRE
trash bin on the corner of Avenue B and East Third Street. From that vantage point he had a view both of the ornate front of St. Euphrosyne and the plain side door that the homeless men used. They’d started lining up for the soup kitchen at half past four, but the shelter itself hadn’t opened until six. Some of the men had wandered off after dinner, but others went back inside only to come out again. He figured they’d copped their squat for the night and wanted to wait until the last minute before entering the shelter for good. Besides, they were passing around some bottles and a few cigarettes.

Keeping count in his head, calculating that there were still plenty of beds available inside, Manis hung back. He didn’t worry too much about looking suspicious. Lurking around was typical behavior in this part of town. Despite the cold, there were plenty of people on the street, and any new recipient of church services would naturally be hesitant to step forward out of self-preservation.

By eight-thirty it had grown frigid and the tips of Manis’s fingers were cracked and blue.
The things I do for that bitch,
he thought. But there was no point feeling bitter. His goal lay within sight.

Ten minutes later, he watched Salinowsky shuffle across the avenue, oblivious to traffic. Manis ducked his head and pretended to be digging through the trash, but that didn’t matter. Salinowsky’s glassy eyes seemed to perceive little around him.

High on smack,
Manis thought.
Perfect.

With the mason’s satchel in hand, Manis turned and followed his target at twenty paces. Unlike the other vagrants, Salinowsky didn’t pause at the threshold, just marched right down the steps and into the building. But at the next doorway, someone brought him up short, a man with a large kitchen tongs in his hand. The man had a red face that was flushed further from the heat of the kitchen. At first, Manis thought he was making friendly conversation with Salinowsky, but he became more animated as things progressed. Salinowsky, rocking on his heels, pulled out the ashen pockets of his tattered coat to indicate he carried nothing. The red-faced man said something else and Salinowsky did the same with his pants pockets, showing only some small change and a few trinkets. That gesture had little more effect than the first, and the red-faced man denied Salinowsky access to the kitchen.

“I asked your name, buddy,” said a voice next to Manis.

He perceived for the first time a young man standing there, short and pale and gaunt with an elaborate tattoo that ran up his neck. He carried a clipboard in his hand.

“Everyone needs to check in.”