One of the FBI agents raised her hand. “Where could they buy something like that? How is it legal?”
“Tannerite can be bought anywhere. Even on Amazon. There hasn’t been any big move to curb it. It’s legal because it’s sold in two different packages. Unless the packages are mixed, they are not explosive. That’s why it’s called a binary explosive.”
That seemed to satisfy the FBI agent as she made a few notes and nodded her head.
Barborini went on. “There were nuts and bolts taped around the paint jug. The idea is that the explosion should have dispersed the nuts and bolts like shrapnel in a wide circle around the explosion. What we believe happened was that the metal paint jug that was used did not have a secure lid. The detonator was a simple blasting cap on an electronic igniter. When the blasting cap went off and started the chain reaction in the Tannerite, it blew the top off the paint can and the power of the explosion went straight up. That’s why the roof of the truck blew off so neatly. An explosion will travel the path of least resistance. That’s what saved so many lives.”
Chapter 10
AFTER ALMOST AN hour of briefing, I wondered if all we were going to do on this case was have meetings. This went against my instincts—to get out on the street and start talking to people. In my experience as a cop, that’s what always broke open major cases. People talk. It doesn’t matter where they’re from or what their reasons are for committing a crime. People always talk.
I couldn’t find out what they were saying if I was sitting in a conference room in Federal Plaza.
Dan Santos went through the last few things on his list, explaining how the scarf over the attacker’s face had thwarted any efforts to use facial recognition to match the attacker with photographs in the intelligence databases.
Santos turned to me and said, “Turns out that Detective Bennett here is the only one who’s seen the attacker’s face.” He held up the police artist’s sketch of the man I’d described. “This is based on Detective Bennett’s description. There’s nothing unusual about him except possibly a cut on his left cheek.”
Then I had to speak up. “There’s no possibly about it. The man has a decent gash on his left cheek from a broken bottle across his face.” I could still feel the heft of the bottle, suddenly going weightless as it broke against his face.
Santos continued. “We’re covering the leads on the step-van truck—which was a rental—immigration, current gripes against the US government, and even city employees. The last group is because the dump truck at the intersection was too far to one side, allowing the attacker to slip past.
“I know we have a lot of different agencies working together, but there will be an FBI agent in each group. They will document everything you do, brief me, and handle evidence.”
He closed his notebook and straightened up to glance around the room. “Are there any questions?” He shot a dirty look at me in an effort to keep me quiet.
As everyone broke into their small groups with different assignments, Dan Santos walked over to me and Darya and said, “I’m on your team. We’ll be handling a lot of different things. But no matter what we do, neither of you are to run down any leads without me. Is that clearly understood?”
I was preparing a smartass answer when Darya said, “I sorry. My English not so good. Let’s hope I make no mistake.” She turned to me, winked, and shot me a little smile.
I was liking this Darya more and more.
Chapter 11
I FELT LIKE I’d found a kindred spirit in Darya Kuznetsova after she stood up to the FBI agent, Dan Santos. It wasn’t just what she did, but how she did it—it was playful yet said, Don’t mess with me.
That’s why I was comfortable sitting down next to her away from everyone else in the corner of the conference room. She seemed pleased that I had chosen to speak with her. She gave me just a hint of a lovely smile, but her sharp eyes didn’t miss anything.
She said, “Do you always carry two pistols? I thought the NYPD usually carried only one gun, their duty weapon on the right hip.”
“I decided a backup .380 on my ankle was a good idea considering how tough this suspect was. How did you pick up on it?”
“You dragged your left leg ever so slightly and I noticed your ankle holster. Your duty weapon on your hip is obvious.”
“You don’t approve of guns?”
“On the contrary, it’s smart. The Kazakhs tend to be of a rougher sort than most Russians. It would be similar to someone being raised on the frontier in the Old West.” She grasped my right hand and held it up to examine it. “Just like I could tell you were not raised on the frontier.”
I gave her a smile, though she had subtly just called me a wimp. “New York City is its own kind of frontier.”
Darya considered my comment for a moment and said, “Were you ever pressured to join a group and commit crimes?”
I thought about mentioning the Holy Name basketball team when I was a kid. We’d been a tough bunch, and on a dare I’d stolen a bag of M&M’s from a grocery store on the corner. But that probably wasn’t what she meant, so I didn’t mention it. Besides, I had gone back the next day to give old man Rogers, who ran the place, money for the candy.
I changed the subject and said, “I know we talked about this, but how did you get this assignment?”
“Part of it was that I happened to be here in New York and my English is better than most Russians’.”
“Your English is better than most New Yorkers’.” It was satisfying that the comment earned a smile.