the lead.”
“To help you catch this killer, I’m going to need a little more leeway, sir,” she began.
“You have none,” he said flatly. “You heard my conditions.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Laura walked out of Chief Wright’s office moments later, Travis by her side. “He’s convinced that rules are everything.”
“Without rules, there’s only chaos, no progress.”
“The Travis I knew once was the patient sort but he also had his cowboy moments. I remember one night after a basketball game when some guys from Cliffside High jumped one of our pep-band members behind the gym. You ran right into the thick of it and took on six guys.”
“I wasn’t the one violating the rules—they were. I also didn’t have a choice. John was on the ground and the other guys were kicking him.”
“You could have gone for help but you chose the direct approach,” she said with a smile. “Back then, there was a limit to how closely you followed the rules. Is that still the way it is?”
He met her gaze and held it. “I was a marine. I’ve learned the importance of discipline. Now my job is to protect and serve. That’s precisely what I do.”
“As do I.”
“But for the private sector. In law enforcement the way we catch a killer determines the real outcome—whether or not he ends up convicted and behind bars.” He crossed the room and checked on Crusher, who was curled up on a pad underneath the desk next to a bone.
Travis focused back on Laura. When he spoke, his tone was all business. “As long as you respect the way our department does things, we’ll get along fine,” he said, his penetrating gaze holding hers.
His voice was soft but there was no mistaking his challenge. It was there in the tightening of his jaw and the icy glitter in his eyes.
“I’ve agreed to Chief Wright’s terms and I’ll honor my word,” she said softly, hoping to diffuse the situation. “So where do we start?”
“Let’s go meet with the lab boys and find out what they’ve learned about the bomb. That’s all we have at the moment,” he said. “Keep in mind that we can’t even be sure that the bomb was the work of the serial killer.”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m not. In our line of work, we automatically make enemies. Anyone who has a grudge against you is a possible suspect.”
“This is more than a coincidence, but if you want to explore unlikely possibilities, we could say that they were aiming at you and didn’t know which vehicle you drove,” she said.
“The most dangerous criminals I’ve put away are still behind bars.”
“They’ve undoubtedly got families,” she answered. “Or maybe partners that weren’t apprehended.”
“That’s exactly my point. We don’t have enough evidence to arrive at any conclusion,” he said. “Let’s go see what the lab techs have for us.”
Leaving Crusher asleep beneath Travis’s desk, they walked to the far end of the building. As they entered the lab, they saw several techs working at various stations. Travis focused on an older woman in her late fifties who was peering into a microscope.
“Mrs. Delaney,” Travis said softly.
“One moment,” she said. After a few more minutes, she glanced up at them. “I know why you’re here, Detective,” she said, looking at Travis, “and I have some preliminaries for you.” She brushed a strand of ash-colored hair away from her face and pinned it back in place. “Whoever put this bomb together knew what he was doing. It was homemade and bulky because of the low explosive used—basically ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel. These components are difficult to trace to a source because they’re so common. The detonator, an electric blasting cap, should be a lot easier to track—if we can get the serial number. A throwaway cell phone was used to trigger the device.”
“Do you have anything I can follow up on right now?” Travis asked.
“One thing caught my attention. The ammonium nitrate is fertilizer grade and we’ve identified the brand for you,” she said, writing it down for him. “Tracking down a recent sale might give you a lead, but of course it could have been purchased several months ago. Or stolen.”
“At least it’s a place to start. Thanks,” Travis said.
“Was there a tracking device found in the vehicle or maybe out in the debris field?” Laura asked as they were about to leave.
“No, all we got was the cell phone and it was a cheap model. We can’t track back the call it received setting off the bomb, but we’re trying to find out who sells that model in this area,” Mrs. Delaney answered.
As they walked out of the lab, Laura remained silent.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked after they’d picked up Crusher and were headed toward the department’s underground garage. His pickup would remain at the station where it would be double-checked for evidence. In the meantime, he’d been assigned one of the department’s SUVs.
“Bomb components can be followed up anytime, by phone or computer, usually,” she said. “So what do you say we take a ride over to the Rez and see what their cops have on the Navajo victim? Or we could check with the Bloomfield police and see what other similarities we can find between the crimes that might tell us more about the suspect.”
“You’re looking for patterns, not just victim profiles, right?” he asked, reading her correctly.
She nodded. “An organized serial killer, for example, stages a crime scene, then takes a trophy, something he can hold. I looked but I couldn’t tell if anything was missing from my friend’s place. We’d only reconnected a few months ago on the internet and I’d never been to her home,” she said, her voice wavering.
If she’d only arrived early instead of late, she might have been able to prevent Nancy’s murder. As soon as the thought formed, she pushed it back. This wasn’t her fault. Deep down she knew that. Allowing herself to shoulder additional guilt would only undermine her ability to think clearly.
What she could do for Nancy now was catch her killer and see that justice was served. It was what she did, and Laura knew it the only way she’d ever find peace again.
“What you want is tricky at best,” he said slowly. “Keep in mind that those cases don’t belong to my department and getting that information will entail my calling in favors.” They pulled out into the street. “I’ll also have to justify our interest, and we still have no conclusive proof that the murders are connected.”
“The only way we’re going to get that proof is to keep digging,” she insisted.
“First things first,” he said. “I want to follow up on those nitrates.”
She expelled her breath in a hiss. “Okay. So how many stores do you have around here that might carry something like that?”
“Five.
