50
Friday, July 14, 11:35 A.M.
Courthouse Plaza
Haycroft knew he needed to appear calm.
He was shaking. He was perspiring. He could actually smell his own body odor. He had been jostled and touched again and again by others. The thought nauseated him.
From the sidewalk where he had temporarily stationed himself, he glanced in the window of the sandwich shop behind him. He did not appear calm.
Police had surrounded the van.
It was inconceivable to him. He had nearly been caught then and there. Strolling along, ready to listen to the story of Harriman’s demise. And there was his van, surrounded by black-and-white patrol cars.
How could this be? Had the late Harriman talked more than anticipated?
He stood staring for a moment, then tried not to attract attention as he walked away. He felt as if every eye were watching him, laughing secretly as he headed straight into a trap.
Somehow, he managed to return to the plaza without being seen by the police. And now this, this further ruin.
They streamed around him, hurriedly but calmly leaving. Like cattle drovers trying hard not to stampede their herd, the uniformed officers of the LPPD and the fire department urged the audience to leave. Announcements were being made. He was making himself obvious, he suddenly realized. Standing like a rock in the plaza as the greater and greater rush of hoi polloi flowed past him.
Then came the little thunderclap. The first charge, in the telephone equipment room, had been too small to be heard by anyone who was not near it. This second one, a small charge going off in an elevator shaft, was surprisingly loud. It was just a little device, designed like one he had studied in Wallace’s notes. It had relied on a timer. He was pleased that something was going right.
It freed him to move again, to join the throng that was now panicking, rushing into the street, bringing traffic to a halt. He allowed himself to be carried along by this swell of frightened lawyers and politicians and civil servants, to be deposited by it on the street’s opposite shore. He escaped it by hurrying up into the shelter of the shops that formed the lower floor of the high-rise directly across from the courthouse.
Only a few minutes now.
He would need to steal a car. This was not among his many areas of expertise. He was good with mechanical devices, though, and he understood the principles involved. He had once stolen a boat — could stealing a car be much different? Perhaps he would try it. What other choices did he have? A taxi? The driver would report him. Public transportation? Hah! Might as well shoot himself. They weren’t buses, they were vermin-mobiles.
He walked back to the sidewalk, watching the building, waiting. The police were watching it, too. No one was going in. Better yet, no one was coming out.
He was only seconds away from achieving his dream.
A horn honked. Startled, he looked down to see an old Plymouth sedan pull up alongside the curb. He was about to run when he recognized the driver. The guard from the old courthouse.
“Get in, Dr. Haycroft,” Denise said. “There’s some crazy bomber on the loose around here!”
51
Friday, July 14, 11:35 A.M.
Southbound on Magnolia
He tried to concentrate on his driving while listening to the reports. There had just been a small explosion in the new wing of the courthouse. No one was believed hurt. The police had started clearing the plaza moments before. There had been some panic at the sound of the blast, but for the most part, dispersal was orderly. Officials were still in the process of securing the area. Haycroft had not returned to his van. Both the fire department and the bomb squad had arrived and a command center had been set up — they were getting ready to go about the long process of clearing the building.
But he wouldn’t feel relieved until he talked to Irene.
His cell phone rang.
He answered it and nearly lost control of the car. “Irene?”
“No, Vince — listen, I got those locked compartments open on Haycroft’s Cessna. You would not believe what I found in them. This guy kept these lab notebooks. Experiments. Only the experiments are on people. Or, I should say, how to kill them or set them up for a conviction. The asshole rates himself based on how well he did. Guess who’s in here?”
“The Randolphs.”
“Yes, and Lefebvre. And Bredloe. And you. Second to last.”
“Is the courthouse dedication the last entry?”
“The courthouse? No — but good thinking on that one, Harriman — I hear they managed to clear just about everybody from the plaza before the one in the building went off. I think our boy hit another dud thanks to you.”
“Who’s the last entry?”
“Judge Lewis Kerr.”
“Has he been accounted for?”
“Not yet, but you know, a lot of folks just hightailed it out of there, so—”
“So we don’t know. Watch that plane, Vince — Haycroft may be coming back to it.”
“I’m praying he does,” Vince said.
Frank called the paper and asked for Irene’s boss, John Walters.
“John — has Irene reported in yet from the courthouse?”
“No, not yet. If you hear from her—”
“Was she in the audience?”
“Probably had a front-row seat. She and Seth were the guests of Judge Kerr. I’d give you the number, but the phones are out in Kerr’s office.”
His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Oh, God…”
“Frank? You there?”
“I’ll call you back, John.”
He reached Ocean Boulevard and Magnolia Avenue in spite of a heavy exodus of cars and pedestrians, but at Ocean, traffic came to a halt. The sidewalk on the plaza side of the street was nearly empty. Ahead, he could see fire engines, emergency vehicles, the fire department command center. He drove Pete’s car over the curb, parking it on the sidewalk. He pocketed the phone and began running toward the new building.
He saw a man with a briefcase running in the opposite direction. Frank stepped in front of him. “Judge Kerr’s office — where is it?”
“Get out of my way!”
Frank grabbed him by the lapels. “Where’s Kerr’s office?”
The man paled. Then he saw Frank’s badge and shoulder holster. “You’re a cop. You’re not allowed to do this.”
“You don’t read the newspapers, do you?”
He pointed a shaking finger. “Seventh floor, corner office.”
Frank let him go and ran faster.
He dodged more and more members of his own department. As he got closer to the building, the majority of them were wearing protective gear. They yelled at him to get back, then relented as he held up his ID. A more persistent officer stepped aside when Frank yelled, “Chief’s office.”
The members of the bomb squad weren’t impressed with the “chief” routine and began shouting to the others to stop him.
Halfway across the open space, weaving through the abandoned folding chairs, he looked up at Kerr’s office. All his concentration was centered on it, on the people he knew were within it.
Be safe, Irene, he thought. Be safe, Seth. Please be safe. I’m almost there.
He heard the shouting of the others mixing with the pleading in his mind, both more frantic as he moved forward, the distance between him and the corner office seeming to double with every step, as if each passing second robbed him of progress.
The blast struck like a thunderclap that could take the world apart — all the shouts and pleas lost in the deafening roar of an explosion that shook the ground beneath his feet and thrummed in the marrow of his bones.
In helpless horror he watched as Kerr’s window and a hundred windows near it blasted out and the upper floors of the building crumpled in on one another.