“We can’t ignore the possibility,” Abbott said. “And if she was part of their cell, identifying her could lead us to them.”
“Or she could have been forced to be one of them.” Kane pointed to the girl’s arm. “Her injuries were real. She’d been slapped around by somebody.”
“Or she could have been an innocent bystander who found the ball and picked it up,” Olivia finished. “In which case, we’re back to square one.”
“Did you find any ID in the backpack?” Micki asked.
Barlow shook his head. “No. The contents were too burned. I told your CSU tech to bag it. We got some charred papers, books. The paper took a lot of water damage, but the lab might be able to piece together the scraps for a name or a lead.”
“Can we get in the building now?” Kane asked, but Barlow shook his head.
“Not yet. We’re still checking the fifth and sixth floors, but the damage that made the fourth floor collapse under Hunter goes all the way down. If he hadn’t caught himself, he would have gone all the way down to the basement. The tower truck’s still at the scene, though. Captain Casey said Hunter or Zell could take you up in the bucket, let you look through the windows. I also shot video as we went through the debris. I’ll transfer the files to my PC and e-mail them to you when we’re finished here.”
Olivia couldn’t stifle the icy shiver that cut through her at the thought of David plunging four stories. She did, however, manage to stifle the mixed dread and anticipation at sharing the close quarters of a bucket with him. She’d do her job, as would he. “We’ll take the videos if that’s all we can get right now, but I want to see the scene. I guess going up in the bucket is our best option at the moment. We should get out there before they leave. They’ve been there for about eight hours now.”
“They’ve probably got another two hours ahead of them,” Barlow said, “so you don’t have to rush.” He pulled a sooty envelope from his front pocket and handed it to Kane. “You asked for the Rankin and Sons personnel list. I had them run an extra copy for you.”
“Thanks. We’ll start background checks. Anyone we should be looking at?”
“As in anyone who’d have access to the guard’s schedule and their camera feeds?” Micki asked sarcastically. “Try anyone on that list and just about any entry-level hacker.”
Olivia winced. “You snuck into the system that easily, huh?”
Micki rolled her eyes. “We didn’t have to sneak. Rankin’s IT guy left their server wide open. I’d check the IT guy. If he’s not on the take, he’s the most inept we’ve ever come across.”
“So anyone could have cut the camera feed,” Kane said glumly.
“Sorry,” Micki said. “I wish I could give you better news. We are trying to trace where the command to disable the cameras came from. That’ll take a little while. Like Barlow said, that aspect of this job was done very well.”
Dr. Donahue sat back in her chair. “Sergeant Barlow, could this fire have been set by one individual?”
Barlow hesitated. “Maybe. But if this really was SPOT, then they probably were a cell of two to four people. If it was arson for hire or some other reason, it could have been one. The job itself could have been accomplished solo, with adequate planning.”
“So we have one to four people, educated in computer networks but who didn’t do their homework on actually setting the fire,” Donahue said. “At least one of them was capable of shooting a guard in cold blood. They brought at least one gun with them, so they were prepared for violence of some nature-even if it was to protect themselves. Were any warning shots fired that you could see?”
“No,” Micki said. “We found the slug that killed Weems. Hollow-point,.38. We didn’t see evidence of other shots fired. We’ll keep looking now that it’s daylight.”
Donahue nodded. “So for now we’ll assume they did not fire warning shots, just the one shot that hit Mr. Weems… where?”
“Right through the heart,” Kane said grimly and Donahue’s brows rose.
“Interesting. A more surefire target would have been his head. I mean, Weems could have been wearing a vest. Through the heart is very personal.”
“Weems represented authority, even if they didn’t know he’d been a cop,” Olivia said. “Most of these groups are anarchists. That they’d despise Weems isn’t unusual.”
“But apparently to shoot him, is.” Donahue scribbled in a small notebook. “I’ll do some research on SPOT. See if anyone developed profiles back in the nineties.”
“We’ll keep on the girl’s ID,” Olivia said. “Ian’s supposed to call when he’s done with the girl’s autopsy. For now we’ll start checking into Rankin’s personnel.”
“And I’ll call Special Agent Crawford at the Bureau’s field office,” Abbott said. “We keep the details of the glass globe from the press for as long as we can. Can this firefighter be trusted not to talk to reporters?”
“Yes,” Olivia said quickly. Too quickly, she thought when everyone looked at her. She shrugged. “He’s an old family friend with no love for reporters. He won’t talk.”
Abbott nodded. “Good. Barlow, let me know if you need support. I have a few detectives I can pull in from other cases if we need them. Everyone back here at five.”
Chapter Four
Monday, September 20, 8:55 a.m.
Eric could recite the thirty-minute newscast from memory. What am I going to do?
You’re going to sit here and wait, just like he told you to. Just as he had for the past five hours. The news wasn’t new since disclosing the second victim had died of gunshot wounds. So he’d sat, listening to the same report again and again and watching his cell phone. Waiting for it to buzz, waiting for the next text from his “master.” Sonofabitch.
And if he makes me wait days? Eventually he’d have to leave his apartment, go to class. Maybe even eat. Although the very thought of food made him want to gag.
We killed that girl. But they had not shot that guard. Which meant somebody else did. The only other person was the damn blackmailer. He did it. He shot the guard.
But who would believe them? The texter had them on video. Video, goddamn it.
How could we have been so stupid? How did he know we’d even be there? He’d racked his brain all night, trying to think of where, when they’d been together, discussing their plan. But so far he’d come up blank. Unless one of them had told.
He closed his eyes. It was top of the hour. Time for another identical report on the condo arson, word for word. He started to murmur the words along with the anchor, then bolted upright in his chair when the mouth on the tube said, “This just in.”
The television screen had split. The anchor was on the right, but on the left was a picture of the guard. In a cop’s uniform. Eric’s mouth went bone dry and he stared at the man’s badge as the talking head on the right began to speak.
“ Minneapolis police have confirmed the identity of the guard killed in last night’s arson. The victim is Henry Weems, who retired last year after a twenty-five-year career with the Minneapolis police. His daughter, Brenda Weems, gave this statement.”
The screen switched to Brenda Weems who stood on the steps of a modest house in a modest suburb, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her face tearstained.
“My father was a good cop, a good husband and father. He was murdered last night, along with another victim. I know the police will not rest until his killer is brought to justice-not because my father was a cop, but because he was a member of this community. My mother and I ask for privacy so that we may grieve. Thank you.”
The screen switched back to the anchor and Eric felt numb.