Play To Kill

Chapter Thirty-two

Red hair or not, Johnny McLaren had one of those pale faces you never associated with the Irish. Neither round and rosy nor dark and haunted, his was one hundred percent affable, and, as the ladies were fond of noticing and slow to respond to, boyish. It hadn't looked boyish since Magozzi told them what he'd learned in the bathroom.

It took the media about five minutes longer to learn about the Mason jars, and now the coverage was nonstop, and about as close to grim as Minneapolis television ever got, which meant the anchors weren't smiling. Magozzi and Gino had gone back to their desks, but McLaren and Tinker were hooked to the TV like dogs on a leash.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,' McLaren murmured, and for the first time Magozzi heard Ireland in the lilt. 'They found another one. How many is that?'

'Seven,' Tinker said.

'And how many bomb squads have we got?'

'Last time I checked, we had four. In the whole state.'

Magozzi looked across the desk at Gino, whose eyes were fixed on the TV. The sound was muted, but the picture was bad enough. They had a graphic of the city up, with seven blinking red dots, marking the location of each suspect box. While they watched, three more lights popped up in the center of the city.

'Shit.' Gino pushed speed dial on his cell. 'Angela. Where are you? What library? Okay, that's okay. Where are the kids?'

Angela's irritated voice came through loud and clear when Gino held the phone away from his ear. 'Oh, gee, Gino, I don't know. Was I supposed to be watching them?'

Gino winced. 'All right, all right, I'm sorry, okay?' And then he told her what was going on, listened for a long time before turning toward the wall and murmuring some things Magozzi couldn't hear before hanging up.

'Everything okay?' Magozzi asked his partner.

Gino looked miserable. 'I told her to pick up the kids and take them on a little field trip.'

'Where to?'

Gino took a breath. 'Out of the city. Wisconsin, maybe.'

'Christ, Gino…'

But Gino didn't hear him. He'd raised his eyes to the television, where at least half a dozen new red lights were blinking.

Things were getting out of hand. Most Minnesotans watched the news coverage, decided for themselves whether the threat was real or exaggerated, and the only measure of the majority decision was the number of cars on the freeway heading for Wisconsin, because nobody wanted to attack Wisconsin. Ever.

'Lot of cars on the bridge to Hudson,' Gino commented, his eyes on the television.

Magozzi nodded. 'Where're Angela and the kids?'

'Somerset. She got the last room at a great bed-and- breakfast near the Apple River.'

'Feel better now?'

Gino nodded. 'Big time.'

Magozzi glanced at the caller ID when his cell rang, then picked up. 'You're watching this, right?'

Grace never worried about anything, except the bag boy at Whole Foods pulling out an AK-47 and shooting her dead. 'Of course we're watching it, Magozzi. We have been, since seven a.m., when we got a pre-post. You need to check the messages on your cell more often, especially when your switchboard is jammed.'

Magozzi thought about that for a minute. He always checked for messages, hoping one of them would be from Grace. But not this morning. This morning things had started to happen really fast, and his heart did a little flip- flop at the thought that he'd lost precious time on a potential murder. You're calling me, so I assume it's local. Did the post give you any ideas on the potential victim or location?'

'It's not another murder, Magozzi. We think the pre-post was about the boxes.'

'What?'

'All it said was "City of Lakes, Many, Everywhere." Half an hour later the TV was nonstop boxes. The post was untraceable, like the murder posts, but it didn't follow the same routing as the others. Your profiler friend, Chelsea, is in the know, according to John, and she says it's something else entirely.'

'She is not a friend. We had a beer and a burger and a gallon of milk while we talked shop about serial killers and Internet stuff. Did she bother to mention what "something else entirely" means?'

'She's even got a name for it. Chaotic terrorism. You know how little boys get a kick out of popping out of closets and scaring the crap out of you?'

'That was really sexist, Grace.'

'How many little girls pop out of closets to scare people?'

'Not enough, but I get your point.'

'So Chelsea thinks this is the post-puberty version. Disenfranchised dweebs hiding in their basements, power- tripping on scaring a whole city to death. The coverage of the murder posts probably gave them the idea.'

Magozzi pushed wrinkles into his forehead. 'So she doesn't think it's real.'

'Obviously it doesn't have to be real to stop a city. The threat is enough, but it's still terrorism, plain and simple.'

Magozzi started rummaging in his desk drawer, looking for aspirin. 'So our choices are a terrorist attack or a teenager attack?'

'And if it's the latter, you better get those monsters in cuffs by the morning news or every media-addicted creep in the country is going to try to outdo what happens here. Go to work, Magozzi. We can't find them, so it's all on you.'

When Magozzi hung up, Gino was peering over his computer screen at him, powdered sugar parentheses enclosing his mouth. 'I choose teenager attack.'

'Huh?'

'You said "terrorist attack or teenager attack." I pick B. What else did she say?'

After Magozzi gave him a rundown, Gino folded his hands over his paunch and leaned back in his chair. 'If it's a terrorist attack, we're all screwed. If it's a teenager attack we can waterboard a couple thirteen-year-olds and no one will ever try it again.' His eyes drifted over to the television and his mouth turned down. 'I don't know, Leo. Mason jars with liquid, lead sheeting to beat the X-ray…? Seems like pretty sophisticated shit for a screw-up kid.'

Magozzi nodded. 'That's what I was thinking'

One of the newer hires out of Vice - a tall, loose-limbed guy who looked like he just got out from behind a plow - walked into Homicide and found McLaren. 'Hey, Johnny. I'm guessing nobody bet on Mason jars.'

'Nope.'

'So give me my fiver back.'

'Sure thing, Scarecrow. But I'm afraid there's going to be a processing fee.'

'I don't think so, you red weasel. Processing fee means I book you on gambling charges.' His eyes drifted up to the TV. 'This is some scary shit.'

McLaren squinted at him. 'You see, that's the part I don't get. You get a bomb scare at a school, you automatically think it's a kid making trouble. I don't get the panic button on this one.'

'Are you kidding? All that crap at the schools and the mall in the past few months? Amateur hour. This one was really put together.'

'So out of the thousands of dopes in this city, we finally hit one with an IQ in triple digits. Had to happen.'

"You whistling in the dark, McLaren?'

You bet your ass I am.'

Well, keep your head out of the sand, because even if this scare is a bust, it doesn't mean the next one will be. Al-Jazeera already picked this up. They're streaming news from Minneapolis, if you can believe that. It's like a play- book on how to terrorize people.'

'Jeez, Scarecrow, get a grip. And don't trip over your petticoats on the way out.'

'Fuck you, McLaren. You Homicide sissies make damn sure you hit the scene after the perp is long gone. Call me when you get a sack, and I'll take you on a meth bust.'

'So did you walk all the way over here to bust my balls or what?'

'Nah. I'm the town crier. You got anything to eat over here?'

'Last donut just hit Rolseth's gullet. You might be able to get him to cough it up if you use some of those cool macho meth-bust moves.'

'Man, you're testy today. Listen. They're pulling together surveillance footage from all the box sites that had security cameras, which means all of them, which means about four million hours of tape, and the brass is begging for help from anybody with a uniform and one good eye.'

You actually saw the Chief?'

'Oh, hell, no. He's been locked up with the mayor and the governor since this thing started. They only let him out long enough to parse out the hourly updates on TV.'

'Yeah, I caught a couple of those. Poor guy is starting to look a little undone. I think I actually saw a hair out of place during the last one.'

You ask me, he's allowed. The man's got a lot on his plate today. Anyway, we're going to set up in one of the old conference rooms on three, so anybody without an active case, come on up and watch some movies with us.'

'Tinker and I can help you out.'

'Good deal. Bring popcorn.'