Takeover - Lisa Black [80]
“Cornell,” Patrick put in.
“Hmm?”
“Any other guns—missing? Besides the two M4 carbines?”
No hesitation this time. “Nope.”
“What about the RDX?”
Another pause, but when he spoke, he had none of the prior sheepish tones. “Say what, now?”
“The plastic explosives. Did Lucas or Bobby get those from you, too?”
“I don’t have no plastic explosives, I don’t know nothing about no plastic explosives, and I don’t want to know about no plastic explosives. That shit’s wicked. Some of it exploded at our base in Germany. Lucas took some shrapnel, and another guy got his hand blown off. They say it’s so safe, but not if the guy with the detonator don’t know what he’s doing.”
“You don’t know where Lucas would get some?”
“Lucas wouldn’t fool around with that stuff either. He’d wanted to go Special Forces, underwater demolition, until that injury. And he knew the guy that lost his left hand, too. Combat engineer.”
Patrick straightened his spine, stretching the vertebrae. Cornell sounded positive again, truthful. “Where is he now? This combat engineer?”
“He’s not in the army, I can tell you that. They shipped him out on permanent disability.”
“Where does he live?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Michigan? Montana? I heard he went to work for a civilian contractor—demolition work—and got blown up his second week. You can’t tell me it wasn’t on purpose. It broke his heart to leave the army. He was weird that way.”
“He’s dead? You sure?”
“I heard that from someone. I forget who, though.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t think I ever knew that. He was just the guy who got his hand blown off, you know what I mean?”
“Did Lucas know anyone else who worked with explosives?”
“Not that I know of. But it’s a big army.”
“Yeah.” Patrick could not think of anything else to ask. No doubt a million questions would occur to him as soon as he hung up, but he couldn’t help that. He thanked Cornell, asked to speak to the police captain again, and thanked him as well.
“I believe him,” Captain Johnson said. “For the most part. I think he’s fudging a bit on the two guns—he might have given those to Lucas, for old times’ sake—but whatever you asked about plastic explosives, he told you the truth. I’ve known Cornell a long time. He don’t lie too often and he’s transparent as hell when he does.”
“Thanks for the help. We appreciate it.”
“Good luck up there, Detective.”
“Thanks.” Frank Patrick sighed. “We’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER 23
1:25 P.M.
Theresa sat with her knees to her chin, hugging her damaged ribs, and watched her captor. His actions had been quick and brisk before, but now he moved with a sense of real urgency. She wondered if he’d been stalling all this time, waiting for the two o’clock shipment while convincing everyone else that he neither knew nor cared about it. Why?
He conversed with his partner, both of them tucked out of the snipers’ line of fire, in front of the teller cages on the southwest side of the lobby. They seemed to be arguing.
Bobby had the detonator, Lucas had said. Bobby wanted to blow up the building. Maybe that was all Bobby wanted, because he certainly didn’t seem interested in the large amount of cash due to arrive at 2:00 P.M. He wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave now.
Lucas murmured for a few minutes. Bobby interrupted, and Theresa heard him say, “—not the way it was supposed to go. My opinion counts, too—” before they lowered their voices once more.
Did the explosives have a timer? Perhaps Lucas planned to cut things too close for Bobby’s comfort?
“Are you okay?” Jessica Ludlow whispered to her.
“I guess.”
“I can’t believe he really killed Cherise.”
“Who was she?” Theresa asked. “What did she do here?”
Jessica shifted her little boy, now gnawing on a Pop-Tart; apparently his mother had found a way to extract his snacks and his cough medicine from her oversize purse. A juice box with a tiny white straw sat on the floor between them. Theresa felt like asking