A/N: Almost there… One more after this one.
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Chapter 10 – Day 4 (cont'd)
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In the late afternoon of that third day after the fateful Il Camino explosion, Sergeant Korsak was once again sitting behind his computer in the BRIC and painstakingly reviewing numerous records from the Office of Campaign & Political Finance. Without any tangible proof of Welsh's involvement in the planning of the bombing, or at least of his alleged meeting with Connelly, the sergeant and his colleagues were forced to find some other incriminating evidence that could link the candidate to the devastating attack. And given those suspicious patterns amongst the donations made to his mayoral campaign, their best bet right now was to focus on the organizations behind those funds and to tie them to Michael Welsh. But that was easier said than done.
When the tables and figures began to blur before his eyes, Korsak leaned back and took a deep breath. Even though his experience from his long career made it somewhat easier for him to cope with the loss of Detective Frost, the stress of the past few days was finally beginning to wear him down, too. Thus, he was rather thankful when Jane returned to the BRIC and handed him a bottle of water.
"Got anything?" she asked as she sank down next to him with a second bottle of water for herself and ripped open a small packet of painkillers.
"Nope," the sergeant sighed and peeked at her from the side. "How are your ribs?"
"Hopefully numb again in a few minutes…," Jane groaned before popping two of her pills and leaning back.
As if on cue, Maura joined them in the BRIC and slid onto a chair next to the detective. "I left Pike in charge of the morgue for the rest of the night… I'm sure I'll regret that tomorrow…" Habitually, she reached for the painkillers and studied the packet to make sure Jane's self-medication wouldn't accidentally result in a trip to the ER.
"Don't say anything…," Jane warned preemptively and shrunk back in her chair when the medical examiner gave her an admonishing glance in return. "… or give me that look!"
Shaking her head in amusement, Maura pointedly confiscated the pills and left it at that. "How's your investigation going?"
"Well, let's see," the detective grumbled. "Henslow is dead; Connelly is dead; his assistant doesn't have proof that the candidates had dinner arrangements on Tuesday; Welsh has an airtight alibi for that night; and we can't prove that Welsh at least knew about the dirty money funding his campaign… So, yay, we're doing great!"
"What about the phone calls Connelly made to Welsh's headquarters?" Maura wondered.
"They don't prove anything… We don't even know whom he talked to…," Jane said but then turned to Korsak. "What about those unknown incoming calls on Connelly's cell phone before the explosion?"
The sergeant shook his head but brought Connelly's cell phone record to the large screen on the wall anyway. "We've identified most numbers… Nothing suspicious… And the few unknown numbers could be anybody — voters, nosy reporters, who knows…"
When he scrolled up and down through the list of numbers on the screen, Maura suddenly sat up straight. "That's the same number!" she exclaimed.
"What?" Jane frowned.
"There, the call at 5:47 p.m. — that same number also called Carl Henslow," the blonde stated. "I saw it in his cell phone records this morning."
The detective incredulously raised her eyebrow. "What, now you got a photographic memory, too?"
"Of course not," Maura denied. "But this number is fairly easy to remember. Just look at it…"
"I am looking at it…," the brunette moaned querulously.
"It's pi," the medical examiner declared with her usual misplaced excitement.
"Pie…?" Jane grimaced. "As in Nana Rizzoli's apple pie with cheddar cheese crumb topping?"
"No, but that sounds delicious," Maura's thoughts wandered off. "If you give me the recipe, we could—"
"Maura!" the detective whined impatiently.
"Sorry…," the blonde smiled sheepishly and focused on the numbers again. "I'm talking about pi, the mathematical constant. Its first seven digits are identical with those following the area code of this phone number. 617-314-1592. See?"
"Whatever…," Jane agreed indifferently. "So, whose number is it?"
"How would I know?" Maura asked in surprise. "You just wanted to know why I recognized that number, so I told you…"
"Please, give me back my painkillers," the detective begged rather desperately.
"No, I believe you've had enough of them already," the medical examiner declined, oblivious to Jane's sarcasm. "You could overdose."
"Yes, that's what I'm hoping for," Jane muttered in frustration.
"Ahem…," Korsak hesitantly reminded the two women of his presence and brought Henslow's cell phone record to the large screen. "Doctor Isles is right — Henslow did get a call from the same number. Several actually…"
Ignoring Maura's triumphant smile, Jane turned to the sergeant and to the listing of phone numbers. "You said it's a prepaid phone though… So, we don't know who it belongs to?"
"Nope…," he shook his head. "But whoever has that phone called Henslow and Connelly."
"Yeah, and the call to Connelly was made shortly before the explosion," Jane tried to piece together the puzzle. "Maybe to make sure he really was in the restaurant…"
"And what do you know, another call from that number to Henslow was made last night," Korsak announced. "We couldn't stop the media from reporting about the explosion in Henslow's street, but we haven't released any details on Henslow himself, yet."
"So, I guess, our mysterious caller is wetting his pants and wants to know what's going on…," the brunette mused. "Find out if that phone's still turned on and try to locate it."
"Well, I can try," the sergeant agreed. "But if it's one of those cheap throwaway phones without GPS, we'll only get an approximate position from the cell towers."
"I'm pretty sure that's all we'll need," Jane declared and confidently beamed at Maura and Korsak.
As the sun disappeared on the horizon and gave way to another chilly November night, Jane and Maura got out of the detective's sedan in front of Welsh's campaign headquarters, closely followed by Sergeant Korsak and a number of uniformed officers, who had simultaneously arrived in their patrol cars.
The sergeant quickly caught up with the two women and nodded to Jane. "Phone's still turned on. Last ping to the closest cell tower was just minutes ago."
"Alright, make sure we got someone at every exit," Jane ordered. "Just in case…"
Korsak signaled some of the officers to spread out around the premises, while the other ones followed them into the building.
"Are you sure this will work?" Maura whispered on their way towards the hall where the panel and reception were to take place.
"I hope so," Jane murmured. "But if not, we can still go into lockdown until we find that damn phone…"
Moments later, Jane, Maura, Korsak, and a number of officers reached the entrance arch leading into the large hall, with a poster on the nearest wall announcing that night's panel discussion on Competitive Challenges and USPs for Medium Businesses in Greater Boston.
Dozens of dressed-up ladies and gentlemen as well as Welsh's staff members in evening attire had gathered around numerous bar tables and were enjoying small-talk and champagne while waiting for the panel discussion to start. At the far end of the hall, three suited panelists were just taking their seats at a table on an elevated podium with microphones and little name plates, whereas Michael Welsh himself was still talking to one of his staffers at the edge of the podium. And all the while, Welsh's cameraman was scurrying back and forth to document the candidate's each and every move.
Inconspicuously, the detective and her colleagues snuck into the hall and momentarily mingled with the people standing in the back.
"Stay near the exit, okay?" Jane urged Maura while letting her eyes wander across the room.
"Why? The more eyes and ears you have in the room, the better…," the blonde objected.
"Don't push it, Maura," the detective complained. "I've already agreed to let you come along. I don't need you to get into trouble…"
"But I can defend myself — just ask your dummy!" Maura protested and hopefully looked at the brunette.
"Tell you what," Jane tried to ignore the medical examiner's begging. "As soon as you knock me out instead of my dummy, you can play cops and robbers with us."
"Well, that wouldn't be a fair fight," Maura pondered the idea. "You wouldn't stand a chance with your broken ribs, and I don't want to hurt you…"
Barely able to suppress an annoyed groan, the detective rolled her eyes. "Would you please stop it and just wait here?"
"Fine…," the blonde agreed with a playful pout.
"Thank you," Jane sighed before signaling Korsak her okay and moving further into the hall.
At the same moment, Michael Welsh finally took the stage and reached for the microphone waiting for him at his seat. When he cleared his throat and expectantly looked down at his invitees, the murmur subsided and everybody's attention turned to the podium.
"Good evening and thank you again for joining us tonight for our panel discussion on chances and challenges for businesses in and around Boston," Welsh welcomed his guests. "Before I'm going to introduce our excellent speakers, I'd like to—" he stopped mid-sentence when he spotted Jane amidst the crowd. "I'd like to ask you to, uh…"
Confused by Welsh's sudden lack of eloquence, several of his staff members glanced over their shoulders, searching for the distraction that had thrown their candidate off his train of thought. A few feet from Jane, Welsh's strategist turned around and resentfully wrinkled his forehead when he recognized the brunette. At another table a little farther away, Logan Linklater curiously scanned the hall until he spotted two uniformed officers near the entrance. Unsure what to think of this, he nervously shifted from one foot to the other.
After a few moments, while Jane was patiently waiting to make her next move, Welsh continued to stumble through his speech, trying to ignore the detective's provocative gaze. "I'd like to ask you to join me for… for a moment of silence in memory of, uh, those who died in this terrible attack earlier this week, including my… my esteemed opponent Andrew Connelly. I've always had the deepest respect for him, and… and my thoughts and prayers are with his family. So let us… let us honor those victims for a minute."
When the candidate lowered his head — not without suspiciously peeking towards the detective again — and everybody else in the hall did so as well, Jane subtly nodded at Korsak. The sergeant whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number. And then they waited and looked around.
They didn't have to wait for long.
Just seconds later, the ringing of a phone broke the silence in the hall.
Guests looked up, their faces filled with indignation about the disrespectful noise. Tense and alert, Jane, Korsak, and the other officers tried to determine the direction from which the sound of the still ringing phone was coming. When its ringtone broke the silence once again, loud and clear, in the middle of the room, all eyes turned to Logan Linklater. Pale and sweaty, the campaign manager swallowed hard and mustered an apologetic smile. "Sorry, forgot to turn off my phone…" He reached into his pocket to turn it off.
Jane took a few steps towards him and reached for her gun. "The same phone from which you called Henslow and Connelly, I assume…"
In the blink of an eye, Linklater grasped the situation. Before the detective had a chance to clear her line of fire, he seized a young campaign volunteer next to him and pulled her into a stranglehold. With his other hand, he snatched a champagne flute, smashed it against the table, and threateningly held the broken glass against the woman's neck.
"Don't you dare come closer!" he hissed at Jane, who had pulled her gun and was fiercely following Linklater's every move.
Like receding tidal waves, all the other guests around them withdrew in panic and confusion — except for the cameraman, who stood rooted to the ground and couldn't hide his euphoria at the fact that he was about to record the most pivotal moment of the mayoral race.
"You won't get out of here," Jane declared and guided Linklater's eyes to Korsak and the other officers who had begun to zero in on him.
"We'll see…," the campaign manager sneered and tightened his grip around his hostage, forcing a suppressed squeal of desperation out of the young woman.
"You hired Henslow, didn't you?" the detective tried to distract her opponent, her fingers feeling for the trigger of her gun, yearning for a chance to release a deadly bullet. "He took care of the C4, and you sent off Buccitelli with that briefcase. What did you tell him?"
"Didn't have to tell him anything," Linklater smirked sardonically while moving further backwards. "Gave him enough money to deliver it to Connelly without asking any questions. Ex-cons are so easy to work with…"
"Why the hell would you do this?" Michael Welsh suddenly yelled into his microphone from the podium after having watched the scene unfold in bewilderment.
"Why?! Because someone had to keep your fucking campaign on track!" his campaign manager declared exasperatedly. "You never had what it takes to win this!"
With his mouth agape, Welsh stared at his closest confidant. "I'd rather lose than win like this!"
"Yeah, of course," Linklater laughed out loud. "That's exactly why we're having this problem! You think you'd come this far without me?!"
"I… but…" the candidate tried to regain his composure. "Why would you kill Connelly?"
Noticing the other cops getting closer to Linklater, Jane knew she had to keep the maniac distracted. "Because Connelly knew that you were messing around with the campaign donations…"
"That was you?!" Welsh uttered in disbelief.
"Of course, it was me! You really thought so many people were willing to support your petty campaign?!" Linklater shook his head and then pointed at the invitees in the hall, who were speechlessly watching the drama develop in front of their eyes. "Just look at these people — they're not here because you're such a nice guy! They're only interested in what you will do for them when you win the election. Without a win, you're nothing to them! Nothing!"
"You talked to Connelly when he called your headquarters, didn't you?" Jane asked, forcing Linklater to keep his eyes on her and Welsh while trying to make his way towards another door at the back of the hall. "You scheduled a phony meeting and called Connelly at the restaurant right before Buccitelli arrived with the bomb…"
Realizing Jane's strategy, Welsh tried to keep his campaign manager busy to allow the other cops to close in on him. "You killed over thirty people, Logan…"
"You should've gotten rid of that prepaid phone…," the brunette immediately forced Linklater's attention back on herself.
Unable to keep an eye on Welsh, Jane, and everybody else at the same time, Linklater spun back and forth and pulled his hostage closer in one last attempt to escape from his opponents. But it was a losing battle.
"Nothing is worth killing so many people, Logan," Welsh insisted once again.
"Let her go…," Jane urged him and pointed at the teary-eyed woman in his grip.
"No…," Linklater protested but then noticed from the corner of his eyes how two cops tried to sneak behind his back.
The split second of inattention when he glanced over his shoulder and exposed his right arm was all Jane needed. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The shot echoed through the hall and Linklater dropped his champagne flute knife when the first bullet penetrated his biceps.
BANG!
Another bullet cracked his shoulder blade.
His eyes filling with panic and his white shirt instantly soaked in blood, the campaign manager staggered backwards and let go of his hostage. The young woman stumbled around, shaking and sobbing, before Maura and another staff member pulled her away and comforted her at a safe distance from her captor.
Linklater himself had dropped to his knees and derisively grinned at the gun that Jane was still pointing at his face.
Breathing at the top of her lungs, tense and thirsting for revenge, the brunette felt her fingers itch and hug the trigger of her weapon. She yearned to fire off another bullet. God, how she wanted to see that bullet burst through Linklater's skin and tear his skull apart and send him straight to hell. Pull the damn trigger. Just do it. Do it for Frost!
And she almost did.
If it hadn't been for the other cops who were suddenly blocking her line of fire and taking Linklater into custody, the campaign manager might not have lived to see another day.
When she finally woke from her trance and realized that her chance for revenge had passed, Jane stepped back and let her gun sink down. Subconsciously clenching her fists and still feeling the adrenaline surging through her veins, she watched how Linklater got pulled up and dragged away under the eyes of shocked invitees and one inappropriately excited cameraman.
"You made the right choice," Maura said quietly as she stepped to the brunette's side.
"I should've killed him," Jane murmured.
"No. He doesn't deserve the easy way out," the medical examiner sighed and gently tugged the detective away.
Half an hour later, hordes of media representatives had gathered outside of Welsh's campaign headquarters to report the breaking news and the latest twist in the aftermath of the Il Camino bombing.
Photographers' flashlights lit up the night when several officers led a still bleeding Logan Linklater to two patrol cars that would transport him to BPD.
At the front line of the journalists reporting live from the scene, the gray-haired anchor who had been tirelessly covering the events of the week stood again with a microphone in his hand and routinely delivered his commentary to his cameraman.
"What initially appeared to be an act of revenge by a former convict has turned into a scandal that will rattle the political scene in Boston for weeks to come," the anchor reported. "According to initial comments from the Mayor's office, the election will most likely be postponed as the City needs time to investigate the full extent of the fraudulent activities in connection with the funding of Mr. Welsh's campaign."
When even more flashlights went off nearby, the anchor signaled his cameraman to keep filming and then joined a dozen other journalists as they stormed to the building and surrounded Michael Welsh on his way out.
"No comment! No comment!" he shouted at several importunate reporters who kept shoving their microphones into his face. Surrounded by some of his staff members, he forced his way towards a limousine waiting at the curb to escape from the event that had ended his mayoral bid and, most likely, his political career as a whole.
A few feet away, the Christiane Amanpour wannabe had also resumed her coverage. "At this point, we only know that Welsh's campaign manager, Logan Linklater, played a key role in the attack on the Il Camino restaurant, which cost thirty-seven people their lives and left many more injured," she explained. "Hopefully, these new developments will finally shed light on the true motive behind this horrible act and allow the whole city of Boston to find closure and peace."
And while the media were still focused on Welsh's car, Jane, Maura, and Korsak seized the opportunity to leave the building mostly unnoticed and silently disappeared into the night.
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