any other puzzle. He already had the major parts of all four caps separated and had made good progress with the tubes, but it was clear that forty or fifty percent of the pieces were still missing.
“What do we have, Sarge? Looks like typical galvanized iron pipe, two-inch diameter?”
He picked up a piece of end cap that showed a letter
V
cast into the iron.
“Yeah. See the V? Vanguard pipe company. Buy it anywhere in the country.”
Starkey made note of it in her pad. She would compile a list of components and characteristics, and feed them through the National Law Enforcement Telecommunication System to theFBI’s Bomb Data Center and the ATF’s National Repository in Washington. The BDC and NR would search for signature matches with every bomb report in their systems.
Daigle ran his finger up under the edge of the cap, flaking off something brittle and white.
“See that? Plumber’s joint tape. We got us a neat boy, here. Very precise. Even taped the joints. What does that tell you?”
Starkey knew that the old sergeant had already drawn a conclusion and was testing her. He’d done the same thing a hundred times when she was on the squad.
“You’re plumbing your sink, you maybe want to tape the joints, but you sure as hell don’t need to tape a bomb.”
Daigle grinned, proud that she’d seen it.
“That’s right. No reason to tape it, so maybe he does it out of habit, you know? Could be he’s a plumber, or a building contractor of some kind.”
Another note for the feds.
“Both pipes are the same size, as near as I can measure from the snaps. He either cut or had’m cut to length, and he was particular. You see the tape shadow here, how careful he wrapped the tape? We got us a particular boy here, and he’s good with his hands. Very precise.”
Already Starkey was getting a picture of the builder. He might be a skilled tradesman or a machinist or a hobbyist who took pride in precision, like a model builder or woodworker.
“Did Chen show you the
5
?”
“What
5
?”
Daigle placed a piece of the tube frag under the glass. It was the
S
Chen had pulled from Riggio’s armor.
“It looks like an S.”
Leyton said, “We’re not sure what it is, an S, or a 5, or some kind of symbol.”
Daigle peered close at the glass.
“Whatever it is, he cut it in with a high-speed engraving tool.”
Chen came in while they were discussing the snaps. Like the others, he looked as if he hadn’t slept much, but he was excited when he handed Starkey the chrom results.
“I can tell you right now I’m cooking another sample to confirm, but the explosive was something called Modex Hybrid. He didn’t buy this at the local hardware store.”
They looked at him.
“The military uses it in artillery warheads and air-to-air missiles. We’re talking about a burn rate of twenty-eight thousand feet per second.”
Daigle grunted. The burn rate was a measure of how fast the explosive consumed itself and released energy. The more powerful the explosive, the faster the burn rate.
“TNT goes, what, twenty thousand feet per second?”
Starkey said, “Twenty, twenty-one, something like that.”
Leyton nodded.
“If we’re talking about a military explosive, that’s good for us. It should narrow the field, Carol. We see who’s missing some, then find out who had access.”
Chen cleared his throat.
“Well, it won’t be that simple. The chrom showed a lot of impurities in the chemical signature, so I phoned the manufacturer back in Pennsylvania. Modex comes in three forms: military grade, which is made under government contract, commercial grade, which is made for foreign export only—EPA won’t let anyone use it here—and homegrown.”
Daigle scowled.
“What’s that mean, homegrown?”
“The company rep thought a kitchen chemist might’ve cooked up this batch. It’s not that hard to do if you’ve got the components and the right pressure equipment. The guy says it’s about as hard as cooking
“What do we have, Sarge? Looks like typical galvanized iron pipe, two-inch diameter?”
He picked up a piece of end cap that showed a letter
V
cast into the iron.
“Yeah. See the V? Vanguard pipe company. Buy it anywhere in the country.”
Starkey made note of it in her pad. She would compile a list of components and characteristics, and feed them through the National Law Enforcement Telecommunication System to theFBI’s Bomb Data Center and the ATF’s National Repository in Washington. The BDC and NR would search for signature matches with every bomb report in their systems.
Daigle ran his finger up under the edge of the cap, flaking off something brittle and white.
“See that? Plumber’s joint tape. We got us a neat boy, here. Very precise. Even taped the joints. What does that tell you?”
Starkey knew that the old sergeant had already drawn a conclusion and was testing her. He’d done the same thing a hundred times when she was on the squad.
“You’re plumbing your sink, you maybe want to tape the joints, but you sure as hell don’t need to tape a bomb.”
Daigle grinned, proud that she’d seen it.
“That’s right. No reason to tape it, so maybe he does it out of habit, you know? Could be he’s a plumber, or a building contractor of some kind.”
Another note for the feds.
“Both pipes are the same size, as near as I can measure from the snaps. He either cut or had’m cut to length, and he was particular. You see the tape shadow here, how careful he wrapped the tape? We got us a particular boy here, and he’s good with his hands. Very precise.”
Already Starkey was getting a picture of the builder. He might be a skilled tradesman or a machinist or a hobbyist who took pride in precision, like a model builder or woodworker.
“Did Chen show you the
5
?”
“What
5
?”
Daigle placed a piece of the tube frag under the glass. It was the
S
Chen had pulled from Riggio’s armor.
“It looks like an S.”
Leyton said, “We’re not sure what it is, an S, or a 5, or some kind of symbol.”
Daigle peered close at the glass.
“Whatever it is, he cut it in with a high-speed engraving tool.”
Chen came in while they were discussing the snaps. Like the others, he looked as if he hadn’t slept much, but he was excited when he handed Starkey the chrom results.
“I can tell you right now I’m cooking another sample to confirm, but the explosive was something called Modex Hybrid. He didn’t buy this at the local hardware store.”
They looked at him.
“The military uses it in artillery warheads and air-to-air missiles. We’re talking about a burn rate of twenty-eight thousand feet per second.”
Daigle grunted. The burn rate was a measure of how fast the explosive consumed itself and released energy. The more powerful the explosive, the faster the burn rate.
“TNT goes, what, twenty thousand feet per second?”
Starkey said, “Twenty, twenty-one, something like that.”
Leyton nodded.
“If we’re talking about a military explosive, that’s good for us. It should narrow the field, Carol. We see who’s missing some, then find out who had access.”
Chen cleared his throat.
“Well, it won’t be that simple. The chrom showed a lot of impurities in the chemical signature, so I phoned the manufacturer back in Pennsylvania. Modex comes in three forms: military grade, which is made under government contract, commercial grade, which is made for foreign export only—EPA won’t let anyone use it here—and homegrown.”
Daigle scowled.
“What’s that mean, homegrown?”
“The company rep thought a kitchen chemist might’ve cooked up this batch. It’s not that hard to do if you’ve got the components and the right pressure equipment. The guy says it’s about as hard as cooking
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