first.
Sci had just returned from the LA County lab with a sample from the gas tank of Jack’s impounded car. He also had a digital chip loaded with 3-D images from all angles of the remains of the Lambo, as well as a preliminary report from the head of the LA Regional Crime Lab, a man Sci had worked with for years.
Sci put the disk into his computer, then made a slide of the gunk from Jack’s car. He loaded the slide into the new Olympia 9000 gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer and watched it start its run.
As the machine worked, Sci called psychologist and senior investigator Dr. Justine Smith on the interoffice line.
Her image came up on the screen. She was wearing a tailored black-and-white-checked jacket, a silk blouse, and a strand of rough-cut rubies around her throat. Her hair was twisted up and held loosely in a few combs, making her look like a figure in a painting by Botticelli.
Dr. Sci had a crush on Justine, but it was safe to say that he was only one of many men who were crazy about her.
He said, “Justine, you were there. What happened this morning?”
“I wish I had some neat observation, but all I saw was the fire, Sci. That’s it.”
“Let’s go over it anyway.”
“Whatever I can do to help,” she said.
Chapter 18
JUSTINE’S OFFICE WAS on the fourth floor, fifteen seconds by elevator above Sci’s lab. Sci could have gone upstairs or asked Justine to come down, but generally speaking, Sci found virtual contact as informative and satisfying as meeting IRL. And it was usually faster.
He said to Justine’s image, “What’s the first thing you remember?”
“Well, I was asleep, when suddenly Jack bolted up in bed. It was an abrupt movement. He gets nightmares, you know.”
“Yes. He’s told me.”
“Anyway, I thought he was dreaming, but then I saw light on the wall. And I smelled smoke. Something was burning.”
“Did you hear an explosion?”
“Not then. Jack told me to get dressed and he ran out to where he’d parked the car. I ran after him. It took me a moment to realize that the fireball was Jack’s car.
“And then, there was a blast,” Justine said, “and that knocked Jack off his feet. He’s not hurt, Sci, but I worry about what this means. If it was personal, was blowing up the car the whole point? Or was it a warning? You know, at any given moment, a lot of people are pissed off at him.”
The machine at Sci’s right blinked to show that the analysis was complete, but it also flashed the words
No match.
“This is odd,” Sci said, turning the screen so that Justine could see the display. “See, the gas tank was BLEVE’d. Blown out, so the explosive was in the tank. However, our spectrometer is calling the explosive ‘unknown.’”
“An unknown chemical? That has to be a first.”
“I’m going to have to research this compound, but I can tell you what it was packaged in. Latex.”
“Like a glove?”
“Or like a condom. Yep. The machine is telling me we’ve got some spermicidal lubricant here.”
“Let me get this right. Someone put explosives in a condom? Then put the condom in the gas tank?”
“Correct. A charge was set under the car to start the fire, and when the fire got hot enough, it melted the latex. That put this chemical in contact with the gas, and boom. That’s my theory, anyway. That’s why there was delay on the explosion. The latex was a delay device.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“This is the kind of thing a teenager would think up. A teenager with access to a car and a total disregard for life.”
Chapter 19
MY OFFICE OVERLOOKS downtown LA, and the late-afternoon sun was high and hot, glancing off the glassy skyscrapers across the street, blazing over the fast-moving traffic below.
Dr. Sci was talking to me on the interoffice network, the picture on my screen so high-def, I could see the individual stitches on the seams of his bowling shirt. He was telling me that there was a new chemical
Sci had just returned from the LA County lab with a sample from the gas tank of Jack’s impounded car. He also had a digital chip loaded with 3-D images from all angles of the remains of the Lambo, as well as a preliminary report from the head of the LA Regional Crime Lab, a man Sci had worked with for years.
Sci put the disk into his computer, then made a slide of the gunk from Jack’s car. He loaded the slide into the new Olympia 9000 gas chromatograph/mass spectrometer and watched it start its run.
As the machine worked, Sci called psychologist and senior investigator Dr. Justine Smith on the interoffice line.
Her image came up on the screen. She was wearing a tailored black-and-white-checked jacket, a silk blouse, and a strand of rough-cut rubies around her throat. Her hair was twisted up and held loosely in a few combs, making her look like a figure in a painting by Botticelli.
Dr. Sci had a crush on Justine, but it was safe to say that he was only one of many men who were crazy about her.
He said, “Justine, you were there. What happened this morning?”
“I wish I had some neat observation, but all I saw was the fire, Sci. That’s it.”
“Let’s go over it anyway.”
“Whatever I can do to help,” she said.
Chapter 18
JUSTINE’S OFFICE WAS on the fourth floor, fifteen seconds by elevator above Sci’s lab. Sci could have gone upstairs or asked Justine to come down, but generally speaking, Sci found virtual contact as informative and satisfying as meeting IRL. And it was usually faster.
He said to Justine’s image, “What’s the first thing you remember?”
“Well, I was asleep, when suddenly Jack bolted up in bed. It was an abrupt movement. He gets nightmares, you know.”
“Yes. He’s told me.”
“Anyway, I thought he was dreaming, but then I saw light on the wall. And I smelled smoke. Something was burning.”
“Did you hear an explosion?”
“Not then. Jack told me to get dressed and he ran out to where he’d parked the car. I ran after him. It took me a moment to realize that the fireball was Jack’s car.
“And then, there was a blast,” Justine said, “and that knocked Jack off his feet. He’s not hurt, Sci, but I worry about what this means. If it was personal, was blowing up the car the whole point? Or was it a warning? You know, at any given moment, a lot of people are pissed off at him.”
The machine at Sci’s right blinked to show that the analysis was complete, but it also flashed the words
No match.
“This is odd,” Sci said, turning the screen so that Justine could see the display. “See, the gas tank was BLEVE’d. Blown out, so the explosive was in the tank. However, our spectrometer is calling the explosive ‘unknown.’”
“An unknown chemical? That has to be a first.”
“I’m going to have to research this compound, but I can tell you what it was packaged in. Latex.”
“Like a glove?”
“Or like a condom. Yep. The machine is telling me we’ve got some spermicidal lubricant here.”
“Let me get this right. Someone put explosives in a condom? Then put the condom in the gas tank?”
“Correct. A charge was set under the car to start the fire, and when the fire got hot enough, it melted the latex. That put this chemical in contact with the gas, and boom. That’s my theory, anyway. That’s why there was delay on the explosion. The latex was a delay device.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“This is the kind of thing a teenager would think up. A teenager with access to a car and a total disregard for life.”
Chapter 19
MY OFFICE OVERLOOKS downtown LA, and the late-afternoon sun was high and hot, glancing off the glassy skyscrapers across the street, blazing over the fast-moving traffic below.
Dr. Sci was talking to me on the interoffice network, the picture on my screen so high-def, I could see the individual stitches on the seams of his bowling shirt. He was telling me that there was a new chemical
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