The Blind Read Online Free PDF Page B

She’d met the LAPD bomb squad captain two years ago at a special FBI training session on weapons of mass destruction for large, urban police forces, and she’d been impressed not so much with the big man’s brawn but his brains. He’d proven to be one of the session’s more contemplative students with a knack for creative problem solving and well-thought-out tactical ops.
    “I called Parker after the second bomb requesting your services,” Ricci said. “Where the hell have you been?”
    “In time-out.”
    Vince chuckled.
    “It wasn’t funny.”
    Vince’s lips thinned. “I’m sorry about Houston, but I’m glad you’re here. Everyone’s anxious to hear about your pretty pictures.”
    “According to Jack Elliott, beautiful pictures.” She turned from the beauties and rested her butt on the conference table. The portraits were key, and so was the holder of those keys. “Have you talked with Elliott yet?”
    “No, but I have a unit securing the gallery.”
    “Good. I want to get a tap put on his phones and get someone digging into his past.”
    “You’re not thinking Elliott’s the bomber, are you?” Ricci ran a hand through the snowy-white waves of his hair. “He’s a pretty big deal in this town, a real mover and shaker.”
    Honestly, she didn’t know what to think about Jack Elliott. He was intense and focused, and he had the first solid tip in an investigation that had been stymied for three months, but he was also a control freak, doling out critical information on his own terms and oddly determined to insert himself into the investigation. “I don’t think he’s flipping the switch, but his interest in these bombings is far from casual.”
    When all of the task force members had gathered, Ricci clapped his hands, then rubbed his palms together. “Okay, Evie, show us what you have.”
    Bill Knox, the LAPD homicide detective who’d been working the third bombing that killed Lisa Franco, smirked. “Can’t wait to see what she has under wraps,” he said loud enough for even her to hear.
    Evie had put up with this crap all of her life. Guys like Knox didn’t see the soldier who exploited unexploded ordnance in Somalia or served on a team of international peacekeepers hunting down weapons of mass destruction in Syria. When they met her, guys like Knox couldn’t get past the X chromosome. But eventually they came around. Every one.
    Evie pulled a stack of reports from her bag and plopped them on the table in front of Knox. “Take one and pass them down.” She went over each bombing, showing with painstaking detail the similarities with the first three paintings.
    Quiet hung over the war room until Steve Cho, one of her colleagues from the FBI, let out a soft whistle. “This changes everything.”
    “Especially given that for the first time we have an idea what the next victims will look like and a hint as to where the bombing may occur,” Evie added. In the fourth painting, the mother, who was holding a rosary and the child, sat on some kind of wooden bench, possibly in a church.
    Ricci closed the report. “Where do you plan to go from here?”
    “I’m finding out who has access to the Abby Foundation gallery and tracking down the names of anyone and everyone who knows about the collection. Right now it’s all about people.”
    “Oh, goody,” Knox said with a lift of his unibrow. “A touchy-feely type.”
    Captain Ricci opened his mouth, but Evie stopped him with a quick shake of her head. She’d been in the trenches before; she knew the battle tactics that worked best for the entire team. “Cho, can you remind everyone in the room what type of forensic evidence we have collected on the three bombings.”
    “No DNA,” her FBI colleague said. “No errant fingerprints, not even a partial, and no witnesses to any of the bomb and victim drops.”
    “What about the IEDs?” Like the old saying, to know the artist, study the art. Likewise, to know the bomber, study the bomb.
    Cho