Free A Danger to Himself and Others: Bomb Squad NYC Incident 1 by J.E. Fishman Page A

of that than the perpetrator. Hadn’t he received news of a reprimand via Kahn just this morning? Evidence conveniently not shared with him? And now here was Kahn again riding him for speaking out of turn, emphasizing the pecking order as much as their search for truth.
    He planned to keep the story in the back of his mind—always worth learning something and maybe it gave a glimpse into where some of the land mines were planted around Kahn. His own instincts…sure, maybe he related to a vet, didn’t want him to be a bad guy. But that didn’t mean he’d ignore the man’s guilt if someone could prove it.
    For the rest, all Diaz could think was how he couldn’t catch a break from the sergeant, and yet he had to ride around with him almost every day.
     
     
    WHEN THE PHONE RANG AT his desk and Kahn heard it was Burbette of FBI, he considered whether to bring Diaz into the conversation. Diaz had just returned from a false alarm and was somewhere in the building, according to the in-out board. He might be in the john or in the garage or in the break room. He wasn’t in the main squad room at the moment, and Kahn decided not to bother.
    Check that. Kahn decided he didn’t need the added stress of having Diaz on the call, especially when Burbette suggested that they conference in O’Shea, so the Fed wouldn’t have to say everything twice. O’Shea was riding in a car on the way to an interview.
    “Everyone hear me okay?” Burbette asked.
    “Yeah,” Kahn said.
    “Roger,” said O’Shea.
    “As you guys know,” Burbette said, “the ETK at the scene didn’t show anything definitive, but the swab that NYPD took from the crater tested positive for RDX. I just got the results from the taggant trace and it’s interesting, to say the least. It’s military.”
    “Confirms our hunch,” O’Shea said.
    “What hunch is that?”
    “Well, just with the guy being a vet that it’s a possible self-inflict.”
    Burbette paused. “Not exactly an earth-shattering deduction, considering the results on the sidewalk.”
    “Course not. All the same, it’s something.”
    Kahn wondered why he was the only guy not riding O’Shea hard these days. Maybe because he was the only one not having his stones busted by someone from above, Cap being out of commission, too sick even to phone in regularly. With the luxury of space, Kahn thought maybe to give O’Shea a bit of a rescue. “Brian, didn’t you determine that Horn was infantry?”
    “Roger. Cavalry, actually. Same thing for our purposes, I guess.”
    “Can you confirm that, Don?”
    “Yes, I can. Eighth Regiment. No obvious reason this guy would’ve had access to plastic, but you never know. I’m gonna try to run that down. Also I’ll see whether the taggant can be traced more narrowly to a particular base or a particular service. That’ll take awhile. In fact, it could take forever. But I’m on it. What else you got?”
    “Bomb parts and body parts,” Kahn said. “Minimal shrapnel and some fragments of a cell phone. Also, of course, scraps of the suspect’s artificial legs.”
    “Enough for CSU to reconstruct them?”
    “I doubt it. Not completely, anyway.”
    “Horn was employed.” O’Shea jumped in. “Worked just a few blocks away. His boss says his normal commute from work wouldn’t take him past the recruitment center. Usually walks a different way to the subway. Plus, it wasn’t quitting time. Apparently, he was on his way to the theater, courtesy of his employer. Boss says he was distraught and needed a break. CSU found a pair of Spider-Man tickets in his shirt pocket, confirming. He was just a block away from there when the bomb went off.”
    “Phone records?”
    “Not yet. But I got his cell phone out of evidence and the lab made it work. Turned out the battery contacts were just jogged loose. I checked the recents. He seems to be a light user. Last one he called was his sister, not long before he blew himself up.”
    “You interview her