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

yet?”
    “Just a few words over the phone. She’s pretty broken up. I have an appointment in a couple of hours.”
    “I sent an EDC team out there yesterday,” Kahn said. “The canine alerted in a few spots in the suspect’s apartment, but the sweeper didn’t find anything. He must’ve had the bomb in there, but he didn’t build it there.”
    “So where’d he build it?”
    “Good question.”
    “Maybe someone else built it.”
    “Well, someone else somewhere else—or him somewhere else. It may be a crazy world, but I’ve yet to see a bomb that constructed itself.”
     
     
    AN HOUR OR TWO LATER , O’Shea called Kahn while he and Diaz sat over pizza on Hudson Street. Kahn had a plain slice and Diaz was tucking into a slice with ricotta, vegetables and sausage.
    “How do you eat something like that?” Kahn said.
    “I put it in my mouth and chew.”
    “I mean, it’s so heavy. Doesn’t it make you feel bloated?”
    “What am I, a woman at her time of the month?”
    “Ah, youth. You going for the tiramisu for dessert?”
    “You tell me how to do procedure, you tell me how to drive, you tell me what to say...now you’re gonna tell me what to eat?”
    Kahn laughed until his phone rang. When he heard it was O’Shea, he put it on speaker.
    “So we tracked down the serial number from that prosthetic,” O’Shea said. “It was manufactured by Prosthetic and Sensory Aids Services—part of the Department of Veterans Affairs. Appears to be legit.”
    “Is it possible someone snuck a bomb in there during the manufacturing process?”
    “These things are made one hundred percent in the States, I think. I’ll have to get with Burbette, see if FBI can send some agents to poke around the factory—or however that works.”
    “They should take an EDC team.”
    “Burbette will know that.”
    “So we think the bomb was in the leg?”
    “That one or the other one. Where else? No evidence he was carrying anything.”
    “They found the theater tickets, right?” Diaz asked. Kahn had given him a fill on the conversation he’d missed.
    “Yeah, they found ‘em,” O’Shea confirmed. “In his shirt pocket. Why?”
    “Just wondering whether his boss’s story holds up.”
    “It does. I was there again today. Any theories on how much C4 this would’ve required?”
    Kahn looked at Diaz, who frowned in thought for a second, then said, “Not much. Half a pound more or less would’ve done the trick.”
    “So it’s plausible that he had the device hidden in one of the legs?”
    “Yes it is.”
    “Well, I’ll be damned. At least, maybe, the guy didn’t lack for imagination.”
     
     
    DIAZ WALKED TO THE STATION at Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue to catch the Number 1 Train. There was a newsstand there and he noted that tabloid headlines had already moved on from the Times Square bomber to the trumped-up adventures of reality-show celebrities. He bought a Snickers bar and slipped it like contraband into the side pocket of his coat.
    The station platform smelled vaguely of urine, always a mystery to Diaz how someone could find the appropriate moment to do that in a place that he’d never seen empty at any hour. Maybe it wasn’t a human source. Maybe it was from the accumulated droppings of a million rats.
    Having grossed himself out, he decided to consume his snack on the train and not before.
    Diaz yawned while trying not to breathe too deeply. The day had been filled with running around, two sweeps, two false alarms, lunch with Kahn. Since the sergeant had chosen to fill him in on the conversation he’d missed with O’Shea and Burbette, Diaz figured maybe he’d begun working his way out of the doghouse. Wanting badly to make a positive contribution, he got back to thinking about the case.
    Usually, as every detective knew, the most direct explanation of events was the most likely. If you were carrying a bomb, for example, there was a pretty good chance that you knew you were carrying it. They