Free Death of a Blue Movie Star by Jeffery Deaver Page B

already called somebody at your unit this morning.”
    “My unit?”
    He glanced at her jacket. “CS. Crime scene. It’s on their list to dust all the phones that have a clear visual path to the building here.”
    Definitely not a grunt. Or a techie. He sounded like a real detective.
    Rune said, “So somebody followed us here…. You know, there was someone spying on Shelly and me, near where I live. I went to see and he beat me up.”
    Healy frowned, turned toward her. “You report it?”
    “Yeah, I did. But I didn’t get a good look at him.”
    “What
did
you see?”
    “Broad-brimmed hat—kind of tan color. He was medium build. Wore a red jacket. I thought I saw him earlier too. Around the theater that night I saw you. A week after the first bomb.”
    “Young, old?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Red jacket …” Healy wrote some lines in a notebook.
    Rune poked at the metal bits through the plastic bag. “You know what’s kind of funny?”
    Healy turned to her. “That this is the kind of setup you use when you want to kill someone specific? Is that what you’re thinking?”
    “Well, yeah. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
    Healy nodded. “This is what the Mossad and PLO and professional hit men use. You just going to make a statement, like the FALN or the Sword of Jesus, you leave a timed device in front of the office. Or in a movie theater.”
    “This bomb, was it different from the one in the theater?”
    “A bit. This was remote-detonated, that one was timed. And the charge was different too. This was C-4. That was C-3, which is about as powerful but leaves dangerous fumes and is messier to work with.”
    “Isn’t that suspicious? Two different explosives?”
    “Not necessarily. In the U.S., good explosives are hard to find. Dynamite’s easy—hell, southern states, you can buy it in hardware stores—but, like I told you, C-3 and C-4 are strictly military. Illegal for civilians to buy. You can only get them on the black market. So bombers have to take what they can get. A lot of serial bombers use different materials. The common elements are the target and message. I’ll know more when I talk to the witness—”
    “What witness?”
    “A guy who was hurt in the first bombing. He was in the theater watching the movie.”
    Rune said, “And what was his name again?”
    “No
again
about it. I don’t give out the names of witnesses. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
    “Then why are you?”
    Healy looked out the gap. Traffic moved slowly by on the street. Horns screamed and drivers hooted and gestured, everyone in a hurry. A half-dozen people stood outside, gawking up at the hole. He looked at her for a moment, in a probing way that made her uncomfortable. “What they did here”—Healy nodded at the cratered floor—“that was real slick. Real professional. I were you, I’d think about a new subject for your film. At least until we find this Sword of Jesus.”
    Rune was looking down, playing with the plastic controls on her Sony. “I have to make my film.”
    “I’ve been in ordnance disposal for fifteen years. The thing about explosives is that they’re not like guns. You don’t have to look the person in the eyes when you kill them. You don’t have to be anywhere near. You don’t worry about hurting innocent people. Hurting innocent people is
part
of the message.”
    “I told Shelly I was going to make this film. And I am. Nothing’s going to stop me.”
    Healy shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I’d want you to do, you were my girlfriend. Or something.”
    Rune said, “Can I have my wallet back?”
    “No. Let
me
destroy the evidence.”
    “It cost me fifty bucks.”
    “Fifty? For a phony shield?” Healy laughed. “You’re not only breaking the law, you’re getting ripped off in the process. Now get out of here. And think about what I said.”
    “About the Mossad and bombs and C-4?”
    “About making a different kind of movie.”

     
    Son of a