Free Shock Wave by John Sandford Page B

and into the back, and took another hit on the Diet Coke. The Purdue engineer woman had given him an idea. The bomber should have a workshop of some kind, shouldn’t he?
    He got on the phone to Barlow, and when the ATF man answered, he asked, “You find any pieces of the bomb casing? The pipe, or whatever?”
    “Yeah, a few pieces from the trailer,” Barlow said. “It’s galvanized steel pipe, probably salvaged from an older house, used for interior plumbing. Same as was used in Michigan. Might have got it from a dump. Hell, sometimes it’s used for outdoor railings . . . used to be all over the place.”
    “Did you ever find a piece of a cut end?” Virgil asked.
    “Yeah, we did. We found both ends in Michigan,” Barlow said. “We’re not talking about it, because if we find the guy, we can match the pipe. We don’t want him to get rid of it.”
    “Was it cut with a power saw, or a hacksaw?”
    “Power saw, definitely . . . . Hmm, I think I see where you’re going with this.”
    “The guy has some tools,” Virgil said. “He has a power saw that cuts pipe. That’s not something you see in everybody’s workshop. He can get parts. He knows about electrical wiring . . . at least something. How to use batteries . . .”
    “See? You’re profiling him,” Barlow said. “This town has eighteen thousand people? You probably got it down to a few hundred. Maybe less.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t know which few hundred,” Virgil said.
     
     
    BUTTERNUT FALLS HAD a half-dozen hardware stores, but only a couple that might sell something as specialized as a pipe cutter. Virgil didn’t know much about metal-cutting tools, but even if the bomber was simply able to buy a metal-cutting blade for a table saw, there were only a few places that sold table saws: a Home Depot, a Menards, a Fleet Farm, a Hardware Hank.
    He’d seen the Home Depot when he came into town, so he headed that way, a five-minute trip, parked, went inside to the “Tools” section, found a woman in an orange apron, identified himself, and asked, “You got anybody here who’s like a woodworking hobbyist, a guy who knows about workshops and so on?”
    “That would be Lawrence,” she said. “Let me find him for you.”
    While she did that, Virgil went down the aisle and looked at all the power saws—table saws, band saws, miter saws. He’d always been handy enough with simple tools, but like a lot of men, always felt guilty about not knowing more. Like, exactly how did a router work? Shouldn’t all males know that?
    The store clerk came back with a mustachioed older man in another orange apron, and introduced him as Lawrence, who had a home workshop and gave woodworking lessons. Virgil explained the problem, and concluded with: “. . . so we’d like to know who’d have a workshop well-enough equipped to cut a three-inch galvanized steel pipe.”
    “Well, hell, you could do that with a Sawzall. You wouldn’t need a workshop. If you didn’t want to buy the Sawzall, you could rent one from us,” Lawrence said.
    “Really?”
    “Sure. You’d have to buy a bi-metal blade, but I mean, you really don’t need a workshop,” Lawrence said. “Who told you you’d need a workshop?”
    Virgil didn’t want to say, “I did,” because he’d sound ignorant, so he said, “This federal guy. Hang on, I’m going to give him a ring.”
    He stepped away and got Barlow on the phone and relayed what Lawrence had said. “Sawzall’s are a dime a dozen, man.”
    Barlow said, “Well, your Lawrence guy is absolutely right, you could cut the pipe with a Sawzall. But our guy didn’t. Our tool-marks specialist says it was cut with some kind of chop saw, not with a Sawzall.”
    “I’ll get back to you,” Virgil said.
    Virgil relayed what Barlow had said, and Lawrence scratched his thinning yellow hair and said, “They can tell that? Huh. Must be, heck, I don’t know—I probably know forty guys who have chop saws, miter saws, in their workshops, and