Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
When they arrived at the hospital, Kara showed her badge to the intake nurse and asked for an update on the victims from the construction site.
The nurse checked her computer. "Larry Russo is in surgery.
Robert Torres and Will Baxter were treated and released.
Anthony Perola has been admitted and is being treated for burns and smoke inhalation. He's on the second floor."
"What about James Cooper?" she asked.
The nurse's expression turned sympathetic. "James Cooper was pronounced dead twenty minutes ago."
She let out a breath. James Cooper was dead. He hadn't been as lucky as Samantha Barkley, although maybe she couldn't call Samantha lucky, since she was still in a coma.
"Is anyone from Mr. Cooper's family here?" she asked.
"You can check the burn ward on the second floor. That's where he was taken upon arrival, where Mr. Perola is now."
"Thanks." They made their way to the elevator, and she jabbed at the button in frustration. If they'd been able to find the café bomber before now, James Cooper wouldn't be dead.
"It isn't your fault," Tyler said.
She shot him a dark look. "That sentiment has never made me feel better."
"You're right. But even if it doesn't make you feel better, it's still true."
"We need to work faster."
"We're working as fast as we can, and you know that."
"Aren't you angry?" she asked in frustration.
"It's a waste of energy. I'm focusing on what we need to ask Mr. Perola, if he's able to speak to us."
"You're right. We don't have time for emotion." Despite her words, she was still feeling pissed off with herself as they got on the elevator. She hated to fail, and this felt like failure. But the only way to turn things around was to find the bomber.
After checking with the nurse's station, they were taken to Anthony Perola's room. He appeared to be in his late forties, with bandaged arms and minor burns and cuts on his face. His eyes were closed, and he had oxygen tubes in his nose.
"Is he asleep?" she asked the nurse.
The man's eyes opened at her words.
"Just a few minutes," the nurse said. "He needs to rest."
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Agent Reid. This is Agent Brennan. We're investigating the explosion. Can you tell me what happened right before the bomb went off?"
"We were on the fourth floor," he said, his voice raspy.
"James wanted to look at the electrical panel one more time because the elevator had shorted out on our way up.
The backup system had worked, but he was concerned, and so was the electrical contractor.
That had never happened before. Larry went to get something, and James went into the closet, and the next thing I knew, I was on my back, and there were ceiling tiles falling on my head and fire and smoke, and I couldn't see anything.
I couldn't hear anything either." He paused, licking his dry lips.
"I think someone was screaming, but I don't know.
I started crawling, and I ended up in a stairwell, and the next thing I knew, there was a firefighter there, and he got me out of the building. "
"Why didn't you go into the electrical closet with Mr. Cooper?" she asked.
"It wasn't my area. I did the plumbing. How is everyone else doing? No one will tell me anything."
She didn't want to tell him either. Fortunately, the nurse stepped forward. "That's enough for now," she said firmly. "You can talk more later."
"I need to know how they are," Anthony protested.
"The doctors are doing everything they can," the nurse told Anthony.
He looked to her for confirmation, and she went along with the lie. "Everything they can," she said.
They walked out of the room and into the hallway. She heard voices coming from the waiting room, and she saw Whitney Holden talking to a gray-haired woman. They were both crying.
Whitney got to her feet and came forward when she saw them. "James is dead," she said, her face pale, her eyes and nose red from crying. "That bomb killed him."
"I'm so sorry," she replied. "Is that Mrs. Cooper?"
"No. That's Larry Russo's wife. He's in surgery. They don't know if he's going to make it. James's wife is sitting next to him—his body," she stuttered. "I can't believe what's happened."
Whitney was genuinely distraught, which made Kara want to believe her, but she also found it odd that Whitney would be so close to the spouse of one of the contractors, but that question was at the bottom of her list. She waved her hand to Tyler.
"This is Agent Brennan. I'd like you to tell him what you told us earlier.
Now that you've had a few minutes to catch your breath, you might remember more details. "
"I already told you everything," Whitney said, sounding panicked. "I'm sorry. I need to go. I have to go back to work and tell everyone what happened to James. Later, okay?"
Before they could agree, Whitney was gone, practically running from the room.
Tyler met her gaze. "Okay, now I know why you doubt her story."
"Right? She could just be in shock, but…"
"It feels like more. Do you want to talk to Mrs. Russo?"
She glanced at the woman who was now on the phone to someone, her tears still flowing. "I don't think she can help us."
As her phone pinged with an incoming text, she pulled it out of her pocket. "It's Wes. The vehicle Max spotted is owned by Steve Kowalksi. He lives in Chelsea." She frowned. "He's seventy-four years old. That doesn't sound like the man who killed Jonas Cray."
"Well, Chelsea isn't far. Let's go check it out."
She drove across town, and while Chelsea wasn't far in miles, it took close to forty-five minutes to get through the traffic.
Finally, just after six, they made their way up to the front door of Mr. Kowalski's home.
When the door opened, the older man with white hair and weathered skin gave them a suspicious look.
Tyler introduced them and showed his badge, then asked him where his car was.
"I sold the car last month," he replied. "My wife doesn't like me driving anymore, and it's too damn expensive to buy gas."
"Who did you sell the car to?" she asked. "The registration is still in your name."
"The guy who bought it said he'd take care of it."
"Who was that?"
"I think his name was Cal. Yeah, that was it. Big, tall guy. Very nice, though. Gave me cash. Said he didn't want me to have to wait for a check to clear."
"How did Cal find you?" Tyler asked.
"My son put the car up on some social media site. I don't know which one. The next day, I had a buyer. It worked out great." He paused. "Why are you asking about my car?"
"The person who bought it is a potential witness in an investigation," Tyler returned. "Do you have his phone number?"
Mr. Kowalski thought for a moment. "No, I don't. I think my son did everything online. You could talk to him. He's in London right now, but I can give you his number."
"That would be helpful," she said.
"Hang on a second."
As he disappeared back into his apartment, she turned to Tyler. "I had a feeling we were going to hit a dead end. I hope the son has contact information."
Mr. Kowalski returned a moment later and gave them the number handwritten on a piece of paper. "Hope it helps," he said as he closed the door.
"It's after midnight in London," she said as they walked back to the car.
"Yeah. I'll work on this in the morning." Tyler paused when they reached her vehicle. "You don't need to take me back to the office. I'm meeting up with a friend of mine not far from here. I'll just hop on the subway."
"Are you sure I can't drop you somewhere?"
"With this traffic, the subway will be faster. I'll see you tomorrow." He smiled. "Hopefully not before then."
As Tyler headed down the street, she got in her car and was about to start the engine when she got a text from Max asking for an update.
Instead of texting him back, she called him, happy when he answered. "I was just going to ask you the same thing," she said. "Is Dominic tied to Wexler Properties?"
"We should meet. Where are you?"
"Chelsea."
"What are you doing there?"
"Just met with the old man who sold his car for cash to someone named Cal, who was going to handle the registration for him."
"So there's no change of ownership record."
"Nope. Tell me you have something to go on."
"Where are you headed now?"
"Home."
"I'll meet you there."
She wasn't sure that was the best idea, but she wanted to hear what he had to say, so she said she'd see him soon and started the car.
Max stood on the sidewalk in front of Kara's building, a four-story brownstone on a tree-lined street in the Lower East Side.
The neighborhood had that lived-in feel he appreciated—bodegas on the corners, people walking dogs, the mix of old and new that made New York feel real instead of polished. He pressed the buzzer for apartment 1B.
"It's me," he said when she answered.
The door buzzed open, and he found her apartment to be the first door on the left.
She opened it before he could knock, still wearing her work clothes, but she'd taken off her jacket and pulled her hair out of its ponytail.
She looked tired, and he had to fight off an inexplicable urge to give her a comforting hug, which she would probably not find comforting at all.
In fact, he wouldn't put it past her to flip him flat on his back if he tried anything because, despite the way she'd kissed him last night, she now seemed determined to make that a distant memory.
But for him, it wasn't distant at all, and that brought a faint smile to his lips, which made her gaze narrow in suspicion.
"What's funny?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said. "Can I come in?"