For some reason, Faith was surprised the detective wore pajamas.
"Oh, very focused," Nolan answered. "I'd say the guy knew he would catch his target in bed, and aimed to get just that."
"Why?" Richardson demanded. "Wouldn't it have been more certain if he'd tried to gut the entire room?"
"Maybe, but if Mr. Macgregor and Miss Parker are right about how little time passed between the time he gained entry and the explosion..."
"It couldn't have been more than a minute or two," Faith insisted. "I don't think he'd gotten the window open when I slipped out of the room, or just barely."
Nolan nodded. "Then I'd say he had two problems in planning. First, to deliver the device quietly and carefully enough so his target didn't awaken before it could go off, and second to get his ass back up the rope to the roof before it blew."
"He definitely came down from the roof?" Bishop asked.
Richardson said, "One of my people found a rope mark on the edge of the roof, and it looks like the rope was fastened to a pipe up there. In fact, we found a smear of blood on a rusty bolt, so I'd say the guy cut or scraped himself because he was in such a hurry to get the rope unfastened. The roof access door was open, so we're pretty sure he got out through that service stairwell. Probably the same way he got up to the roof."
Bishop nodded.
Nolan resumed his report. "From what we found, the explosive looks like a fairly simple sort with a plain burning fuse, a short one. I'd guess he made a little bomb rather than a big one so he'd still be able to get to the roof if it blew prematurely, as homemade bombs frequently do. Anything more powerful and he ran the risk it would have taken him out as well."
"Amateur night," Bishop muttered.
Nolan nodded again, this time enthusiastically.
"I'd say. No timer, nothing fancy. A bit of dynamite in some kind of metal container to concentrate the blast is my guess. I have to say, the M.O. doesn't match up with any of our known arsonists or weekend bombers, and since he kept it simple I'm betting we won't be able to trace him through what's left of the bomb. Maybe we'll get lucky and pick up a fingerprint..."
"He wore gloves," Faith murmured.
Richardson turned to her. "I thought you never saw him."
"I didn't. Not really, I mean." She avoided Nolan's interested stare and shrugged at Richardson. "You know."
A look of enlightenment dawned. "Ali. Another of your dreams?"
"Something like that. I think he wore gloves. Black gloves. That he was dressed all in black."
"They mostly are," Nolan said practically. "At I night, I mean. Helps them disappear."
Richardson asked, "When will you know for sure if this bastard is in our files?"
"Probably by afternoon. Nothing much going on right now, so I can give this priority."
"Thanks." As soon as Nolan left, Richardson looked at Kane. "Dandy idea, your reward," he said sourly.
Kane returned the stare but said nothing. He had said very little since the police and fire department had arrived, and hardly more before that. Picking himself up from the floor, asking Faith if she was all right, making sure Bishop was okay, calling the police — he had done it all as if by rote and without visible emotion.
Faith said, "That couldn't be the cause, surely? I mean so quickly? Besides, how could the bomber have known I was in that particular bedroom?"
"Maybe he didn't," Richardson suggested. "Maybe the intent was to remove Kane — and the threat of that reward. I doubt his estate would have paid it."
That hadn't occurred to Faith. She looked at Kane, sitting so still and silent, his face pale, and she swallowed hard. She felt very cold suddenly. The blanket he had found for her before the police came was around her shoulders, and she drew it a bit tighter.
Bishop said, "Either way, I'd like to know where those expensive security guards were."
"Out cold. Neither one remembers a damned thing before all the lights went out. And the regular building night security guard was at his station off the lobby watching an infomercial with his feet up, so there's no luck there."
Kane said, "So this guy was good enough to take out two experienced security guards without raising an alarm, good enough to rappel down from the roof and climb back up again, and good enough to gain access through a bedroom window wire with a security system without setting it off. But rather than use a gun or something high-tech, he just tossed a pipe bomb in through the window?"
Faith was surprised. She hadn't been sure Kane had been aware of what was going on around him, much less what had been said.
"That makes no more sense than the rest," Richardson said. "And the problem as I see it is knowing where to focus our attention. Was Dinah on to something big and all this is the result? Did she and Faith step in something nasty while they were poking into corners? Did Faith bring trouble with her when she came to Atlanta? Which is it?"
"Maybe all three," Kane replied.
"Shit." It wasn't said in disbelief, but weariness and frustration.
Richardson shook his head. "I need more than four hours of sleep to think about this. In the meantime, Kane, are you planning to stay here? I know there was hardly any damage outside that one bedroom, but..."
"This is probably the safest place we could be now," Kane answered calmly. "Especially once I hire a few more guards — this time with dogs — to surround the building very visibly. And a new security company to close up all the god damned holes in the electronic security net. If we have to live In a fortress until we get to the bottom of this and find Dinah's killers, so be it."
Faith looked at him but said nothing.
Richardson was clearly not pleased, but he didn't argue. "I can step up patrols in the area. The mayor frowns on bombs and so does the chief. But I want all of you to be careful. Damned careful. If the bomber was after Kane to stop that reward, he's obviously panicked and moving fast enough to be careless. And if he was after Faith, failure to get her may just make him more desperate."
"We'll be careful," Kane said.
Nobody in the room believed he meant it.
"Shit," Richardson said again, unhappily this time.
Bishop's cell phone rang, and he retreated to his bedroom to answer it.
"I won't seal the room," Richardson said, "but I'm asking you to stay out of there as much as possible until the damage is repaired. The fire department covered the hole in the wall with heavy-duty plastic to keep out the worst of the weather, and we believe the floor is safe enough, but don't waste any time getting a crew in there, Kane."
"No. I won't."
Richardson looked at him restlessly, seemed about to say something else, then swore. "Hell. I'm going. Call me if anything — and I mean anything else happens. Understand?"
Kane nodded.
When the detective had gone, Kane said formally, "We'll have to see what's salvageable in the way of clothing for both of us. The closet is mostly intact, and I think the chest of drawers as well. Some things may have to be cleaned, but since there was virtually no fire, we probably won't have to worry about everything smelling of smoke."
Faith wasn't looking forward to going back into the blackened shell anyways.
"I'll go through everything and see what has to be sent to the cleaners, what's usable."
"Thank you."
She wondered how long she'd be able to bear his politeness.
Bishop came back into the room, drawing their attention easily. He was scowling, an expression made more savage by the scar on his face and so unusual for him it was almost shocking.
"What's up?" Kane asked.
"It looks like I am," his friend replied tersely. "Back up to Quantico."
"Your breaking case?"
"Just broke wide open."