James Carol - The Quiet Man

‘I’ve got a few questions,’ he said.

‘And there was me thinking that this was a social call.’ Barnfield smiled briefly, then turned businesslike. ‘So, your bomber’s struck again. He’s a bit early this year.’

‘He is. You were involved with the police investigation into the first three murders, right?’

Barnfield nodded. ‘That’s right. And I’m expecting to be called in to help with this one, too. That’s who I thought was calling when Laura phoned earlier. The latest murder is all over the news.’

Winter hesitated for a second, aware that Anderton was watching. He’d run his theory by her in the car on the way here. She’d thought it was a good one. At least, she’d thought it was worth driving all the way out here to check it out, which amounted to much the same thing.

‘The design of these bombs is fairly unique,’ he said carefully.

‘There’s no “fairly” about it. They’re completely unique. You work in law enforcement so you know all about fingerprints. Everyone’s are different. With bombers, the design of the device is like their fingerprint. They all have materials they prefer to use, techniques they prefer to employ. Put two bombs side by side and I’d be able to tell you if they’d been built by the same person.’

‘I’m figuring that a lot of thought goes into the design.’

‘You have no idea. Bomb makers take an inordinate amount of pride in what they do. It’s sick, when you think about it. A bomb has one purpose. To kill and maim. That’s the only reason you build one.’

‘What if there was another reason? What if it was designed to save lives?’

Barnfield frowned. ‘I guess that the IRA would occasionally issue warnings so the area around the bomb could be cleared. But even then the bombs were designed to kill.’ She shook her head. ‘A bomb that saves lives, I just don’t see it.’

‘This bomber uses a pipe that’s been cut down the middle in his design. By doing that the blast is deflected toward the victim. It all comes down to physics. Something that has forward momentum, whether that’s a river or a waveform or the blast wave from an explosion, will always seek out the path of least resistance.’

‘That’s what’s happened here. The blast is directed toward the victims. Ultimately, that’s what kills them.’

‘And because of the half-pipe, the ball bearings would have been directed toward the victim, too. Usually they would be spread over the blast zone.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And usually with pipe bombs, the pipe gets turned to shrapnel, which increases the killing power of the device. But that hasn’t happened here. Again, it all comes down to taking the path of least resistance. The pipe doesn’t get blown apart because it was cut in half. It doesn’t enclose the explosion.’

‘There is only one person being targeted here. The whole design of these bombs is informed by that.’

‘Not the whole design. Bombs explode outwards, the blast wave growing uniformly until something gets in the way. But the blast wave from this bomb has been channelled toward the victim. And that’s the perfect explanation. Firstly, because it’s true, and secondly, because it plays into our prejudices. It’s easy to believe in a crazed bomber who’s hell bent on causing death and mayhem. Okay, let me ask you something. Let’s say you were the bomber and you wanted to protect the person who opened the door and triggered the device, what changes would you make to this design?’

Barnfield thought this over for a second. A slow, sly grin spread across her face. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. I wouldn’t change a thing. So why would he want to do that? Why not kill them as well?’

‘That’s the million-dollar question.’

‘Judging by the fact you’ve driven all the way out here, you clearly believe this is significant.’

‘This changes everything. Up until now, everyone has been focussing on the dead, but what if they’re just collateral damage? What if he was actually targeting the people who triggered the bomb? What if this is all about the living?’

‘And why do that?’

Winter shrugged and shook his head. ‘At this stage, I’m not sure. The first thing I needed was confirmation that this theory was feasible. Which you’ve just given me.’

‘It’s definitely feasible. I’ve got to ask, though. How on earth did you reach this conclusion?’

‘Because of the doors,’ Anderton said.

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘At the first three scenes the doors all opened into the kitchen. The force of the blast pushed them back against the frame, creating a barrier between the person who’d opened the door and the blast.’

‘They said on the news that the latest victim died in her bedroom. Based on that and what you’ve just said, I’m guessing that the kitchen door at the latest scene opened outwards?’

Anderton nodded. ‘That’s correct. The living-room door opened the same way, but the bedroom door didn’t. If he’d done his thing in the kitchen, the force of the blast would have slammed the door into the person opening it, possibly injuring them. This guy doesn’t want them hurt. Not even a little bit.’

Barnfield was shaking her head again. This time her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Winter couldn’t work out if she was feeling disgust, admiration or disbelief. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

‘I spent thirty years disarming bombs, everyone’s from the IRA’s to the Taliban’s. You think you’ve seen everything, then something like this comes along.’ Another shake of the head. ‘A bomb designed to protect lives. Wait until I tell Dale about this.’

‘I need to call Freeman,’ Anderton said. ‘He should know about this. Heather, thanks for your help.’

‘My pleasure. And when you speak to Freeman tell him that I’m expecting to hear from him.’

Without another word, Anderton headed outside to the porch to make her call.

Barnfield sat down at the kitchen table and waved Winter into the seat opposite. The dog stirred and got up and started sniffing around his legs. He leant down and scratched it behind the ears. Judging by the way its tail kept bashing the floor, the gesture seemed to be appreciated.

‘You don’t mind dogs, then?’ Barnfield said.

‘I’m fine with them. I always wanted one as a kid, but my father wouldn’t let me.’

‘I’d always wanted one, too, but that was impossible while I was in the army. We got Zeus when we moved here. He’s a good boy.’

On hearing his name, Zeus walked over to Barnfield, tail wagging. She fussed him for a bit, talking to him like he was a baby.

‘Do you miss it?’ he asked her.

‘The army?’ She shook her head. ‘Not really. I guess there are days where I get nostalgic, but it doesn’t last long. On the whole I much prefer life here. Nobody’s trying to blow me up. What about you? Do you miss the FBI?’

‘Not in the slightest.’ He nodded toward the Afghanistan photograph. ‘You belonged in the army. That much is obvious. I never belonged in the FBI. I was always the odd one out. I loved the work and I was good at it. It was the people and the politics that I had a problem with.’

‘You don’t play nicely with the other children?’

‘I can play nice, but it gets to the point where I just want to poke their eyes out with a sharp stick.’

Barnfield laughed. ‘I think that’s true of every job.’

‘I prefer the way I work now. I deal with people in short bursts. By the time I’m ready to start sharpening the sticks, I’ve already moved on.’

Barnfield glanced out the window and Winter followed her gaze. Anderton was talking on her cell, smiling and happy and more animated than he’d ever seen her. She had good news to share and was enjoying every minute. She moved to the left and momentarily disappeared from sight. Without her in the picture, the view looked like a painting. Water, mountains and that immaculate sky.