“Looks like Arnie Zimmer got what he was asking for,” Kylie said as we made our way to the blast site.
“That’s harsh,” I said. “The guy was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
“Jesus, Zach, I didn’t say he got what he deserved. I said he got what he was asking for. Us.”
“Not quite,” I said. “He wanted us exclusively. Technically he’s still got to share us with Aubrey Davenport.”
“Right now, Arnie Zimmer has our undivided attention. Aubrey is going to have to wait. Why don’t you call Dr. Langford and tell him we’re going to be late for our sex ed class.”
Langford’s calendar was jammed from eleven on, so we rescheduled for 8:00 p.m., which was the earliest he could see us. It was going to be another long day.
The explosion took place on the campus of Rockefeller University, which is tiny as institutions of higher learning go, stretching only five blocks along York Avenue. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in worldwide renown. Devoted to research in biomedical science, Rockefeller produces Nobel Prize laureates the way some schools turn out point guards for the NBA.
Zim Construction was one of several contractors hired to add state-of-the-art laboratories and other buildings to the campus, and their field office, a steel box about eight by twenty feet, was tucked into a corner away from most of the foot traffic.
Howard Malley was waiting for us with a damage report.
“One dead: Arnold Zimmer, the owner of the company. As far as we can ascertain, nobody else was injured,” he said. “From what I can piece together, the victim arrived about seven thirty, unlocked the door, walked over to the air conditioner, and the bomb vaporized him.”
“Did he trip it when he turned on the AC?” Kylie asked.
“No. It was triggered wirelessly from outside. He would have been clearly visible from the street as he approached the window where the AC unit was mounted. The bomber just watched and waited.”
“Same bomb maker?”
“Same blast pattern, a shaped charge, but we still have to sift through the rubble and see if we can find some of the same signature elements.”
“Is there a crew boss or somebody in charge around here from the construction company?” Kylie asked. “We’ve got a few questions that you can’t answer.”
“I like to think I can answer any and all questions, but if you’re looking for the general superintendent, he was just here. I told him NYPD would want to talk to him. He works out of a second field office near the Sixty-Fourth Street gate, but that’s off-limits till we get a K-9 unit to go through it. He’s easy to spot. Big guy, about six four, work clothes, yellow hard hat. His name’s Bill Neill.”
“Thanks,” Kylie said. “How soon can you let us know if we’re looking at the same bomber as the hotel?”
Malley grinned. “Now that’s a question I can’t answer.”
Kylie and I walked across the campus and saw Bill Neill standing under a tree, talking on his cell phone. Malley was right—he was easy to spot. And with our badges on chains around our necks, so were we.
“Barbara, it’s the police,” he said into the phone. “Let me call you back. I love you, too.”
He hung up the phone. “That was my wife,” he said. “She heard on the news that a bomb went off in a construction office at Rockefeller University, and she panicked. The FBI agent said you wanted to ask me some questions, but I was four blocks away when it happened. I heard the explosion, but I didn’t see anything.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “You can still help. How many people had keys to that office?”
“Arnie, me, and I don’t know who else, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just your basic pin and tumbler lock. Anyone can open it with a paper clip and a tension wrench. A key is optional.”
“It’s the boss’s office,” Kylie said. “Wouldn’t you have tighter security?”
“There’s nothing in there worth securing. A desk, a couple of file cabinets, a fridge, a microwave, a coffeepot, and that’s about it.”
“Surveillance cameras?”
“The university has cameras on the gates and peppered around the campus, but Arnie’s office was in no-man’s-land. It’d be easy enough for someone to scale the fence, pick the lock, and get away without anyone noticing.”
“Did Mr. Zimmer have any enemies?” Kylie asked.
Neill shrugged. “Sure, but not the kind that would blow him up. Arnie pissed a lot of people off. If something wasn’t going the way he wanted, he was quick to get in people’s faces. You guys ought to know.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Yesterday afternoon Arnie told me he laced into the mayor, then he read the riot act to a couple of her supercops because they weren’t looking hard enough for whoever killed Del Fairfax. I figured that was you.”
“We’re not supercops,” I said.
“But you’re trying to solve the first bombing, and now you’re on the second one. Do you have any leads?”
“We’re working on it,” I said.
And as soon as the words came out of my mouth, it dawned on me. That was the same promise I’d made to Arnie Zimmer just twenty-four hours earlier.