The Boardwalk Bomber

By Michael Jesse

Chapter 22

"Oh, I can't hardly believe that," Bigfoot said at the hospital, where I had just had my stitches repaired. Brandi was with Brinckman, who had been shot in the shoulder and also broke his nose when he fell. Bigfoot had been questioned but not arrested and had hurried to Brinckman's house when he heard on the news there was a hostage situation. When it was over, he and Brandi had followed the ambulance carrying Brinckman to the hospital.

The waiting room was crawling with press and McCain had commandeered a vacant room to debrief Brandi and me about what happened inside the house. And now she was telling Bigfoot what we'd both recently figured out.

"It just doesn't make sense," Bigfoot insisted.

"It had to be either him or you, Mr. Demphle," McCain said. "Are you making a confession?"

"Of course not," he said, slamming his open hand on the little steel instrument tray, which fell over with a crash. He quickly set it up again, somewhat crooked. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But like I told you, Detective, I don't know anything about the bomb-making stuff you found in that garage. The only thing I use that place for is fixing cars, and the only time I even done that recently was to fix April's spoiler."

"Right," McCain asked. "But Chad had access to the garage also."

"Yeah, he worked on his Torino in there a lot. He spent more time there than I did, that's true. But he's dead. He's one of the fucking victims for Christ's sake. How could it make sense that he set the bombs if he's dead?"

"That last bombing at the school was done by someone else," I reminded him. "It was a copycat crime, like McCain was explaining."

"I know what copycat crimes are, Jack. I get that part."

"Okay, then the last bomb before that was the one that killed Chad. So he was alive when it and all of the others were set."

"What are you saying , that he committed suicide?"

"No," McCain said, shaking her head. "We think it went off by mistake while he was setting it."

"So you're telling me that Chad decided to start setting bombs all over the bay area for some unknown reason -- other than generally being an asshole prick, which we already knew. And he built them all in our garage, and then after blowing up two or three other places he decides, heck I'll put a bomb in one of my own goddamn speedboats. But then he fucks up and it goes off prematurely and kills him. That part I could believe, by the way. But the rest of it makes no sense. Why would he up and do all of that for no particular reason?"

"We think he did have a reason," McCain said. "We think he set the first bombs in more-or-less random locations to set up the pattern of a serial bomber in order to obscure a single intentional murder. Chad's last bomb went off early and killed him. But it was intended to kill you."

"Me?? What for?"

"You've told us your business partnership was failing, that you wanted him out. We know he had money troubles. He'd already spent through most of what he had and was maxed out on several credit cards. He didn't want you to squeeze him out of the business -- that's what he was talking to April about so urgently when you thought he was making a pass and threw him over the railing."

"She told me that afterwards," Bigfoot said. "But how would it solve anything if ... oh shit it was the insurance money wasn't it?"

"That's right," I said. "You told me you were worried McCain would suspect you because you had a potential motive. You weren't getting along with your business partner. You wanted him out of the picture. Buying him out would be expensive and maybe he wouldn't agree to it anyway. But you both had big insurance policies with each other as beneficiary, so if he died you might still have to buy out his heirs, but you'd get the money to do that -- and then some -- from the insurance policy."

"And if I died ..."

"Bingo. Chad gets a big insurance check to get out from under his debts, with enough left over to squander some more for another few years. April would inherit your half of the business but he probably figured that was an improvement."

"Jesus," Bigfoot said shaking his head. "Well, I'll tell you, Detective. When you showed up at my place a couple hours ago I thought you ... you know, thought it was me."

"We just needed to make a check of your living quarters for confirmation, Mr. Demple. We we returned to Chad Taylor's apartment we found chemical evidence on some of his clothing and on some of the upholstered furniture which matched what we found in the garage."

Just then Brandi came in. "Hey you guys," she said perkily. "I just got interviewed by CNN."

I looked down the long hallway from the direction she'd come and it was clear she was being followed by a couple of rumpled looking reporter types.

"I think I'll go peek in on Andy," I said, gesturing to McCain what was coming down the hall. Brandi was excitedly telling Bigfoot about her TV
interview and neither paid any attention to our conversation.

McCain stood up. "I'll run interference for you," she said quietly. "Take the back stairs." She winked at me and walked toward the reporters and I slipped around the corner to the stairwell.

I knew Andy's room number and Brinckman's too. They were in the same wing and I figured I'd drop in on both of them before finding a quiet way out of the building.

I came to Brinckman's room first and could hear his booming voice from inside, but there was a guard stationed at the door. McCain had told me earlier that she'd give me clearance so I showed my identification and knocked on the half-open door.

"Enter!" Brinckman called in his commanding voice.

I stepped in and saw a figure in a wheelchair, but it wasn't Brinckman; it was Andy.

"Hi Jack," Andy said. "Look, I got a wheelchair just like Dr. B. Except it's just for temporary. I could walk but they said I might get dizzy."

"I've challenged him to a race down the hall," Brinckman announced from his bed, where he lay motionless except his always animated head propped on pillows.

"Sorry to interrupt," I said to him. "Looks like you're both fine."

"We are indeed, Mr. Durham. And how is your posterior?"

Andy found the question extremely funny and snorted as he tried to catch his breath.

"It's fine too," I said. "By the way, that was some pretty fancy footwork you pulled on Hulman. Nice work."

"Thank you. And how is our psychotic friend?"

"He's being evaluated," a voice said behind me. It was McCain. "We're charging him with kidnapping and attempted murder, and he's being evaluated by a psychiatrist."

"Are you back to grill me again, Detective?" Brinckman asked. "I assure you I don't remember anything more than what I told you ten minutes ago."

"Actually, I was looking for Andy," she said walking over to him.

"I've got a wheelchair now too," he told her. "I can walk but I might get dizzy. We're going to have a race in the hallway."

"Don't go too fast or I might have to give you a speeding ticket."

Andy snorted and made 
racing noises with his chair.

McCain offered to drive me home and I took her up on it. My butt was starting to hurt again and I was looking forward to a cold beer and a long nap. We went down a stairwell and slipped out a side exit where her car was parked next to two squad cruisers.

We drove in silence for a few minutes and then I said, "listen, I want to thank you for keeping quiet about my situation."

"No problem," she said. "It was nice working with you ... Detective."

"Thanks. Same here. Sorry I was so dense about, you know, the whole lesbian thing."

She laughed. "Well while we're apologizing, I'm sorry I made you wreck your poor boat."

"You didn't make me. That was my dumb idea. It was pretty cool though."

"Until that last part. Do you think you can fix it?"

"Oh sure. It'll be back in action about the same time my butt is. Maybe in a couple weeks we could try that again? In a non-date sort of way, of course."

"I'll look forward to that," she said as we pulled into North Beach Road. As we made the turn I could see the gleaming maroon Lincoln on the access road behind the shops. It was just pulling away and Andrea and Benita were waving as their parents drove away.

"Looks like someone has come home," McCain said.

As we turned onto the access road we passed the Lincoln turning the other way and I caught a glimpse of the stern profile of Edmund Dawes. Angela and Benita had gone inside by the time we pulled up behind my shop.

"Well," McCain said. "One of us should probably go in there and welcome her back. Did you say she's not seeing anyone right now?"

"I'm going, I'm going." I opened the car door and got out. As McCain drove off up the access road I walked stiffly towards the rear of the Canary Cafe.

Angela must have heard the car. I saw her face in the screen door, but she was looking the wrong way and didn't see me at first.

"Hey lady," I said. "Is this joint open for lunch?"

She saw me and gave a little squeal and came out the door and covered the ten feet between us in two mighty strides. I planted my feet and caught her tiny featherweight body as she leaped onto me, wrapping her skinny little muscular arms around my neck. I knew it wasn't much different from the greeting she'd have given Andy or Rex. Angela is an enthusiastic hugger by nature. She gave me a little peck on the cheek, but as I let her feet touch the sand I took her face in my hands and gave her a real kiss. She didn't resist and held the back of my neck and it went on for a nice little while.

And then she broke it off and pushed slightly away so that our eyes could meet in a long probing stare. Even when she is not angry those hazel eyes are almost too intense to bear. But I didn't look away or say anything. I let her size me up, sending her laser look into my pupils and inside of me, looking for all of the answers I had shielded from her.

"Let's take a walk," I said. "I've got a few things I need to tell you."