It felt to me like Grant had taken a position before we walked into that room and then he’d dug in. He was entrenched. And he was happy and secure in his foxhole.

CHAPTER 11

GRANT’S FOXHOLE WASN’T going to protect him or stop me.

He had totally denied his confession, acted as though I were the crazy one, and that was infuriating. Still, I couldn’t show him my anger. I had to stop thinking that this jerk was making a fool of me and that Brady was sitting next to me. The tape was rolling. All I had to do was get Grant to repeat three of the roughly one hundred words he’d spoken to me just before I’d arrested him. All I needed him to say was “I did it.”

He’d been proud of himself when he took credit for the blast, no doubt in my mind about that. I would appeal to his vanity. I moved my chair to the corner of the table so that it wasn’t between us and I was sitting closer to him. I made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in my face, and I smiled again at my dear friend Connor Grant.

“People misunderstand each other all the time. You’re upset. Who wouldn’t be? You’re worried, of course.”

“Nope.”

“Mr. Grant, I saw the museum explode. I was right there when it happened and it was really … just awesome. That’s why I’m so interested, and when you told me you’d blown it up—”

“Nope.”

“I’d really love to know, how did you do it? You’re a science teacher, aren’t you? Maybe if you just use layman’s terms, so I can understand you—”

“Well, I don’t understand you at all.”

Brady got up from his seat. He’s powerfully built, and just his standing up shifted the atmosphere, like when a rodeo bull explodes out of the chute.

He spun the chair away from him. It scraped the floor, toppled over, clattered. I bit my lip as Brady slammed both hands down on the table. It shook. As promised, Lieutenant Badass was stepping in.

He said, “No more games, sir. We have you at the scene of the bombing. You confessed to Sergeant Boxer and also to Joseph Molinari, who happens to be a former government agent and the former deputy director of Homeland Security. These two unimpeachable witnesses corroborate each other’s statements, and they will testify against you.”

Grant tilted his head back and just looked up at Brady. Like he was fascinated.

“Your blood test came back, Mr. Grant. There were no drugs or alcohol in your system. You were flat-out sober when you told this officer of the SFPD that you bombed Sci-Tron. That was yesterday.

“Now we have a search warrant and we’re going to take your house apart, board by board, until we find evidence. When that happens, you’re cooked, and I think you know it.”

Brady retrieved his chair and sat back down.

“Now look,” he went on. “Twenty-five people have died, man. As soon as we charge you with twenty-five counts of murder, your name is gonna get out, and the entire city and the whole country are going to be calling for your blood.

“You want to live, Connor? You help us, we help you. If you come clean, Sergeant Boxer and I will see if we can get the DA to waive the death penalty. No promises, but this right here is your last best chance.”

Grant’s cuffs clanked as he shrugged. I knew what was coming. I wasn’t wrong.

“I want a lawyer,” said Connor Grant, the madman who no longer appeared insane. He looked me in the eye and smiled. He was still smiling when his guards yanked him out of his chair and took him back to his cell.

CHAPTER 12

BRADY AND I returned to the squad room, both of us looking like we had been knocked out in the first round.

I was mortified. I thought Brady felt even worse.

He said, “I shouldn’ta lost it.”

“Nothing would have worked.”

“Something has to.”

He stomped off to his office. I stopped at the front of the room and looked up at the TV hanging from the ceiling, tilted so that everyone in the squad room had a good view. Even though the sound was off, the pictures spoke without using words.

Thousands of people were banked outside the barricades on the Embarcadero that had been set up to preserve the crime scene. Some in the crowd held up hastily scrawled drawings of broken hearts. The camera panned across the grieving faces to the charred remains of Sci-Tron. The headline across the top of the screen was ANOTHER GAR STRIKE?

Tags: James Patterson Women's Murder Club Mystery
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