Chain Letter by Claire McNab

Author:Claire McNab [McNab, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 97815934935923
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2017-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Back in Carol’s office, Bourke slumped in a chair. “Jane McGary’s post was pretty rough stuff. Poor little lady, I almost felt embarrassed, seeing her lying naked while Jeff Duke cracked jokes.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m going to have to macho up.”

“A cigarette on your bottom lip and a can of beer in one hand should do the trick,” said Carol, knowing that he didn’t want sympathy.

“At least she wouldn’t have known anything about it. She was almost certainly unconscious, thanks to a whack of Valium. There was some of the tranquilizer in the house, as she had it prescribed by her doctor for high blood pressure, and traces were in the teapot.”

“That explains how he could arrange the bomb and light it without any protest from her. I imagine he suggested a cup of tea before they set off on their deliveries, spiked the teapot with Valium, and waited until she was unconscious before carrying her upstairs.”

There was a knock at the door, and Ned Cromwell leaned around the door. “Interrupting?”

“Not at all,” said Carol. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking of you.”

Cromwell came all the way in, giving her a small smile. “I translate that as waiting impatiently for my report.”

“Do you have it?”

“It’s being typed, as we speak, but I thought you’d like the highlights.”

Bourke indicated a chair. “Take the weight off your feet, Ned, and give us the benefit of your wisdom.”

He sat down and arranged his feet neatly, side-by-side. “Well, people, the bomb was constructed of fifteen centimeters of white PVC piping, five centimeters diameter. It can be bought in any hardware or plumbers’ supply store.”

“Any hope of tracing it?”

“Not a chance. There was a fragment of the pipe that had an identifying brand, but it’s available everywhere. And the two metal caps, one for each end, also are standard plumbing supplies. No luck with the fuse, the powder, or the screws and nails added to make it more deadly. Standard stuff that could be lawfully acquired any number of places, or stolen, for that matter.”

“So basically,” said Carol, “you’re telling me you’ve got nothing.”

“Not exactly.” Cromwell looked smug. “There was a bomb very like this used last year—same size, same mix of screws and nails added to the blasting powder. I didn’t want to say anything at the scene, but once I’d checked my records I was pretty sure.”

“Someone killed with a pipe bomb?” said Carol, frowning. “I don’t remember that case.”

“He wasn’t killed—just maimed. And it didn’t happen in Sydney, but way over the other side of the country in Perth, Western Australia.”

“And you had records on this bomb?”

“Well, people,” said Ned Cromwell with what looked very like regret, “there just aren’t that many bombs in any given year.” He showed his small, chalk-white teeth in a private smile. “So, in what you might call the bomb fraternity, we tend to share everything we’ve got.”

“Who was the victim?” said Carol, prickling with anticipation.

“Carter Perles, Q.C. He’s a barrister.

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