Slaughter by Lutz John

Author:Lutz, John [Lutz, John]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-07-17T07:00:00+00:00

37

An hour later, Renz called Quinn on his desk phone. “No doubt about it,” Renz said, when Quinn had picked up the bulky plastic receiver that fit hand and ear so well. “The crane falling was murder. There were traces of hydrofluoric acid found at the breaking points of the steel cables. It ate through the cables until enough strands popped that they finally broke apart under all that weight. That overloaded the stress on the other cables, then a small bomb separated the crane from the building and down it came. The thing is, whoever was responsible had to have some basic knowledge of how that crane was put together. How the damned thing worked.”

“Just like he knew about elevators,” Quinn said. “Was this the same kind of acid used on the elevator cables?”

“Yeah. The base was hydroflouride, along with nitric acid. A devil’s brew, according to the techs. If you want to tote it around, you’ll need a special container. Most likely it was outta the same lab.”

“Do the techs think our killer is a chemist?” Quinn asked.

“Not in any major way. But you don’t have to be a chemist or engineering genius to know how to destroy something. Common sense goes a long way. To know how to build up is to know how to tear down.”

“But we’re not necessarily looking for a scientist or engineer.”

“That’s right,” Renz said. “Matter of fact, most of the info you need, you can find on the Internet.”

Quinn doubted if that would be reassuring to the public.

“The Internet and DNA,” Renz said. “One helps find them, and the other helps prove them guilty. Life gets harder and harder for the bad guys.”

“Can’t get hard enough.”

“That’s what my ex-wife used to say.”

“The crane cables are right out where anyone can see them,” Quinn pointed out. “Or get to them, depending on the position of the crane.”

“It gets better and better,” Renz said bitterly. “Where do psychos like the Gremlin learn this crap?”

“Like the artist told us,” Quinn said, “there’s plenty of information on the Internet.” The main air conditioner in Q&A wasn’t quite keeping up with the heat, and his clothes were stuck to him. There was some not-quite-cold-enough diet cola in the little fridge by the coffeemaker, but he chose not to have gas.

“The Internet is a school for crime,” Renz agreed.

“And the students get their advanced degrees in prison.”

“It shouldn’t be like that.”

“Nobody’s figured out a better way.”

“I know one.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Quinn said.

“The Gremlin. I really hate that little bastard!”

“We’ll find him, Harley.”

“Will we? They never found Jack the Ripper.”

“They might have, if he’d ever been listed in the FBI database.”

“Speaking of data . . .”

Quinn brought him up to date on the Little Louie and Madge interview.

“This is a mass murderer,” Renz said, when Quinn was finished talking and reading aloud. As if Quinn needed reminding.

“We’ve got a reliable eyewitness that puts him at the scene of the crane collapse,” Quinn said. “And we’re working out a digital image that’ll be as good as a photo, if it isn’t already.

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