HARRY DIDN’T SEEM to be in the right mood for me to introduce him to Maggie Chin when we were in the
office. Usually, he liked to know who was coming and going. But he still seemed pissed that I’d let Trilling leave
for Montana.
Maggie Chin was unlike any federal agent I’d ever worked with. She was high-energy but also high-focus. She and
I transitioned in a matter of minutes from chatting in the office to jumping into my car en route to looking for Jimmy
Pinter.
Maggie inspected the photographs of my children I had on my key chain, then touched every scratch and dent on my
dashboard as we headed toward the construction site where I thought Jimmy Pinter might be working. She fidgeted
in the passenger seat as I drove. “I’m not used to someone else driving. I won’t even let my husband drive most of
the time,” she said. “But it’s your town. I just live in it.”
She reached up and touched the Saint Christopher medal hanging from my rearview mirror. “Are you Catholic?”
“I have ten children. That should tell you something.”
Maggie laughed out loud. “Maybe it would if I didn’t already know that all of your children are adopted. So the joke
doesn’t quite land.”
I grinned. “Yes, in fact, I am a practicing Catholic. My grandfather even joined the church as a priest after my
grandmother died. It’d look bad for him if I neglected my faith.”
“Is that the only reason you’re a practicing Catholic? To avoid embarrassing your grandfather?”
“I am a person of faith. That’s really all I can tell you. I’ve learned over the years it’s hard to explain those sorts of
things to people who don’t
believe.”
“Who said I don’t believe? I was raised Catholic too. My mother still goes to mass twice a week,” Maggie said.
“But I’m afraid I don’t attend church much more than at Christmas and Easter. I know that’s a little hypocritical.”
“There’s nothing hypocritical about that. Church isn’t for everyone.
Religion isn’t for everyone. But personally, I’ve found through the trials of my life that it’s something I can d epend
on.”
After a few moments, Maggie said, “I talked to an FBI profiler. I told you that my husband is an assistant US
attorney for the Southern District of New York, right? Between his job and mine via the ATF, I can get pretty good
access. I know the FBI can be tough to deal with, but most of the agents are okay. I can usually call and get straight
answers. Even if they’re not a lot of help.”
I k ept my opinions about the FBI to myself. I’d take access to FBI info without dealing with the agency any way I
could get it. “So what’d the profiler say about our bomber?”
“Oh, sorry. I go off on tangents occasionally.”
“Occasionally?” I was happy to see her smile at the comment. It’s tough to work a case with someone who can’t
make fun of themselves.
Maggie said, “The profiler I spoke to said the main reason someone would put glitter in a bomb like the one used at
the Office of Technology and Innovation would be to show off and potentially wait in the area to see the results.”
“My daughter figured that out last night.”
“She sounds like a smart girl. I think we should check security footage from the area immediately after the bomb
detonated. Maybe we’ll see someone milling about, trying to get a look into the office.”
I said, “I can’t ignore good, logical reasoning like that. However, Detective Jolynn Nelson is working specifically
on that bombing and ke eping me up-to-date on everything she finds. I guarantee you she’s working to procure every
second of security footage from every building on the block.”
“Sounds like you trust her.”
“Completely.”
“I hope I manage to earn that level of trust.”
“I do too.”
Maggie continued: “My FBI profiler friend said she’d heard your name before, that you make a lot of high-profile
arrests.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone from the FBI has ever said about me.”
“She also mentioned that you weren’t terribly popular with the FBI management. I think that’s a bigger
compliment.”
We both shared a smile.
After almost a minute of silence, Maggie added, “I read everything I could find on the bombing in Queens that
killed Sergeant Rose Vega. For once, it seems like the media was sympathetic to a cop who was murdered.
I checked with a few people, and the bomb used on the sergeant’s vehicle was pretty simple. Same with the one at
the bank in Newark. But the one that detonated yesterday was much more sophisticated. Some kind of genius put
that one together. What’s your theory?”
I liked the way she’d phrased the question. “Believe me, I’ve been trying to figure this one out and it’s got me
worried,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t feel like five months is enough time to learn about high-tech detonators
and how to use them. Also, whoever hacked the security system was no dumbass. Maybe the group’s recruited some
new members.”
Maggie added, “And they have someone strong enough to pop the locks off doors.”
“I don’t know about that one. Archimedes said, ‘Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it,
and I shall move the world.’” I glanced at my passenger. “That could mean that our bomber is smart enough to use a
long crowbar.”
Maggie said, “I don’t care how smart this perp is. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I just hope we don’t.”