And then he saw, at the same moment Matt Payne saw, the large blue and white Ordnance Disposal van, with the Explosive Containment trailer hitched to the rear of it.
Without exchanging a word, they both got out of the car and ran toward the Divine Lorraine Hotel.
“You can’t just leave your car here!” the white cap called after them.
There was a uniformed lieutenant standing with a large black woman at the desk.
"What’s going on here?” O’Dowd asked as he pinned his badge to his jacket.
“And who the hell are you, Sergeant?”
“Watch your mouth, we don’t tolerate that sort of talk in here,” Sister Fortitude said.
“I’m Sergeant O’Dowd, sir, of Special Operations. We’re working on the bomb threat.”
Matt took the artists’ drawings of Marion Claude Wheatley from his pocket and gave them to Sister Fortitude.
“Ma’am, do you recognize these?”
Sister Fortitude studied both pictures carefully, and then held one out.
“This one, I do. I never saw the other one.”
“This is the man who . . . what, rented a room?” Matt asked.
“Said he was about the Lord’s work. Satan’s work is more like it.”
“Where is the bomb?” O’Dowd asked.
“Six-eighteen,” Sister Fortitude said.
The elevators were not running. The hotel’s electric service had been shut off to make sure no stray electric current would trigger the bomb’s detonators.
Matt and O’Dowd were panting when they reached the sixth floor. O’Dowd pulled open the fire door on the landing, and they entered the dark corridor, now lit only by police portable floodlights and what natural light there was.
Halfway down the corridor Matt saw two Bomb Squad men in their distinctive, almost black coveralls. He remembered hearing at the Academy that they were made of special material that did not generate static electricity.
O’Dowd shook hands with one of the Bomb Squad men.
“Hey, Bill. What have we got?”
“Enough C-4, wrapped with chain, to do a lot of damage.”
“Bill Raybold, Matt Payne,” O’Dowd said.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Raybold said, shaking Matt’s hand.
He knows me by reputation. Is that reputation that of the brave and heroic police officer who won the shootout in the alley, or that of the poor sonofabitch who’s got a junkie for a girlfriend?
“The lady at the desk downstairs says the guy who rented 618 is the guy we’re looking for,” Matt said. “I showed her the police artist ’s drawing.”
“This guy knows what he’s doing with explosives,” Raybold replied. “The explosive is Composition C-4. It’s military, and as safe as it gets. Your man may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. He’s got them all ready to go except for the detonators. It would take him no more than ten seconds to hook them up.”
“Detonators?” O’Dowd asked.
“Not close to here. Jimmy Samuels was in here with his dog, and the only time the dog got happy was when he sniffed the closet. After we get the hotel cleared, we’ll take a really good look.”
“Bill,” O’Dowd said. “If our guy sees the dog and pony show outside, he’ll disappear again.”
Raybold considered that for a moment.
“Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “I don’t see why we couldn’t leave this stuff here for a while. It’s safe. But that don’t mean the district captain would go along. And it’s his call.”
“Sergeant, I don’t know who you think you are,” the district captain said, “But nobody tells me to throw the book away. We got a crime scene here, and we’re going to work it.”
“Captain,” Detective Payne said, “sir, I’ve got Chief Coughlin on the line. He’d like to talk to you.”
At fifteen minutes to eleven A.M., Marion Claude Wheatley got off the bus and walked across Ridge Avenue and into the lobby of the Divine Lorraine Hotel.
He smiled at Sister Fortitude but she didn’t smile back, just nodded.
I wonder if I have done, or said, something that has offended her?
Marion got on the elevator and rode to his floor. He had bought a newspaper in 30th Street Station, and he planned to read it as he tried to move his bowels. He was suffering from constipation, and had decided it was a combination of his usual bowel movement schedule being disrupted and the food in the Divine Lorraine Hotel Restaurant. He had decided he would take the next several meals elsewhere to see if that would clear his elimination tract.
There was a man sitting in the upholstered chair in the room. He smiled.
“Hello, Marion,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”