Pete didn't stay at the stock market any longer than he had to. Once the bomb was dismantled, it was tossed into a dark box and carried out without revealing to anyone coming on what they had. The press wasn't informed of the bomb and just told what had occurred that morning was a drill, something to make sure first response was on their toes and ready to handle all situations and all threats. The press was all over it, calling it rash to hold a drill while the Prophet was at large and that it would scare the public. To provide cover, the Mayor himself jumped on that public relations grenade and took the hit for the police, stating that he authorized the drill long before the Prophet started his work. The mayor said that it was essential to make sure the city and its forces were properly trained, and ready at any moment to protect the people. He even had a nice sound bite for the evening news, refusing to apologize for taking the safety of the people and the city seriously. It killed the story before it got legs and that bought the police a lot of time and saved them from having to deal with a panic. The stock exchange was another beast altogether, as the market suffered a hard loss right out of the gate and companies that were attacked by the Prophet took huge loses as the deaths of their CEOs weren't taken well by the trading public.
"Could have been worse," Grozza said as he watched the market on the TV in the lobby. "The bomb could have gone off."
"That might not be worse, depending on who you ask," Pete replied. "Some traders out there might have preferred that."
"Fuck them," Grozza said, not in the mood. "We saved their asses. Losing a few bucks they'll probably get back later is a lot better than getting their asses blown to kingdom come."
"Calm down, gentlemen," the captain said as he emerged from his office, "Bomb squad wants you all downstairs, now."
Pete grabbed his coat as he walked out, and Grozza followed. They took the elevator down to the floor where the bomb squad did most of their work and investigating. When they arrived, the same sergeant was there to greet them.
"Detectives," he called out as he shook Pete's hand.
"What's up?" Pete asked, not in the mood for small talk.
"We made a discovery," the sergeant answered. "This bomb was never going to go off. It was a dud."
"A dud?" Grozza repeated, stunned.
"The detonator and the fail safes were real," the sergeant continued. "It was the materials in the barrels that were not legit. That thing was no more dangerous than a firecracker."
"That doesn't make any sense," Pete said as he paced around a bit. "Why would he plant a fake?"
"Scare the market?" Grozza replied. "Even opening a minute late would cause a dip in everything."
"It could be a decoy," the sergeant guessed. "I'd check around town and make sure no other targets were hit while half the force was trying to save the stock exchange from a practical joke."
"We'll look into it," Pete said as he walked away. Geronimo was playing a game with them and they had no idea if it was checkers or chess. He didn't even wait for the elevator to get back homicide as he grabbed his cell and started checking messages. Each officer out there protecting potential Prophet targets were to check in with him every hour to make sure all was right. He was scanning through the list when one jumped out above the others
"What is it?" Grozza asked, sensing something was wrong.
"One of our checks hasn't logged in." Pete looked back up at his partner. "A few are hit and miss, but this one hasn't checked in for hours."
"Damn it!" Grozza said, mad enough to punch the wall.
Pete wasn't taking any chances. He checked the squad car the parking garage and grabbed a radio from his belt rather than his cell, which was spotty in the elevator and called the desk to dispatch officers to the location that hadn't checked in. He instructed them to get out there quietly until they could find out what was going on, which meant no sirens. With high speed and little regard for actual traffic laws, it took Grozza and Pete less than twenty minutes to make it to the building where they were heading. Pete couldn't help but think about the first crime scene as he and his partner strolled through the lobby. When they reached the floor they were looking for, they emerged from the elevator with their guns drawn, unwilling to take any chances. As they walked down the hallway, there was something missing.
"The uniform we stationed here is gone," Pete whispered as he walked slowly to the door that officer was supposed to be guarding.
The door was open about an inch. Without hesitation, Pete kicked it open and walked into the apartment with his sidearm at eye level, ready to shoot anything that seemed out of place. There was nothing in the hallway so he used his head to point the direction he wanted Grozza to go, while Pete walked the other way. Pete strolled into the living room and found another grisly crime scene waiting for him.
"All clear over here!" Grozza called out.
"Wish I could say that for my side," Pete replied.
Grozza came running back and almost lost his lunch when he saw the body lying in the middle of the living room. "Ah, shit!"
"This is the wife," Pete said as he looked around. "There's no sign of the actual target, Kyle Blitzer. We need to keep looking."
The two detectives continued to search the apartment but it was clear. The body in the living room turned out to be the only victim they could find. There was no sign of the man they were protecting or the officer who'd been stationed there to do so. When more uniforms arrived, Pete had them secure what was now an active crime scene. One of the uniforms seemed visibly upset as he walked up to Pete.
"I'm very sorry, Detective," he softly said.
"What for?" Pete asked, confused.
"For leaving my post," the officer replied. "I didn't want to."
"Then why did you?" Pete asked, having a feeling the answer was obvious.
"I was called in to help secure the stock exchange," the uniform answered. "They were short and needed help, and I was pulled to offer support."
Grozza rubbed his temple. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It was a decoy, and we fell for it."
"The brass fell for it," Pete corrected him. "And I did too. Now we have a dead woman and a man who is still missing."
"We'll find him, sir," the uniform said. "I'll canvas the building and do whatever I can to help."
"Good man," Pete said as he put a hand on the cop's arm. "This wasn't your fault. Someone above us made a careless mistake and our killer was banking on it. We're going to find Mr. Blitzer and bring him and the killer in."
"Yes, sir." The cop left to help with the canvassing of the other apartments.
Pete was angry enough to punch a hole in the wall. The Prophet knew his targets, the people he sent letters to, would be guarded and concocted a plan to throw them all off their game and it worked perfectly.
Grozza looked puzzled as he checked the crime scene.
"What is it?" Pete asked.
"This is different," Grozza said as he looked around. "He's departing from his original M.O."
"That's nothing new," Pete replied. "He's never really had a consistent method of operation for us to narrow down."
"Yeah, but this one follows the first scene almost exactly." Grozza pointed to a chair on the other side of the room. "There's Duct tape on the chair, which means our victim was forced to watch his wife die, just like the first vic."
"But this time he didn't kill him." Pete could see where this was going. "He took the man with him rather than finish him off. That's ballsy."
"And he called you, too," Grozza added. "Likely while he was here."
"Checking his time," Pete agreed. "If the bomb was defused too fast, he was concerned the uniform might return to his post. Keep looking around. This can't be the only thing missing from the scene that was present at the first. Also make sure they take as many pictures as possible."
Pete and Grozza continued to look over the scene but went out of their way to make sure nothing was disturbed. When forensics arrived to take their pictures, Pete and Grozza stepped aside to let them do their work.
"I couldn't find anything else," Pete said as he walked back to the door. "We'll look over the crime scene photos when they're done."
"There is one thing missing," Grozza said as he pointed to the wall. "His calling card. No message about the ninety-nine. Do you think he's given up on the facade?"
"No," Pete said as he looked at the same wall. "He's far from giving up on that story. He was preaching it to me this morning."
"Well, maybe he's learning from his prior mistake," Grozza added.
"What do you mean?" Pete asked.
"We never released the detail and tried to hide it from the press," Grozza explained. "He's probably going to make it more public, something we can't hide."
"Worse," Pete said, as something clicked in his head. "He's going to dump the body somewhere more public as well. He's elevating his game."
"Shit," Grozza said, when it dawned on him as well. "That would certainly get everyone's attention. Especially after all the efforts we made to hide what happened at the stock exchange this morning."
"Let's get out of here," Pete said as he left the apartment. He was eager to speak with someone, and it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
It took the two detectives less time to drive back to the station, but most of the cubicles for the division were empty as Pete and Grozza returned to report to the captain, who was taking calls in his office all morning.
"Blitzer's gone," Pete said as he strolled in.
"Shit," McManus said as he looked up. "And his wife?"
"Dead," Grozza answered.
"This happened exactly what the Prophet wanted." Pete took a seat in front of McManus' desk. "And we helped him by pulling the detail off to secure the stock exchange. He anticipated it, and we obliged. That officer was there for a reason! I can't do my job if the people I'm putting in place to catch this maniac are being pulled! Now we have another body and a missing person."
"What do you want from me?" McManus yelled, just as frustrated.
"I want assurances," Pete answered. "If another officer I station gets pulled for whatever reason, then you can assign a new detective to this case. We clear?"
"Yes," McManus said, understanding Pete's reason for being upset. "I will personally make sure that doesn't happen again."
"Thank you," Pete said as he left the room and strolled back out to his desk. He took off his coat and draped it across the back of his chair and took a deep breath and stretched his arms before taking a seat.
"What do we do now, Gibbons?" Grozza asked as he came back out.
"Where the hell is Jones?" Pete asked, looking around.
"She was helping with the officers on the canvas," Grozza replied. "I can call her back in if you want."
"No, that's fine." Pete sighed. "This guy is all over the place. I can't figure out what he's up to. What his real motive is."
"Maybe this is his motive," Grozza countered. "People have done more heinous things for less and the crash of 2008 took billions away from hardworking people. People lost their pensions, their jobs and their lives to that crash and the banks got away scot free with the mother of all government handouts. Those greedy bastards deserve fifty Prophets for what they did to our economy and our working class, so don't assume this isn't his real fucking motive!"
Pete sat up when he realized how pissed Grozza was. "Take it down a notch, Grozza. I'm taking about the M.O. and his flair for the dramatic. Real killers don't pull this kind of crap expect during tacky crime shows on television."
"There's a reason why this asshole wrote all these CEOs," Grozza said as he walked over to his own desk. "He personally lost something because of their greed and their lack of morality. Not a single one of those bastards were charged with anything let alone spent a day in jail for what is the largest fraud in the history of this country! This guy has more than enough reasons to be pissed off about. If it wasn't for my profound sense of duty and grounded morals, I'd probably be out there helping him!"
"You don't honestly mean that, do you?" Pete asked.
"You bet your ass I do!" Grozza called back, "They stole from us and rather than get punished for it like common thieves do, the government gave them more of our money to bail out their gambling debts. So yeah, I'm pretty steamed about it as well. Am I pissed off enough to go kill someone over it? Of course not, but I can understand the Prophet and I'm not alone on this. Until the government breaks up the banks, brings back Glass-Steagall and overhauls the SEC, I suggest you get comfortable with all this. If nothing changes, we'll be dealing with one Prophet after another for the next few decades! Is it really a crime when the people take up arms to fight back against the people screwing them over or is it really a helping of overdue poetic justice?"
"Okay, I get it." Pete held up his hands to slow things down. "I agree with you; the middle class is getting the royal pooch screw but none of that justifies anything this man has done. You said it yourself!"
"I know," Grozza said as he finally sat down at his desk. "It just nags me when you state that this might not be his real motive. It's motive enough to do a lot more. Wars have been started for less."
"That's right," Pete agreed. "But it's not our job to judge the merits of the criminal's motive. That's up to twelve people who will be appointed by the court. Let them decide if his motive is justified. Our job is to just bring him in and bring the violence to an end."
"Alright," Grozza said, sighing. "Finally... something we can agree on."
