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We drove slowly past the nifty old houses on Pilots' Row and then hit a wall of traffic. I braked on the shoulder, turned on the flashers, grabbed my Windbreaker, and locked up. Then my partner and I started up the incline. Richie didn't miss a beat. Or does the ring in earring send too much of a message? I said, "Rich, in my humble opinion, you and Tina are at flowers and dinner.
That's safe, sweet, and her mother won't send out invitations. And do I sign the card love or not? I rolled my eyes and threw a sigh. Or don't you?
You have to figure that one out. He gave me a salute and said, "Yes, ma'am, Sergeant Boxer, ma'am. And could you put in for a sense of humor? I gave him a little shove, and he laughed some more, and we kept walking up the incline, passing cars that were inching forward and passengers who were getting out, shouting curses into the fog. My cell phone rang again. Claire said, "Hurry up, okay? I can't hold off the damned Bridge Authority much longer.
The tow truck is here. From what I could see, a late-model red Jeep had lost control in the outside northbound lane and then careered across five lanes before hitting the walkway barrier and slamming into the railing, which was bulging to accommodate the Jeep's front end.
All but one lane had been closed, and a narrow ribbon of traffic was open to alternating northbound and southbound traffic that crawled past the Jeep, which was swallowed by fog up to its tail lights. Law enforcement vehicles were haphazardly parked on the roadway: I saw people I knew from the ME's Office shooting pictures of the accident.
A traffic cop heaved over the railing. At the same time, a tow truck was pulling into position to remove the Jeep, in prep for reopening the road, the only thoroughfare between San Francisco and Sausalito. A Bridge Authority uni checked out our badges and called out, "Dr. Washburn, you got company.
Welcome to some kind of crazy. Let me give you the tour. The windshield had exploded outward, the front end was crushed accordion-style, and as I peered into the passenger compartment, my scalp actually crawled.
I've seen a lot of gruesome scenes in my fourteen years in Homicide, and this one vaulted to the top of the "most gruesome" list. I mean, number one. Two adults, white male in the driver's seat, white female in the passenger seat, both looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Their arms were akimbo and their heads thrown back, mouths open in silent screams. But what drew my attention directly were the victims' midsections, which were gaping, bloody holes.
And I could see where the blood and guts had gone. The driver's side was plastered with bits of human debris mixed with fragments of clothing and other detritus I couldn't identify. One air bag was draped over the steering wheel.
The other covered the passenger from the thighs down. Claire said, "We've got blood and particles of human tissue stuck all over everywhere. We've got damage to the seat belts and the dashboard and the instrument panel, and that's a button projectile stuck in the visor.
Also, we've got a dusting of particulate from the air bags sugaring everything. What a desperate way to kill yourself. Look at this," Claire said. She got an arm around the passenger and leaned the young woman's body forward. I saw spinal tissue, bone, and blood against the back of the seat. My morning coffee was now threatening to climb out of my throat, and the air around me seemed to get very bright.
I turned away, took a couple of deep breaths, and when I turned back, I had the presence of mind to say, "So, this bomb, or should I say bombs plural, blew all the way through the bodies? That's why my premature but still educated opinion is that we're looking at a bomb that exploded from inside the abdomen. Abdomens, plural. Traffic cops were taking crap from irate drivers, and TV choppers buzzed overhead like houseflies circling a warm apple pie.
The tow truck operator called out in my direction, "Hey. Like, can someone extract the victims? We gotta open the bridge. I was the ranking homicide cop on the scene, the primary investigator until the case was permanently assigned. Right now, my job was to protect the scene from contamination, and, no joke, the scene was a six-lane highway. I marched over to the tow-truck driver and told him, "Thanks, but the wreck is staying here and please extract your truck from my bridge. I'm locking the bridge down.
I told him to drop whatever he might be doing and hustle over. I reported in to Brady, told him what I knew. He said he would get hold of the chief and the mayor, and would be on scene ASAP.
Yellow tape was unspooled and a perimeter was set up with a wide margin around the Jeep. Roadblocks were placed at both ends of the bridge. Conklin and I documented the scene with our cell-phone cameras and notepads and chewed over some theories.
I was enormously relieved when Clapper's van came through with a flatbed truck behind it. Both vehicles parked outside the cordon, and the unflappable Clapper and half a dozen criminalists disembarked.
Clapper is a crisply turned-out man in his late forties, a former homicide cop, and a very fine CSI. I went over to him and said, "I don't think you've ever seen anything like this. He took a long look, then backed out and said, "It's an explosion, all right. But the way I understand belly bombs, they're mechanical devices, surgically implanted. I don't see wires. I don't smell explosive powder. And this is strange," Clapper continued.
Bombs of this type are meant to blow up not just the vehicle, but everything around it. You're right, though. This is a new one on me. After a tech shot photos of the bag and the fairly untouched rear compartment, I gloved up and unzipped the bag. Inside was a toy dog, a bunch of CDs, cell-phone charger, and a blue spangled wallet. Inside the wallet was a driver's license. There was a mess of paper litter in the rear compartment foot well and I found myself staring at something that might be important.
Once forensics had photos, I lifted out a hamburger bag that hadn't been damaged in the blast. For twenty-four hours, anyway. Bombs on this bridge would scare everyone in San Francisco. It was scaring the crap out of me.
I called Brady's cell and said that we were looking at possible terrorist activity. He said, "Shit. Of course we are. And they'd pretty much shut the SFPD out of the case.
While the FBI huddled and labored at our local FBI offices, the tide of worldwide headlines about a mysterious one-car crash that tied up the Golden Gate Bridge for an afternoon receded and were replaced by breaking news of a movie star's divorce, political shenanigans, and a significant freeway pile-up in south LA.
It was just after 6: Homicide is on the fourth floor. My partner and I work at facing desks in the bullpen, a windowless, twenty-by-twenty-foot square of fluorescent-lit gray linoleum floors and dingy walls of unknown color. Department of Justice in Politics. Spinicelli in Mystery.
The origins of the universe, and even time itself, have long been considered mysteries. Most books about time and the universe ignore the Bible, even though it is the only source of accurate information about the origins of the universe, time, how long mankind has been on the earth, ancient history, angels, dinosaurs, and all things related.
A one-night stand leaves two strangers craving for more. What harm can there be in losing herself in his touch? Landon prefers his women beautiful and sophisticated, with Subconscious blockages are the source of anxiety, lack of emphatic abilities, low self-confidence, obsession, addiction, bad relationships, concentration This book presents a new view on man and on life as well as a distance treatment method for personal growth and several self-help techniques for self-growth.
The theory advanced by the author holds that the personality and life of people are determined by the subconscious mind. This subconscious mind is present around the soul that incarnates This short novel is an existential voyage seen through the mind of a man trying to bring his life back on track, after having experienced a series of unexpected problems.
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One small nudge changes the lives of two dogs bred to be cruel guardians of an ambitious lord. Humanity was ready to send an expedition to Mars again. The technology had matured for decades, the finances cobbled together, and the will to go had been whi Kick-start the Mediterranean diet in 14 days! Do you want to lose weight without wasting time and money?
Professor Challenger discovered that The Earth is a gigantic space-mollusc. George Lowther had an early career as second mate on a slave ship and he turned to piracy in the Caribbean. This is his true story. Written as a fictional autobiography by Crusoe, this story describes his 28 yrs. What a horrible night the doctor spent, with his dead friend restlessly moving all the furniture about.
Martin Rattler is a very mischievous boy, but he has a heart of gold. This is a delightful for children of all ages. Often named as Conrad's best book But if someone can understand what it is all about, he is a better man In any case it is a good adventure story. Read More. Read Five eBooks Free! Become a member of Free-Ebooks.