Osaka pointed to the den area. ‘Parts of a fusing system have already been located by the search team – the components were stuck in the rock and stone of the fireplace.’

‘I want to see those components,’ Striker said.

Osaka muttered, ‘Yes, yes,’ as if it was a good idea, but the bewildered expression remained on his face. ‘Corporal Summer has them now. She’s out back, escorting one of the victims into the ambulance.’

Felicia looked from Striker to Osaka. ‘One of the victims?’

‘We have two. One male – Chad Koda – may yet survive the blast, though he’s in a real bad way. The female – name unknown at this point – did not.’ His expression darkened. ‘She really had no hope of it.’

Striker looked through the windowless frame and spotted the ambulance driving down the alley. A second later, red emergency lights filled the air and a siren wailed. ‘You got a guard on Koda?’

Inspector Osaka nodded. ‘Two. From Patrol.’

‘How bad is he?’

Osaka shrugged. ‘He’s alive. And damn lucky to be. From what I know, he’s concussed and bloodied and shaken to shit – the blast knocked him right out. But he seems to have pulled through without his vital areas being hit by shrapnel. It’s a miracle, really.’

Felicia looked at all the damage. ‘How is that even possible?’

Striker studied the kitchen island. ‘This is how.’ He tapped on what was left of the island counter top. ‘Two-inch granite. Solid oak cabinetry. The thing’s been damn near obliterated, but it took the brunt of the blast. The bomb must have been placed on the other side.’

‘Or maybe it was on top and he knocked it off before it exploded,’ Felicia suggested.

‘Could be.’

Striker studied the scene and was about to say more when he spotted the thick, white tarp on the other side of what remained of the kitchen island. Blood stuck to the kitchen tiles all around it, looking thick and tacky. The entire area was sectioned off by yellow police tape.

Striker stared at the lump under the tarp.

The deceased.

Osaka saw Striker looking at it, and spoke. ‘The victim’s left side of her neck was torn right open. The explosion almost took her head off.’

Striker nodded. He moved carefully around the island, then crouched down low and gloved up with fresh latex. He snapped the material against his wrists, then carefully pulled back the edge of the plastic tarp. What he saw hit him hard. Damaged as the body was, identification was still possible.

The victim was Dr Sharise Owens.

Felicia made a surprised sound. ‘Is it her?’

Striker nodded.

‘Dear God,’ Osaka said. He closed his eyes and his face tightened. Moments later, he was on the cell with Acting Deputy Chief Laroche. He moved to one of the back rooms and closed the door for privacy.

Striker was glad for the distance. He took the time to study the body.

The first thing that he noticed was how much of the woman remained intact. Yes, she had taken damage from the percussive force; portions of pulverized flesh made that obvious. But the majority of her body remained whole. There was even a strap still hanging from one of her mangled arms. The condition of her body was surprising, given the force of the bomb. Striker determined she must have somehow been shielded from the worst of the blast.

Maybe by the heavy wood and granite from the kitchen island.

Minus the gaping meaty gash in her neck, Dr Sharise Owens looked identical to the picture the triage nurse had shown him from the hospital personnel records – long straight hair, dyed a lighter brown. High cheekbones. Lean and muscular build. She was even wearing a white hospital coat, though it was now soaked in blood from the breasts down and blackened on the left side.

Striker looked at the doctor’s coat. More specifically, at the fabric of the shoulder region. On it was the same medical emblem they had seen before. A caduceus – two snakes wrapped around a staff, wings extending from the top.

Red wings.

Striker pointed at the wings with his pen. ‘There it is – we were on the right track after all.’

Felicia nodded. ‘The tattoo our rave girl thought she saw.’

Striker examined the body a while longer, then covered it up. He stood up and looked out into the yard, where Corporal Summer was talking to a few members of the search team. On the deck, lying flat, were the remains of the kitchen window. It had been taped up completely, so it still held together well. Striker wondered if the bomber had done this to break the window quietly. It seemed like an awful lot of unnecessary work when a thrown spark plug would also have sufficed.

Perhaps there was another reason.

He detailed this oddity in his notebook.

As he put the book away, Corporal Summer returned from the backyard area into the kitchen. She saw them both and nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Detectives,’ she said, and there was a weariness in her voice.

With two ongoing explosion scenes to control, assess, and catalogue, Striker understood her lack of exuberance. She must have been exhausted. He turned and faced her. ‘You located part of the fusing system?’

She nodded. ‘An electrical one.’

Felicia asked, ‘Have your teams located any bomb parts at the first scene?’

Corporal Summer shook her head. ‘None yet, I’m afraid. But I still have crews sifting through the wreckage. It will take days. My fear is that we lost much of what we were looking for when the Fire Department put out the flames – so much evidence was washed down the sewers. The lab tests will tell us if there were any explosives residues on what was recovered.’

‘I know there’ll be residues,’ Striker said. ‘I just want to know what kind. Maybe it will give us something to go on.’

‘I understand that, and I’ve put a rush on the testing. Most of it’s being sent to private labs. But any true identification will still take at least forty-eight hours. There’s just no way around it.’

Striker understood the time issues. He scanned the room. On the eastern wall, where the window had been blown out, was a long black smear. He moved towards it and examined the discoloration. It looked like millions of tiny black dots. Like a shotgun blast.

‘Is this bomb residue?’ he asked.

Corporal Summer shook her head. ‘It’s not actually from the explosives – it’s carbon powder, a substance left over from the battery.’

‘So part of the fusing system,’ Felicia said.

‘Yes. And it’s already been swabbed for the lab.’

Striker looked around the room once more. ‘What about this haze? The smoke is the same colour as back at the toy shop, but I thought that military explosives usually give off a black smoke.’

Corporal Summer explained. ‘They do, usually; you’re right about that. This smoke is definitely a whiter colour. It signifies a cleaner burn – signalling that this was probably some form of commercial explosives.’

‘So not HME?’

‘No. Home-made explosives would be greyer in colour – usually.’

From the den, one member of the search and canvass crew called out that there were more possible components. Corporal Summer excused herself and left the kitchen. When she was gone, Striker turned to Felicia. Her eyes were focused on the kitchen island.

‘Any thoughts?’ he asked.

She gave him a dismal look. ‘Just the one question we all have – why?’

‘Learn that and we’ll find our suspect.’

‘That easy, huh?’

Striker laughed wearily. ‘This entire file’s like a tangled fishing line. It’s knotted and loopy, but if we follow the thread, we should end up on the other side.’ He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. ‘At the two explosion scenes, we got two dead women – both black and, more to the point, cousins. We also got one injured male, white, who is the ex-husband of our second victim.’

Felicia nodded. ‘An ex-husband who is still emotionally charged over Owens aborting their son. Also, somewhere out there is Solomon Bay – a violent ex-boyfriend with a restraining order against him.’