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Chapter 1197: Explosion, and Bad News from New York
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 20:00:04 +0000 UTC“Cutting off ears symbolizes refusing to listen. Cutting out tongues means silencing others. So blinding someone represents willful ignorance,” Jack explained after giving his report.
Jubal was silent for a long moment before finally asking, “But why kidnap the mayor’s wife? She’s not exactly innocent, but she doesn’t seem central to any of this.”
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Even Brad Smith—the mayor himself—couldn’t say. Greg Hammond accused him of negligence, of turning a blind eye to Griffin Coal Power’s abuses. Then he blinded him and took his wife.”
Jack truly had no idea what the Hammond brothers would do next. All Jubal could do was urge the state police and highway patrol to tighten checkpoints and monitor major roads for any sign of the mayor’s vehicles.
But before Jack and JJ could return to Griffin’s house, Jubal called again, this time directing them to a gallery in a Birmingham suburb. A bomb had just gone off.
By the time Jack and JJ arrived, the FBI’s local ERT and bomb squad had already sealed the area.
Flashing their badges, they crossed the perimeter and met up with Jubal. “How bad is it?” Jack asked.
“Four dead on the spot,” Jubal said grimly. “One staff member, two customers… and the bomber, confirmed to be Linda Smith—the kidnapped mayor’s wife.”
Jack’s face tightened. “No injured?”
When Jubal confirmed, Jack was visibly surprised. He’d seen his share of bombings. From one look at the scene, he could usually estimate the blast strength.
The gallery was on the ground floor of a three-story brownstone, maybe one or two thousand square feet at most.
Though the storefront was trashed and the street-facing glass windows shattered, a sedan parked directly in front of the entrance still had its outward-facing windows intact—only the ones facing the explosion were blown out.
Combined with intel about the Hammond brothers' use of nitrobenzene and sodium chlorate, and the fact that the bomb had been strapped to a vest, Jack quickly deduced the blast wasn’t especially powerful.
The evidence matched. Shops just a block away had intact windows. The building’s structure was unharmed.
When Jack reached the gallery’s entrance, he noticed the inward-facing door of the sedan had chunks of rebar and triangle iron embedded in it—makeshift shrapnel. Now he understood.
The Hammond brothers had packed the bomb vest with additional fragments to amplify its damage. Dirty and vicious.
“What’s the deal with this gallery?” Jack asked as Alice walked over, tablet in hand.
Because if all they wanted was vengeance, they could’ve killed Linda Smith in front of her husband. There was no need for this complex suicide bomb.
“This gallery is also owned by the Griffin family,” Alice said, handing Jack the tablet. “As you know, art investments are great for laundering money and avoiding taxes.”
“Aubrey and Hannah went back to Blue Springs to speak with some of the original plaintiffs. A few of them were former Griffin Coal Power employees.
They testified in court that they couldn’t even get paid for sick leave while the Griffin family was spending fortunes on fine art.”
“So this was a statement,” Jack muttered. “But it’s clear the Hammond brothers have escalated. They’re willing to kill innocents now.”
Jubal turned toward Jack. “Thoughts?”
“That bomb vest had to be remotely triggered, right?” Jack asked.
Jubal paused, then nodded. “Yeah. They could force Linda to walk in wearing it—but they couldn’t force her to press the detonator herself.”
Then he caught on. “I’ll tell ERT to look for phone fragments. They probably used a phone to trigger it remotely.”
“No need,” Alice said, glancing around. “I can track any phone that was active during the explosion using the nearest cell tower.”
“Good thing this isn’t downtown New York, or tracing it would’ve taken longer than just sifting through the wreckage.”
“I need to take a call,” Jack said, flashing his phone as he stepped away.
It was Castle again—and his voice was heavy with sorrow. He delivered bad news: Roy Montgomery, the captain of NYPD’s 12th Precinct and Beckett’s commanding officer, had died.
The news stunned Jack.
He hadn’t interacted much with the stern, bald African-American captain—barely more than a nodding acquaintance—but he knew how close Montgomery had been to Beckett.
Their relationship mirrored Jack’s own with Rossi. Montgomery had been instrumental in Beckett’s rise through a male-dominated department. Without his backing, she might never have become a detective.
Before Jack could ask more, JJ rushed over. “Jack, Alice tracked the phone that triggered the bomb. It’s still active—on the other side of the city.”
Everything’s coming down at once, Jack thought grimly, cursing under his breath as he headed for the Suburban. Into the phone, he told Castle, “Stay close to Beckett. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back in New York soon.”
“They’re on Maple Avenue, heading deeper into the city—not out,” Alice reported from the back seat, eyes on her tablet.
Next to her, Aubrey scrambled to put on a bulletproof vest, grumbling, “I don’t get it. Why didn’t they turn off the phone?”
“Because it’s a burner,” Jack said flatly. “They didn’t think we could track it via cell tower triangulation.”
His mind was swirling, but he forced himself to focus on the case.
“If they haven’t left town, they’re probably looking for their next target. Alice, what’s along their current route?”
“Uh… next block has a dry cleaner and a grocery store. One more block is a restaurant and—wait—a law firm.”
Aubrey froze. “Griffin’s lawyer!”
“Hold on…” Alice quickly checked the database. “Andy Witherspoon. That’s the firm.”
“Alert nearby patrols to seal off the streets and evacuate civilians,” Jack said, flipping the switch for the siren and slamming his foot on the gas.
