Because he had to know for sure. That was his nature.
“Washing out as a bomb tech was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Craig continued, “because I met Enolia.”
Alden pressed on, trying not to look at the gun. “Was it you who fought with him in the alley? Or Enolia?”
Craig scowled. “She spoke to him, and he upset her. She came into Mae’s office all flustered right before she had to speak. So I went out there to have a word.”
“Did you hit him with a book?”
Now Craig really looked surprised. “I happened to have Enolia’s book in my hand. It felt really good to hit him with it. It seemed fitting, you know? His nose started bleeding. He just put up his hands, begging me to stop. Didn’t even fight back. Coward. I got disgusted and left him alone.”
“And the pen exploded.”
“Not then, though I knocked it out of his hand.”
“Weren’t you worried it would explode? Since you’d tampered with it?” Alden wanted all the details. With luck, he would get to write about them.
Craig paused only a moment, then a note of pride crept into his voice. “I was so furious, I wasn’t even thinking about the battery when I hit Wayne. I’d tampered with it days before that. Or to be accurate, I swapped his battery with one I’d tinkered with while I waited for my chance. It’s amazing how many vulnerabilities they have. A little internal damage, a few copper particles inserted in the right spot, and you have a ticking time bomb—short circuit, thermal reaction, boom. I was starting to think it would never happen until it did.”
And the forensics team had spotted the tampering. Amazing.
Craig smiled, remembering. “I was lucky, really, that I wasn’t injured by my own handiwork. It must have exploded after I went back inside. Maybe when he tried to smoke it. The bookstore was so loud, nobody heard it. It was perfect.”
“Did you take the book with you?”
“I dumped the book in the recycling bin—is that where you found it? Enolia would’ve wondered why it was so beaten up. And I didn’t realize he’d die right then and someone would go looking.” Craig paused. “And now you know everything. So what am I going to do with you?”
Alden kind of wished he didn’t know anything. “You could let me leave, nice and quiet. I’m not the police.”
“No, but you know the police, don’t you? You and your friend Ms. Melander. I saw you two arrive. And of course, you’ll want to write about me, if what you do can be called writing.”
Zing! And on top of the insult, now Craig was talking about Roz. Alden didn’t like that at all.
“The vape pen could be written off as, I don’t know, vandalism,” Alden suggested, trying not to sound desperate. “A prank. And the car didn’t explode. I doubt you’ll get charged with much.”
His lie didn’t convince Craig, who shook his head. “I can’t let Enolia suffer for what I’ve done. The embarrassment. I have a real opportunity here to deflect attention. And a chance to inspire her one more time. And since I’d really rather you didn’t write about all the details, I think maybe the best thing is to take you with me. The question is, how do you want to go? Bullet first? Or do you want to feel the burn?”
What in the cockleshells is he talking about? Alden looked around, his skin going cold and prickly. Craig stood by the worktable, between Alden and the stairs. And given the deranged look in his eyes, talking Craig out of whatever he was planning seemed like a long shot.
A poor metaphor. Alden was trying not to get shot.
“What do you mean, feel the burn?” Alden asked.
Craig looked around his mildly messy apartment with satisfaction. At all the boxes. “I had a little C-4 left over. And I’ve always been good at wiring things. I’ve read a lot of thrillers, seen a lot of TV and movies. Why not do it in real life?”
“Do what?”
“Go out with a bang. Enolia doesn’t want me anymore. I’ve been working on this for weeks. I’m dying to execute my exit plan.” He made an amused sound, a weird whimpery laugh. “Dying.”
Alden took in the boxes all around them and swallowed. “Are you saying all these boxes are filled with explosives?”
Craig smiled. “Don’t be silly. That would be overkill. Let’s just say what I have is well-distributed.”
Alden quelled a creeping panic and looked around for some evidence Craig was telling the truth. That’s when he saw the yellow wires, here and there, in spots where the rugs weren’t covering the floor. He had no idea just how much explosive there was, but Craig seemed to think it was enough to go bye-bye.
“Or,” Craig continued, “since you lack enthusiasm, and I don’t want you interfering, I’m inclined to show mercy. End you fast. I’m a pretty good shot, and I can’t miss at this range.” He moved behind his computer, tapped a few keys with one hand while casually holding the gun in the other. An old-fashioned red spinner light leapt to life on the worktable, flashing its blood-red glow around the space, round and round and round. “That’s the one-minute warning. What’ll it be?”
Craig stood there, no more than five feet away, regarding Alden as a scientist might look at a grain of sand through a microscope—as if he were mildly interesting but not particularly important.
