Taking Liberty by Keith Houghton

and we returned to Cornsilk’s room. Asked the cops to clear out while we looked the place over. The first few hours following a homicide are vital, with the likelihood of an apprehension rapidly diminishing thereafter. The freezing water had woken me up to the fact I had a job to do.
     
    I wanted to find something to point to where Cornsilk might be, right now. I wanted to catch him and make him pay for murdering Hillyard in cold blood.
     
    I started with the items Rae had told me about on the phone.
     
    There were several plastic soda bottles in the closet, all empty. A drum of wire and a reel of silver duct tape on a shelf, together with a pair of cutters, a soldering iron and various plastic clips. The tools of Snakeskin’s trade. Mindful of booby-traps, I lifted the lid on a plastic box, to find it full of micro-switches and other electronic stuff, including high-charge batteries like the kind used to power camcorders.
     
    Down on the carpet I spotted a dusting of a white sugar-like substance. Too grainy to be cocaine. I got on my haunches and gathered a sample into a small heap. Picked up a pinch between thumb and index finger and rubbed the tiny crystals together to cause friction. Something caustic stung at my nose.
     
    “Traces of ammonium in here,” I called to Rae, who was out in the bedroom, taking Cornsilk’s room apart.
     
    “I thought you said he preferred thermite.”
     
    “He does. Or did. Today’s blast blew that boat to smithereens. I guess he’s evolved his MO to include fertilizer bombs.”
     
    Save the incendiaries for close-quarters. Upscale to higher energy explosives for bigger targets.
     
    Officer Hillyard had stood no chance.
     
    I shuddered at the thought of finding the boat first, or even Rae getting to it before any of us.
     
    As with all bombers, Cornsilk’s methods of murder and madness were indiscriminate.
     
    “According to the brochure, Minky’s Charters is based in Whittier,” Rae called.
     
    “Whittier? Where’s that at?”
     
    “A short drive south from Anchorage, by the looks of things.”
     
    The most accessible Alaskan airport from anywhere in the continental US. If Snakeskin had flown into Anchorage, he’d picked up the ingredients for the fertilizer bomb in Whittier. Any old hardware store would do. No way he’d risk carrying bomb-making ingredients on a commercial flight. He’d bought the stuff in Whittier, loaded it on the boat and brought it to Kodiak – with a view to a kill.
     
    “Any signs of a return flight ticket, Rae?”
     
    “Not that I can see. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. My guess is, if he has one, he has it with him.”
     
    The BOLO would stop Snakeskin using it.
     
    I rinsed my hands in the bathroom sink and dried them on a fluffy white towel. Leaned against the worktop and thought about the close shave I’d had in Sanibel, caught in Snakeskin’s deadly spider’s web. Cornsilk had taken me by surprise. Hit me with a Taser. I’d woken to find myself strapped to a chair in the middle of a complex network of wires spanning the living room in Jack’s place. An incendiary device barely feet from my face. Crisscrossing cables connected to micro switches. A timer counting down. No way out. I’d faced certain incineration. That was until Jack Heckscher – aka Jacob Klaussner – had come to the rescue at the last minute, foiling Snakeskin’s plan.
     
    Rae appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Any progress?”
     
    “Aside from bomb-making equipment, nothing. You?”
     
    “I turned out all his pockets. Practically ruined his suitcase pulling the lining out. I did find this.” She held up a booklet.
     
    “A road map?”
     
    “Not just any ordinary road map. Come with me and you’ll see what I mean.”
     
    Back in the bedroom, Rae unfolded the concertinaed booklet and spread it out across the bed. It was big. At least three feet by four. A driver’s map of the USA. Each individual State color-coded, with key