“Those are Hamilton’s personal financials. The lab at Quantico flagged everything they thought potentially could help. I’m going through the corporations now.”

“How many corporations are we talking about?”

“We’re now up to five, and have to run each one. We’re not going to have most of the information until tomorrow.” He slid over another folder. “Those are phone records. We traced his cell phone. It’s in Tacoma, and it’s clear he hasn’t used it since the end of February. We found another phone under one of the corporations, different carrier, and we’ll have those records in the morning.”

“And his employer knew nothing about this? How did he keep his job for so long if he was never around?” Matt asked, half to himself.

“Our agents in Seattle followed up with his employer there. They indicate he always did his work on time and several of their employees work from home. No one knew he wasn’t in Tacoma, but that wouldn’t matter—he’s been working from here. He’s a programmer and apparently very good at his job. I think that’s another reason he set up these corporations—if he has the skills, he could easily move money around as needed.”

“What’s taking so long on the phone records?”

Ryder gave him a sly look. “Not everyone works 24-7. We put in the request this afternoon as soon as we identified the phone, and they promised within twenty-four hours. It’s either off or disabled, however, because we haven’t been able to trace it.”

Matt rubbed his eyes. Ryder was right. There were people in the world who only worked eight hours a day. Businesses that actually closed at night.

He started looking through the files when Michael Harris called.

“We’ve secured Hamilton’s house,” Michael said, “and we found something—in the trash a receipt from a hardware store for a dozen mason jars, cotton rags, wire and a forty-five-foot portable chain ladder. Paid cash yesterday, and none of that stuff is in the house.”

“What the hell for?”

“Molotov cocktails. A variation. Punch a hole in the lid, put gasoline or lighter fluid inside, soak the rag. They don’t have to be thrown. He could have bought candles elsewhere if he plans a slow burn, or he could be using them as grenades if he’s holed up somewhere.”

“And the ladder? Planning on scaling a wall?”

“More like getting down something. He’d have to attach it to a roof or ledge to use it.”

“Maybe his Plan B is to force Maddox out of the station, but I don’t see these grenades doing it. That building is solid. And I can’t imagine what he would do with the ladder, unless he has a completely different purpose for it.”

“Considering the structure of the police department, and the fact that it’s a blizzard out here, he can’t do much damage. He could have intended to use them at Maddox’s house if he returned—thrown through a window they would do serious damage. The initial explosion is minor in the scheme of things, but depending on the accelerant he’s using, the fire can easily spread.”