4 Shot Off The Presses (11 page)

I let Eliot drive while I busily texted Fish during the ten-minute ride.

“Take Gratiot down, not I-94,” I instructed him.

“I’m not an idiot,” Eliot clenched his jaw.

“I didn’t say you were,” I said irritably. “It’s just that you’re not used to driving to a crime scene.”

“I’m a private investigator on the side,” Eliot reminded me.

“You go to a lot of crime scenes in your capacity as a private investigator on the side?” He was starting to wear on me – or maybe it was just the situation. Either way, I was pretty much teetering on a precipice with the possibility of tumbling over into bitchy at any second.

“More since I met you,” Eliot replied grimly. I had a feeling I was starting to irritate him, too, which was completely ridiculous.

Once we got down to 12 Mile and Gratiot, Eliot glanced around. “Where do you want me to park?”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, I really want to know where I should park.”

“There should be some form of command center being set up,” I said, leaning forward to glance around the area. “Park in that liquor store’s parking lot.”

“Is that because you feel like drinking?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” I conceded. “You’re driving me to it.”

“Right back at you.”

Eliot maneuvered into the parking lot and killed his engine. He turned to me expectantly. “Now what?”

“Now? Now I wander over there to see if I can see down.”

“Won’t that piss the cops off?”

“It’s what I live for.”

“Don’t I know
it.”

“You don’t have to come,” I reminded Eliot. “You can wait here.”

“I’m coming.”

I couldn’t figure out why Eliot was so adamant about the situation, but he clearly wasn’t going to give on this particular subject. I shrugged. I didn’t really care either way.

Eliot followed me across the exit ramp from the freeway to 12 Mile, which had been shut down at the source by the sheriff’s department – with a little assist from the Michigan State Police, if I had to guess. I led Eliot to the sidewalk on top of the bridge. I could see a myriad of lights flashing below me, but I couldn’t quite make out what was happening down below because it was too dark.

“You see anything?”

“No, it’s too dark,” I grumbled. “I can see one of the photographer’s cars down there, though,” I pointed towards the median. “At least we’ll get some decent pictures.”

“There’s two ambulances down there, too,” Eliot said. “It doesn’t look like they’re in any big hurry. Maybe no one was hurt.”

“Or the victim is already dead.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“I’m a realist.”

“You dress up and play
Star Wars
games on your Kinect. That’s not a lifestyle based in realism.”

“Why are you riding me?”

Eliot looked surprised – and then chagrined – by the question. “Sorry. It’s just been a weird couple of hours.”

“You don’t have to be here,” I reminded him.

“I already told you I’m staying,” he snapped.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Excuse me, the two of you are going to have to move along. This is a crime scene.”

I swung around and frowned at the sheriff’s deputy standing in the empty exit ramp behind me. “We’re just looking.”

“This is a crime scene,” the deputy repeated.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ma’am, you need to move along.”

“We’re not hurting anyone,” I shot back.

“I’ve been ordered to clear the scene.” The deputy was using what I’m sure he considered his sternest voice. I wasn’t impressed.

“The scene is down there,” I pointed. “Go nuts.”

“We’re searching the area up here, too.”

“For what? Shell casings?”

The deputy narrowed his eyes. “Why would you ask that question?”

“Because I’m a reporter for The Monitor and this is the third serial shooting in the last few weeks,” I answered honestly.

“They’re setting up a media area down in the parking lot at the corner of Gratiot and 12 Mile,” the deputy said briskly.

“Great. I’ll alert the media.”

The deputy took a step towards us but I noticed a figure move in behind him and stop him with a hand on his arm. Even though it was dark, I recognized the silhouette.

“I’ll handle Ms. Shaw, Deputy Bryson,” Jake said calmly. “Why don’t you go and see if you can find any witnesses at the liquor store.”

“Yes sir,” the deputy actually clapped the heels of his shoes together and then moved away – but not before he shot me an angry look.

“Made a new friend I see,” Jake said dryly.

“That’s a daily occurrence, what can I say?”

Jake stepped forward, nodding at Eliot as he did. “Kane.”

“Sheriff Farrell,” Eliot nodded back.

“You’re now going out on stories with Avery?” There was a coldness to Jake’s voice.

“We were together when she got the tip,” Eliot shrugged easily. “I figured she would be safer if I brought her.”

“Safer from what?” Jake asked.

“Herself,” Eliot responded.

Jake smiled, despite the effort he was exerting to remain stone faced. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“You know I can hear the two of you, right?”

“Hear? Yes,” Jake said. “Listen? That’s a whole other thing.”

“Who is the victim?” I decided to change the subject.

“I’ll give you his name, but I don’t expect you to publish it for at least three hours,” Jake cautioned.

“Agreed.”

“His name is Lance Plimpton, standard spelling. He’s a 17-year-old senior from Roseville High School.”

I gulped. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Shot?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the same shooter?” It was a stupid question, but it had to be asked.

“It’s the same caliber of bullet,” Jake sighed. “We won’t be able to confirm that for sure until tomorrow.”

“It would be a heck of a coincidence to have another freeway shooter in this area,” Eliot mused.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Sometimes freeway shootings like this become a rash of crimes.”

“Like one shooting inspires someone else to do the same thing?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that’s what happened here?” Eliot turned to Jake.

“No,” Jake shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like that.”

We all heard the staccato sound of a woman’s heels on a hard surface before we saw the figure moving from the neon lights of the liquor store parking lot to the muted dark of the highway overpass. I notice Jake stiffen when he realized who was coming.

“Sheriff Farrell, I’ve been looking for you,” Christine Brady said as she stepped up on the sidewalk. “I thought you were going to keep me informed?”

When Christine realized Jake wasn’t alone, she plastered a fake smile on her face. When she saw just whom he was talking to, that smile faded pretty quickly. “Ms. Shaw, why am I not surprised?”

“Because if you actually changed your facial expression it would cause lines on your face and you would need Botox?” Seriously, I can’t explain why I do it either. It’s a sickness.

Christine wrinkled her nose. “Sheriff Farrell, I thought everyone was on the same page about certain media representatives getting special treatment?” The woman’s tone was brittle.

“He wasn’t giving me special treatment,” I shot back. “He was trying to clear me from the scene – and I was putting up a fight. I’m bitchy like that.”

If Eliot was surprised by my lie, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded in agreement. “Sheriff Farrell just asked us to vacate the scene.”

Jake cast a sidelong glance in Eliot’s direction. He seemed surprised at the backup. “I told them that we were creating a media hub down the street in the parking lot of the strip mall.”

Christine glanced at all three of us dubiously. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because then you wouldn’t be able to ask questions like that out loud in an attempt to make others think you have some keen insight into the human psyche,” I interjected. Yes, it’s a sickness, I tell you.

“Perhaps you should make your way down to the media staging center,” Christine suggested coldly.

I should have done what she told me to, but something stopped me. “You’re not a cop,” I reminded her.

“So?”

“You have no authority over me,” I added.

“No, but Sheriff Farrell does.”

Jake sighed. He was being pushed into a corner here. Eliot didn’t allow me to make that corner any tighter. “I’ll take her down there,” he said, gripping my elbow and pulling me back towards the liquor store.

Christine focused on Eliot for the first time. “And you are?”

“Eliot Kane,” he held out his hand in greeting, never removing his other hand from my elbow.

Christine took it, never moving her eyes from Eliot’s handsome face. “And why are you here?”

“I drove Avery,” Eliot replied easily.

“Why?”

“Because she was at my place when we got the news.” Eliot’s tone was affable and yet standoffish at the same time. It was quite a feat.

“So, you’re involved with Ms. Shaw?” Christine pressed.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Eliot answered cooly.

“I’m just curious about Ms. Shaw,” Christine said carefully. “She seems to have no limit of men willing to jump in and protect her.” With those words, Christine cast a knowing glance in Jake’s direction.

To his credit, Eliot didn’t take the bait. “She’s does have a certain something about her. It’s like a weird mix of snark, humor and childishness.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t forget the hints of loyalty, the constant fashion fails and the never ending need to prove that she’s right,” Jake supplied.

“That, too,” Eliot agreed.

Christine looked irritated by the exchange more than anything else. “I guess you have to be a man to see these wonderful traits.”

“I guess so,” Eliot agreed.

Thankfully, for all four of us, a tow truck traveling down the exit ramp caught all of our attention. I felt Eliot stiffen beside me when the car that Lance Plimpton had been driving came into view.

The front end was mangled from running into the base of the bridge after Plimpton had been shot. The windshield was intact, except for a round bullet hole about a foot up on the driver’s side. Even in the dark, I could see the dark stain on the gray fabric of the seat where Plimpton had been sitting.

“I knew it,” Eliot swore furiously.

Jake turned to him in surprise. “Knew what?”

“That’s a black Ford Focus,” Eliot said.

Jake’s face hardened. “You’re saying . . .”

“What?” I was starting to get annoyed. The fact that Eliot had figured out something important that I had missed was both impressive and infuriating.

“I knew the location wasn’t going to be coincidence,” Eliot said. “I just had a feeling.”

“This is the exit she would use,” Jake nodded.

“Who would use?” They were both bugging the shit out of me now.

“You,” Eliot said simply.

“Me?” I still didn’t get it.

“It’s the same car you drive, Avery,” Jake pointed out. “The same color. The kid was shot at the same time you should have been coming home from work.”

“Wait you’re saying . . .”

“You were probably the intended target,” Jake supplied harshly.

“Who would anyone want to shoot me?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Christine replied, quickly looking away when Jake shot her a dark look.

“Who have you interviewed in the last few days?” Jake asked the question.

“I’m not telling you that,” I scoffed, although I wasn’t feeling as sure about myself as my voice implied.

“She went over and talked to some secretary at that insurance office where the first victim worked on Saturday,” Eliot replied.

“Tattletale.”

“And then, of course, there’s Turner,” Eliot added.

Jake’s face looked like it had been carved out of granite it was so hard. “Yeah, I know.”

“Or,” Eliot blew out a sigh. “It could just be because she’s been the one writing the stories. She doesn’t necessarily have to have pissed someone off in person.”

“Yeah, she pisses people off just by existing,” Jake agreed. “She shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Eliot nodded. “Protecting her is like a second job these days.”

“That’s another one of her special personality traits,” Jake agreed, trying for a wry smile that came off as more of a grimace than anything else.

“I’m standing right here!”