Snapped (11 page)

“It also seems pretty unlikely our suicidal gunman—who’d just gotten divorced and been diagnosed with cancer and was nearly broke, by the way—had some random guy valet his car for him while he hiked up to the top of that library to unleash his rage on everyone.” Jonah looked up the hill and nodded. “I was there, Sophie. There was
one
shooter on that roof, and he murdered
three people and wounded twenty-five others. All the bullets came from one rifle, except the bullet he fired through his own skull. The rifle has
one
person’s prints all over it: James Himmel’s. The shell casings collected from that rooftop have one person’s prints on them: James Himmel’s. The pistol he used to kill himself has one person’s prints on it: James Himmel’s. He did this on his own, Sophie. Why would he need an accomplice?”

Her arms dropped to her sides. Her chest ached. She couldn’t be hearing this.

“You don’t believe me.”

Jonah sighed. “Sophie …” He looked off toward the library. “It doesn’t add up. We’ve got one very angry and disturbed individual. One rifle. One source of deadly fire. Whatever messed-up goal he had when he went to the top of that building, he accomplished it alone. Where does the accomplice fit in?”

She looked toward the library. The lights were on, and the building glowed like a beacon at the top of the hill. She thought of the carnage that had happened there just a few short hours ago and shuddered.

“You should get home,” he advised, “get some sleep. You’re tired.”

And crazy
.

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. It was in his voice, his body language, the pity she saw in his eyes.

She swallowed a lump of frustration. He could chalk it up to nerves, or fatigue, or whatever he wanted, but Sophie knew she was right.

Now she just had to prove it.

“You mean to tell me this woman combed the campus looking for a parking space, pulled into a paid garage on Elm Street, then hauled her buns a quarter of a mile
uphill
to the registrar’s office, all inside of eleven minutes?”

In high heels
, Jonah could have added, but he didn’t.

The lieutenant’s look of disbelief was mirrored by the other guys at the table, including Chief Noonan, who’d shown up at this meeting specifically to hear Jonah’s new theory of the case.

Which was sounding a hell of a lot shakier than it had at two in the morning.

“The timing’s tight but doable,” Jonah said. “I did it myself, twice.” He didn’t mention that he’d conducted the reenactment in the middle of the night, fueled by about sixteen ounces of gas station coffee. “I also clocked the walk from the parking space where we recovered the Beetle to the library. Including the six flights of stairs, that walk takes thirteen minutes, at least. And I’ve got a long stride. Which means if she saw that car being parked, Himmel wasn’t the one behind the wheel.”

Reynolds shot a dismayed look at Noonan, who was sitting back in his chair silently.

“What else we got on the car?” Ric asked, taking some of the heat off Jonah. “Minh? You done running the prints yet?”

Their fingerprint expert looked even worse than Jonah this morning. His eyes were bloodshot and he was swigging coffee like it was water. After staying up half the night processing prints from Himmel’s motel room, he’d met Jonah at the police station at seven
A.M
. to go over the VW again.

“I’ve combed that thing top to bottom. Every print I have is consistent with Himmel.” He sent Jonah an exasperated look. “There was some mystery guy driving his car, he had to have been wearing gloves. Not exactly inconspicuous in hundred-degree heat.”

Impatient looks from around the table. No one wanted to listen to what, as Sophie had correctly pointed out, could be a hole in the case. The media spotlight was still on them, and now they had added pressure from a slew of attorneys representing injured students and—as of this morning—the family of the slain professor. The university and the police department were being sued left and right for failing to prevent Wednesday’s events and failing to respond in a timely manner—whatever that meant. The pressure was intense, and no one was looking forward to some new setback in the case, such as an unidentified accomplice. The department had an opportunity here, and every one of them knew it. When James Himmel put that gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, he provided all of them with an easy out. And
Noonan and Reynolds were tempted to take it—Jonah could see it in their eyes. Hell, he was tempted, too. But he couldn’t, not until he knew the truth. People were dead, and he couldn’t let that go by without getting all the answers.

“What’s his motive?” This from Sean, who at least looked to be considering the idea.

“The driver?” Jonah asked.

“Yeah, you’re talking about a team job now, right? Are you saying this driver’s just some unsuspecting schmuck who maybe took a little money to give Himmel a ride to the library and then ditch his car for him? Or are you talking conspiracy to commit murder?”

“I don’t know.”

Reynolds looked aggravated. “A conspiracy? Come on, we’re not talking about a couple of teens here. Himmel was thirty-seven. He didn’t need a buddy on this.”

Silence settled over the conference table.

“Anyway, his motive stands on its own,” Reynolds continued. “He’d been cut loose from the army. His wife had dumped him. He had money problems
and
he’d been given a virtual death sentence by some cancer center.” He ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “Throw in the fact that he’s a gun nut, and he’s the textbook candidate for one of these rampage shootings.”

Jonah sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “What if it wasn’t a rampage?”

Reynolds frowned. “What do you mean? He shot up twenty-eight people.”

“Yes, but a rampage implies a random burst of violence,” Jonah said. “I’m saying, what if it wasn’t random?”

“You’re suggesting this was a targeted hit.” Noonan leaned forward on his elbows.

“Why not? I mean, we were pretty quick to jump to the conclusion that this was another senseless school shooting. Maybe it wasn’t senseless at all.”

“Who’s the target?” Reynolds asked.

“I don’t know,” Jonah said. “We’ll have to investigate the victims more thoroughly.” And he was being diplomatic here. In truth, they hadn’t investigated the victims at all. They’d been too busy racing around trying to come up with an ID so Noonan could announce that they’d solved the case. And the shooter, now safely identified as some outsider who wasn’t even part of their community, was safely in hell, where he belonged.

This whole investigation had been a rush to judgment, and Jonah couldn’t believe it had taken a receptionist to point it out to him.

“You’re suggesting we blow up our own case theory and throw this town into an uproar on the basis of
one
witness account?” Reynolds leaned forward, scowling. “Who the hell is this girl, anyway?”

“Her name’s Sophie Barrett.”

“Who?” This from Noonan.

“Sophia Barrett.”

Noonan turned to Reynolds. “Why do I know that name?”

“She works at the Delphi Center,” Jonah said. “She—”

“She’s the girl from January,” Reynolds cut in. “That one who was kidnapped.”

“Who?” Noonan continued to look flummoxed.

“She was kidnapped from a bar up in Austin,” Ric
clarified. “Man who abducted her was responsible for several stabbing deaths—”

“The singer.” Noonan slapped the table. “I remember her now. She was all over the news.”

Reynolds turned to Jonah. “You don’t think this is another one of her stunts, do you?”

“Stunts?” Anger welled up in Jonah’s chest. “She was smashed in the head with a Maglite and thrown in the trunk of a car.”

“Maybe she’s doing this for media attention, hoping to get on TV again.” Reynolds glanced around the table. “You said she’s a singer, right? Maybe she’s trying to get discovered.”

Jonah’s fist curled into a ball.

“I’d say that’s unlikely.” Ric shot Jonah a look that said,
Cool it
. “But if you’re worried about her credibility, I’m happy to interview her, get a second take.”

Jonah bit his tongue, intensely aware that the chief was sitting in on this meeting and could have him suspended in about two seconds for insubordination. He was also intensely aware that he’d never had such a powerful urge to pop someone’s jaw.

Jonah glared at Reynolds. The man showed no leadership. In the army, there were colonels Jonah would have followed down the barrel of a cannon. He wouldn’t follow Reynolds around the block.

“Get Doyle to talk to her,” Noonan said. “She’s more likely to get a straight read. Where is she, anyway?”

“On campus,” Reynolds said, “flashing our suspect sketch and trying to figure out how Himmel got hold of those door codes.”

“Have her interview this girl. And Minh, go over that car again, make sure nothing matches any of the prints we got from that motel room. We get a phone dump on this guy?”

“He didn’t have one,” Sean reported. “Or at least he didn’t have a contract. He might have had a disposable phone, but if he did, we haven’t found it yet.”

“Keep looking. If he had a partner, they probably traded phone calls.”

“Will do, sir.”

“I’ll call Doyle in,” Reynolds said, clearly unhappy about the new direction the investigation had taken. “Sooner we check out this girl’s story, sooner we can put this thing to bed.”

“Let’s get to it, people.” Noonan stood up and pointed a finger at Jonah. “In the meantime, none of this leaves this room.” He glanced around the table sternly. “I hear one word on the news about some mystery accomplice, I’m going to have someone’s badge.”

The Delphi Center was bigger than Allison had expected, and she’d expected big.

She steered her department-issue Buick up the winding drive and stared with wonder at the Parthenon-like structure at the top of the hill. It looked like something she’d expect to see on the Mall in Washington, not nestled in the hills of central Texas.

She parked in a visitor’s space and worked on not looking like an awestruck kid as she hiked up the steps and passed through a pair of Greek columns. Corinthian? Ionic? Allison had a head for details, but her long-ago “Survey of Western Art” course eluded her now.

Pulling open the tinted glass door, she took a moment to feel the air-conditioning. Her eyes adjusted, and she noticed she was being sized up by a dark-skinned security guard and a smiling receptionist. Allison recognized the woman from the quadrangle, where she’d been pinned down behind a statue on the day of the shooting.

“You must be Detective Doyle. I’m Sophie.”

The meet-and-greet was interrupted by some hammering down the hall. Allison peeled off her sunglasses and approached the desk.

“Sorry I’m late,” Allison said. “I underestimated the drive out here. Very winding highway.” She tucked the shades into the pocket of the lightweight blazer she wore to conceal her holster.

“No problem. I’ll just need to see some ID.”

Allison dug out her creds as a delivery guy walked up behind her and handed an electronic clipboard over the counter. Sophie signed for a package and then entered Allison’s badge number into her computer. She handed over a visitor’s pass.

“This goes on your lapel,” Sophie said as she stood up to collect a stack of cardboard mailers from the edge of her desk. “Just these today, Leo.” She handed them over with a smile that could have sold toothpaste. “You have a great weekend.”

“You, too, Sophie.”

She turned to Allison. “The Delphi Center. How may I help you?”

It took Allison a moment to realize she was speaking into a receiver clipped to her ear.

“One moment, please, while I see if he’s in.” She pressed a button on the phone and looked at Allison
again. “Ready? I’ve reserved us a conference room.” Then back to the caller: “I’m sorry, Dr. Snyder’s in a meeting. Would you like to leave a message?” Pause. “Let me put you through to his voice mail. The Delphi Center. How may I help you?”

Allison watched her field a few more calls. She had one of those velvety phone voices that projected calm even amid a flurry of activity.

A dour woman appeared at the desk and looked Allison up and down. Sophie handed her the headset.

“Clovis is out sick today, and Lemberger and Snyder are still at lunch.” Sophie looked at her watch. “A detective out of Harris County has been calling all morning to pester Mia about some lab work, but she’s running behind. If he calls again, just tell him she’s in a meeting and route him to voice mail. I’ll be back at one.”

The woman mumbled something that may or may not have been friendly, and Sophie nodded for Allison to follow her down a long corridor, away from the construction noise.

“You guys renovating?” Allison asked.

“Expanding our evidence room. You’d never believe how much stuff comes in.”

Actually, Allison would. With some of the nation’s top forensic scientists on staff, the Delphi Center had a reputation that rivaled Quantico’s. If it weren’t for the hefty price tag, every law enforcement agency in the country would be sending its stuff here.