Snapped (15 page)

“Well?” Sophie’s eyebrows tipped up.

“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Oh, come on. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He didn’t answer that, and their breakfasts arrived before she had a chance to push the point.

“One Early Riser, side of links. One oatmeal.” The server slid a platter in front of Jonah and a bowl in front of Sophie.

“I thought you said you were hungry.” He eyed her breakfast as he doused his with Tabasco sauce.

“I am.”

“You realize that’s the most boring thing on the menu, right?”

She picked up her spoon. “It’s low fat.”

“You just went jogging.”

“Yes, and you may have noticed I’m five-eleven.”

“So?”

“So, people use words like
statuesque
to describe me. If they mean like Claudia Schiffer, I’m fine with it. Lady Liberty, not so much.”

Jonah watched her dig into her cereal. It had never occurred to him that she thought of herself as anything but smokin’ hot, which she was. Women baffled him sometimes—which was probably why he hadn’t been in
a relationship in close to three years. Not that he planned to tell her that.

“And anyway, do you realize what goes into those processed meats?” She nodded at his ham-and-cheese omelet, which was accompanied by three greasy sausages. “It’s
so
bad for you. I shudder to think of it.”

“Then don’t. You don’t want to know how your laws or your sausages are made.” He stabbed a link with his fork. “That’s what my granddad always said, anyway.”

“What else about the case?” she asked. “You said ‘questions’ plural.”

“Do you remember any other cars parked there along the sidewalk? We’re trying to run down vehicle owners who may have seen something but haven’t been interviewed.”

“You mean to corroborate my story?”

Instead of confirming this, he focused on his food.

“I don’t remember,” she said. “I was in a hurry. Maybe you could talk to the shop owners.”

“Been there, done that.”

“And?”

He looked at her.

“I know what I witnessed, Jonah. A
green
VW. Why can’t you just take me at my word?”

“Maybe it’s not up to me.”

She shook her head. “I know what this is about. I’m not an idiot.”

“Why do you have this chip on your shoulder?”

“I don’t have a chip.”

“You definitely have a chip.”

“Look, I come from a family of doctors. My dad, my two brothers. And then there’s me.”

“The beautiful daughter who works for a world-renowned forensic lab?”

She made a face. “Thanks for the compliment, but let’s get real. I answer phones. It’s not exactly open-heart surgery.”

“It’s an important job.”

“It’s an important
place
,” she corrected. “Anyway, you’re changing the subject. We were talking about what this is really about.”

“What is what really about?”

“Your chief wants this case closed, am I right? Then we can all talk about how this was just some wacko who luckily is dead now. And we can all sleep fine at night, knowing our little town is safe again. Parents can send their kids back to campus, right along with their tuition dollars. Move along now, people, nothing to see here.”

Close this case and let these folks get on down the road
.

It was so similar to what his dad had said, Jonah could hardly believe he was hearing it.

“Am I right?”

He just looked at her.

“Here’s the thing, Jonah. I
can’t
sleep.” She leaned forward and looked at him, and those gray eyes were vulnerable. That vulnerability got to him because she so rarely let it show. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, Jonah. Not since January.”

Something twisted in his gut. He hated what had happened to her. He hated even more what
would
have happened if he’d been even an hour longer getting her away from that psychopath. She’d be dead right now. And the world would be a much dimmer place.

And suddenly he knew Ric was right. This woman
had some serious issues. She was probably dealing with posttraumatic stress syndrome, and the last thing he should do was take advantage of her trust.

“There’s something more going on here than some crazed gunman who shot up a school. I can
feel
it.” She held up a hand. “And before you say anything about psychic mumbo jumbo, let me just tell you this: I
know
you feel things, too. Call it cop instinct or gut instinct or whatever you want, but I know that’s how you solved
my
case and put a very dangerous person behind bars. So don’t talk to me about corroboration and lack of evidence and whatever else. There
is
something more, and I sure as hell hope I’m not the only one willing to see it.”

Jonah didn’t answer that.

She leaned back and looked at him expectantly.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you going to pursue this?”

“I told you, it’s not up to me.”

She looked disappointed in him. And he didn’t blame her because it was a bullshit, cop-out answer, and they both knew it.

The fountain in front of the library had become a makeshift memorial to the victims of Wednesday’s attack. Allison had passed by multiple times during the course of her interviews with faculty and maintenance workers who might be able to shed some light on the shooter’s connection to the university. That had been during the daytime, though. Now it was Sunday night, and she found herself seeing the memorial in a whole new light.

Allison stood there for a moment, just looking. It was
late. She needed to get back to her desk and catch up on the weekend’s paperwork. But the soft glow of candles captivated her, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She approached the fountain.

Three simple wooden crosses displaying the victims’ names had been erected by the Campus Christians. Flower bouquets were heaped at the base of each, and votives glimmered in the humid summer night. Allison stopped in front of Jodi Kincaid’s cross, where someone had left a white teddy bear holding a light blue baby rattle.

A lump formed in Allison’s throat. She thought about the baby who would never be born, or grow up, or go to high school and maybe college someday. Her gaze moved to the photograph of Eric Emrick with his Ultimate Frisbee team. A blue Frisbee sat next to it, covered with signatures—his teammates, she guessed. Sadness swelled in her chest as she surveyed the rest of the mementos. It was a sadness she’d been feeling for days, but the longer she looked, the more it gave way to anger.

Who had done this to her town? To this peaceful campus where people came to expand their minds? Who could do such a thing
here
, in the place she’d always thought was immune to the sort of heartless violence that plagued the big cities to the north and south of her? She’d become a cop here to get to know people, to be part of a community instead of just some anonymous person in uniform. She’d expected her job to be protecting neighborhoods, and keeping drugs out of children’s hands, and pulling over drunken college kids before they had a chance to hurt someone.

She hadn’t expected
this
.

A flicker of red appeared on the edge of the fountain. It danced over the water before disappearing into the darkness of the quadrangle. A laser pointer? Allison glanced behind her and saw the faint red line beaming down from the top of the library.

She turned to look at the south quadrangle, where a man was crouched on the ground, holding a heavy-duty flashlight. Jonah Macon. This would be the bullet trajectory test she’d heard about at this morning’s task force meeting. The lieutenant had told Jonah to forget about it; they didn’t have the time or the budget to run tests to prove what they already knew.

Jonah had nodded respectfully and dropped the subject, which should have been Allison’s first clue that he—like so many cops she knew, including herself—didn’t like to take no for an answer.

She tromped across the sidewalk to join him as he knelt beside a laptop computer.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He didn’t look up, so she stepped closer and peered over his shoulder. On the screen was a digital simulation of the buildings surrounding the quadrangle. Jonah tapped away at some keys while Allison’s gaze followed the red laser beam from the base of the statue to the top of the library.

“Who’s up there?”

“No one.”

“I’m guessing that buddy of yours from Delphi? Scott Black?”

Jonah glanced up at her. “Scott’s not here.” Then back down at his computer. “I’m not here. And
you
definitely shouldn’t be here.”

He picked up a walkie-talkie and stood up. “Okay, last one.”

“Roger that.”

The red beam vanished and Allison glanced up at the rooftop. Soon another beam shone down from the far corner. This one hit the bronze horse statue behind her, making a red dot on its chest.

“Little higher,” Jonah said into his radio. “Higher. About another inch. Okay, got it.”

The beam settled on a little dent in the metal.

“Hold it there,” Jonah said. He pulled a laser pointer out of his pocket and aimed it at the indention made by the bullet, then directed it toward a concrete bench just a few feet away.

“You’re thinking a ricochet?” she asked.

“Yep.”

Allison picked up the flashlight and shone it on the bench but didn’t see any chinks in the stone.

“You won’t find it. The bullet ended up in Jodi Kincaid’s neck. How tall are you?”

“Five-four, why?”

“She was five-two. Here, stand there.” He walked over and positioned her on top of an X that was still visible on the grass. It had been made with spray paint by CSIs several days ago. Then he went back to the statue and aimed the laser. A red dot settled on Allison’s collarbone.

“Bingo.” Jonah crouched down and typed some more notes on the computer. “You can move now.”

“We all set?” the guy on the other end of the radio asked.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.”

Allison rested her hands on her hips and watched him. “Not that I don’t enjoy a covert laser light show as much as the next guy, but what exactly is the point of all this?”

He didn’t look up from the computer.

Allison glanced around impatiently. “I mean, does anyone seriously think some mystery person was out here picking off victims from behind a tree or something while everyone was focused on the library?”

“No.”

“So, how does this prove anything?”

“It doesn’t.”

She stared at him, and he kept tapping away. She could tell by the intent look on his face that tonight’s little experiment had revealed something of interest. Frustration bubbled up. Yes, this was her first homicide case, but she’d been a cop for years and she was tired of being treated like a rookie.

“Listen, damn it, I’m on this task force, too, and I want to know what’s going on.”

Jonah finally stopped what he was doing and looked up. “I’m interested in his aim.”

“What about it?”

“Two head shots. Instant kills. Then a shot that pings off a statue, ends up hitting a pregnant woman in the throat.”

“You mean he didn’t mean to kill her?”

“Maybe not.”

Allison felt a twinge of relief, as if somehow his intention made the slightest bit of difference to Jodi Kincaid’s husband or her little girl.

“But he meant to kill the student and the professor?”

“I don’t know what he meant to do. If he was around, maybe I could ask him.”

Allison rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the library. She noticed a shadowy figure moving toward them across the quadrangle. As he got close to the flashlight, she confirmed her guess that it was Scott Black, the Delphi firearms expert whom she’d met once before at the police station. They traded nods.

“You get what you need?”

“Yeah.” Jonah shut down the laptop, zipped it into a backpack, and stood up. “All fifty-three shots accounted for.”

“Fifty-three? I didn’t realize he fired so many,” Allison said.

“Lotta rounds,” Scott stated. “I’m starting to see your point.”

“Fifty-three shots and only three kills, and one of those was probably unintentional. What does that tell you?” Jonah turned to look at Allison.

“He has crappy aim?”

“This guy went to Army Sniper School at Fort Benning,” Scott said. “Same place Jonah went.”

“Maybe he didn’t do so well there,” Allison suggested.

Scott shook his head. “Just to get in the door, you have to have a hell of a lot better than a six percent success rate.”

“One shot, one kill,” Jonah said. “That’s the sniper motto.”

“Maybe his aim was off because of his cancer,” Allison said. “Or maybe he’d been drinking or taking drugs.”

“Maybe,” Jonah said.

“We get his tox screen back yet?”

“Not yet.”

“So it might come back and show that he was zoned out on pain meds or something.”

“It might.”

But she could tell he didn’t believe it. He believed there was something more going on here and they’d barely scratched the surface.

Sophie pulled up to Jonah’s address and stared. It wasn’t at all like she’d pictured. For one thing, she hadn’t pictured a house, but an apartment. And for another, she hadn’t pictured anything so homey. It was a 1950s tract house—similar to all the others in this working-class neighborhood—with a wide front porch, a neatly trimmed lawn, and a hedge of monkey grass lining the sidewalk.

Sophie got out of the car and nervously approached the front door. It was a quiet Sunday night. No parties, no traffic noise. Just the bark of a dog in the distance as she walked up the sidewalk and inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass. The blue Chevy pickup in the driveway told her Jonah was home, but she had no idea if he was awake.

Or alone.

A television flickered behind the blinds, and she decided it was a good sign. He was home. And probably by himself, because if he’d had a woman in there, they’d likely be in the bedroom by this time of night. At least Sophie knew
she
would be if she were with Jonah. Not that she ever would be. In fact, after tomorrow it was doubtful he’d ever talk to her again, much less have her over to spend the night.