„Right. So what?“
Abe leaned his hip against the counter, lifted his shoulder in a shrug. „So, you obviously know why we’re here. We’re looking for the guy who popped a few and who’s getting ready to pop a few more. We picked your store because you host a marksmanship competition and we’re hoping you’ll cooperate and give us the list of entries without making us go to all the trouble of getting a warrant.“
The Sherman tank got smug. „Get a warrant.“
Abe sighed. „I was hoping you’d be reasonable.“
„He will be. Give the man the list, Ernie.“ A tiny old woman appeared from the back of the store, her arm in a sling. „I’m Diana Givens, the owner of this store. This is Ernie, my nephew. He’s been helping me run things while I was laid up.“ She extended her uninjured hand and Abe shook it. „I saw the press conference, Detective. I know who you are and why you’re here.“ She turned to Ernie. „Get the folder from the upright cabinet in the office. Now, Ernie,“ she snapped and Ernie did her bidding, slouching and muttering all the way. „Damn boy thinks he’s the next president of the NRA,“ Givens muttered. „I run a clean place here, Detectives. I obey gun sale laws and run all buyers through the system. I don’t think it does a damn to stop crime, but I obey the law. I’ll cooperate with you however I can.“
„Then maybe you can help us a little more,“ Mia said, staring at a display case on the wall. „You’ve got a great collection here. My dad’s a collector. He’s got a LeMat, mint.“
Diana Givens visibly softened, her eyes taking on a possessive light. „Mint?“
„Um-hmm.“
„If he wants to sell it, I’m interested.“
Mia turned with a half smile. „He’s leaving it to me someday. I don’t plan to part with it, but thanks. We’re looking for a marksman who hunts.“
The old woman stuck her tongue in her cheek. „That narrows it down, honey.“
Mia smiled. „I know. He likely hunts duck and deer. Do you keep track of ammo sales by customer? We’ll look for someone who buys both kinds.“
„You hunt?“ Diana Givens asked her.
Mia looked amused. „I have. Not a lot, but I know my way around the forest. Bagged a three-point buck once with my dad. Mom made venison stew for a month.“
„Why didn’t you say anything back at the morgue when Jack suggested hunters to Julia?“ Abe asked.
Mia grimaced. „Because I wanted Jack to have his moment in the sun in front of Julia. She barely notices his existence and he’s been practically tripping over his damn tongue for the last year.“ Mia leaned on the counter, eye to eye with the diminutive Givens. „Can we check your records, Miss Givens?“
Givens hesitated, then nodded. „I kind of hate to say yes, you know? Your boy took down some very bad players. I hate to see him stopped.“
„But we have to stop him, ma’am,“ Abe said quietly and Givens sighed heavily.
„I know. But I don’t have to dance a jig over it. Records are in the back.“
Friday, February 20,
4:30 p.m.
„The Myers girl is here with her father, Kristen.“
Kristen looked up from her paperwork. The headache from hell was brewing behind her eyes. Lois was looking over her shoulder toward the waiting area with a frown.
The Myers girl was her newest sexual assault case, the one where the father was insisting they press charges. All she needed to make this day perfect was to have that young girl break down in her office again. „I don’t suppose they’ll come back later.“
Lois snorted her displeasure. „No, I don’t suppose. Kristen, that dad makes me nervous. He’s twitchy. You want me to call Security?“
„Yeah. Just tell them to be ready. Tell Myers I’ll see them in five minutes. I want to finish this first.“ Hell, she just wanted to finish something today. Her phone had been ringing off the hook since the press conference, every reporter in town wanting a comment.
„Okay, Kristen. Oh, here.“ Lois dropped a thick stack of paper bound with a big black clip on her desk. „E-mails from all over. Some want information, most are rooting for him.“ She sighed. „Don’t leave by yourself tonight. Call Security to walk you down to your car. I’m going home soon. I have a headache.“
Join the club, Kristen thought, staring at the bound stack of paper. There wasn’t a news service that hadn’t picked up the story since the press conference this afternoon. They’d been on CNN every half hour, and even the Yahoo! home page had a photo of Spinnelli and Alden at the podium. She massaged her temples wearily.
She’d see Myers and then she’d go home. After all, who needed an overworked prosecutor when they had a humble servant? Maybe she should just let him mop up the cases she lost, she thought sarcastically. She could work fewer hours.
Hell, she might even take a vacation.
Her mouth twisted at the image of herself on a sandy beach in a bathing suit, sunglasses on her eyes and an unread book on her lap. Like she’d ever take a vacation. Alden was always urging her to take one, but the few times she’d asked he’d always found a reason she had to stay in the office. She’d covered for him enough times when he’d gone on vacation, she thought, resentment making her head throb harder. So she drew a deep breath and let her mind drift, trying to let the image of crashing waves and crying seagulls relax her. It’s what the therapists recommended. She ought to know, she’d seen it on late-night cable when she was refinishing the hardwood floor a few months back.
Find your happy place and all your worries will just slip away…
So she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Then in her imagination opened them and rolled her head to one side to the lounge chair beside her.
Where Reagan lay, his body tanned, muscled… and perfect. As if sensing her stare, he turned those intense blue eyes her way and flashed a white smile. And covered her hand with his.
Kristen sat back up with a hard jerk that sent new waves of pain coursing from her head down her neck. Dammit. The man wouldn’t leave her alone, checking her closets, buying her dinner, ruining a perfectly good autopsy viewing. Now he was invading her mind. She rubbed her hand hard, trying to still the tingles caused even by an imagined touch. She cursed the hard beating of her heart and pushed away the feelings she’d be foolish to label anything but futile longing.
It wouldn’t do to long for things she’d never have. If she ever let Reagan close enough, he’d run so fast… He would.
But damn, he looked good lying there on the beach.
She frowned at her own idiocy. Face it, Kristen, you’ll never have anyone. You’ll never even get to a vacation on the beach.
Resolutely she picked up the phone. „Lois, send in the Myers girl now.“
Friday, February 20,
4:30 p.m.
The hat with the earflaps hid his face, and given the wind chill, nobody would think twice about it. Now, if he was able to evade the police and keep his work going until spring, he’d have to get a little more creative if he wanted to walk around undetected.
The thought made him smile, as did the brown box left neatly on Kristen’s front porch. The boy had done well. He imagined the surveillance cameras around Kristen’s house would capture the boy’s face clearly. Tracking him would give Reagan and Mitchell something to do for a day or two, but when they found him, the boy wouldn’t be able to give anything more than the most basic of descriptions. Any police artist sketch they got would be able to pass for 10 percent of the men in Chicago, at least.
The news would pick it up and the boy would be linked to, in the hire of, a serial killer. He’d chosen the boy carefully. If there were any negative repercussions to being involved with the „Vigilante Killer“ as the news was calling him, this kid deserved them. If nothing came of it, no harm, no foul. But if the kid got into some trouble, it would be a good thing.