“Still checking on that. It might turn up something. But my gut tells me this is a stranger.”
“And none of the male teachers is that size?”
“The gym teacher was. But he’s dead. So was the assistant principal. He’s dead too. Everybody else was under six feet and no more than one-seventy. And not one of them is what you would call broad-shouldered. The only living teacher approaching the requisite weight was the chemistry guy, and he’s five-seven and a heart attack waiting to happen.”
“So where did the guy go? Did he drive up here?”
Lancaster shook her head. “Don’t think so. No one saw any vehicles come or leave at the requisite times.”
“According to you, no one saw anyone come or go at those times, Mary.”
“It’s problematic, I know,” she admitted. “Look, if the guy is hiding in the building still, we’ll get him. The place is surrounded by cops. Nobody is getting out of here.”
“You said a search is being conducted?”
“We’ve been going through the school one inch at a time as soon as we got the place emptied out. Nobody could have gotten out unseen, Amos.”
“Then you’re walking right into a dead-end maze.”
She cocked her head and chewed her gum. “Come again?”
“If the place turns up empty and nobody saw the guy leave, then the shooter has to be someone who was in the school. A teacher or a student or an admin. All custodial folks accounted for?”
She nodded. “They’re older and all have big guts. But I see your point.”
“Can I see the video footage of the guy?”
He followed her to the library. After they passed through the double wooden doors, Decker could see that the library had become the opposite of a quiet sanctum. The FBI had their corner, the state police their spot, and Lancaster and her crew were relegated to the far back left slice of the place.
Lancaster started walking to where her colleagues had set up shop, but Decker just stood there at the entrance to the library. He had been away from this world for a while now, but it suddenly felt like forever. He did not like crowds. He did not care to walk in here and join this large group of investigators even if they all had the same goal. Part of him wanted to slink back to the Residence Inn, close his door, shut his eyes, and let his cast of colors envelop him. And what good would he be anyway? He couldn’t find his family’s killers. How would he have a shot to find this one? He eyed the door. He could still escape.
“Amos!”
He looked over and watched in silence as Captain Miller headed his way. He had on his police uniform this evening. He held out a hand, which Decker shook unwillingly.
“Thank you for helping us, Amos,” said Miller. “We can use it.”
Decker eyed the manpower in the library. “Looks like you have all the help you need.”
He tried to pull his hand away, but Miller kept hold of it, his gaze locked on his former detective.
“Looks can be deceiving. And I want you involved. You see things. I mean, you see things, Amos. And we have to catch this guy. We have to make this right. We have to give closure.” He continued to keep his gaze directly on Decker’s face until the latter looked back at him. “Amos, we need closure. You understand that. I know you do.”
“I do,” said Decker. “I understand it, if only because I never got it.”
Miller let his hand go. “Why don’t you go over and join your ‘partner’? Good to see you two together again.”
Decker said nothing. He just turned and walked over to where Lancaster was waiting for him.
His opportunity for escape was now gone. And more than a part of him believed that Miller knew exactly what he was thinking when he’d been standing over by the door. And the police captain had decisively cut off his retreat.
Decker settled his large bulk next to Lancaster at a table in the middle of the local cops’ command center. Laptops were set up across the length of the table. Multiport outlets littered the floor connected to extension cords, and computers, printers, and scanners were plugged into them. People moved around with files, papers, electronic tablets, all bearing an air of quiet desperation, Decker noted. He also knew that many of the cops had kids in the school. Not that they needed any extra incentive to nail the shooter.
After Miller had called out his name, several suits and a couple of uniforms had recognized Decker and given him nods or grim looks, but none had spoken to him. He had not left the department under the best of circumstances, yet he doubted anyone really held it against him.
But he was here now, and so he might as well get to work.
He looked at Lancaster. “The video?”
Lancaster hit the requisite keys, and a few seconds later Decker was staring at the grainy footage.
“There’s the son of a bitch,” said Lancaster.
He glanced at the time stamp. “Eight-forty-one. When did classes start?”
“Eight-thirty sharp. Everyone needs to be in their class by then.”
“You said he came in through the rear doors? That’s where this image is from, right?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t the exit doors kept locked?”
“They’re supposed to be. But they’re also not hard to jimmy open.”
“Did you find signs of forced entry?”
“Those doors haven’t been replaced since the seventies, Amos. They’re beat to hell. It was really impossible to tell if they’d been forced or not.”
She hit some more keys and zoomed in on the corridor. “Now we’ve identified this as the hall bleeding off…” She faltered. “Sorry, poor choice of words. As the hall coming off the ingress we’ve already identified. He would have made his turn, and that’s where he would have encountered Debbie Watson, say maybe a minute later.”
“So first shot at eight-forty-two or thereabouts, allowing one minute from the video stamp and him encountering Watson?”
“Pretty much. And shotgun blasts folks remember. In fact, a bunch of people looked at the time when they heard it. So eight-forty-two is a good number for the first shot.”
“Okay.” Decker thought about what his next question should be. It should have come automatically, but it didn’t. He was definitely rusty. He looked around at all the seasoned investigators toiling away. He used to be one of them. The fact was, he had checked out of his professional life as soon as he’d found his family dead. Actually, he might be, he had to admit, more of a hindrance here than a help.
He looked down at Lancaster, who was staring up at him, a sympathetic expression on her face.
“It’s like riding a bike, Amos,” she said, apparently reading the self-doubt on his face.
“Maybe not, Mary. I guess I’ll find out. But if I can’t carry my weight, I shouldn’t be here.”
She looked back at the screen. “Okay, the camera doesn’t have audio, so you can’t hear it. And there was no camera on the next hall.”
“Why not?”
“Why else? No money in the budget. We’re lucky to have any functioning cameras at all.”
He thought for a moment. “But they keep them up as a deterrent?”
“Right. Because people didn’t know they weren’t operational.”
“But our guy was able to avoid all of them except this one.”
“It really didn’t matter whether he did or not. He was completely covered, Amos. No way to recognize any feature.”
Decker slowly nodded, feeling once more slow and reactive in his mental process.
He looked back at the image on the screen. Hood and face shield. And the camera shot was reflecting off the glare from the shield. He edged closer to the screen, like a scent hound ferreting prey.
“There’s no direct hit even on his hooded face. He knew where the camera was and avoided it, even though he’s covered.”
“You think that’s important?” she asked.
“At this point in the investigation, there isn’t anything that’s not important.”
Lancaster nodded. “I think that was the second rule you ever taught me.”