by S. B. Cody
“Terrance?” Dixon said on the other line.
“Uh-huh,” Terry replied with nervousness.
“My name is Detective Dixon. We’re investigating the shooting at your school yesterday. And we were just hoping that we could speak with you. It’s just a matter of routine, I assure you. Nothing to worry about. And your mother can sit in on the interview as well. So do you think you could come in tomorrow?”
“Umm… yeah, I guess,” Terry said with a gulp.
“Would 2:00 at the station be okay?”
“Sure.” His voice hardly went above a whisper.
“Great. Thank you. We’ll see you then.”
Julie hung up the phone and looked over at her son. He looked down at his feet before saying, “I’ll be in my room.” Julie went to call him back, but before she could utter a word, Terry had vanished. She wouldn’t see him again for another hour when he came down the stairs to help usher Johnny into the house. They both started upstairs when Julie came into the room.
“Hello, Johnny,” she said, daring to inch towards the two boys.
All Johnny offered in exchange was a tilt of the head accompanied with a noise akin to a grunt and a laugh. Not only that, but the look in his eyes could only be described as loathsome.
“Are you doing okay from yesterday, Johnny?”
“Uh-huh.”
Julie resisted the urge to go off on a rant about simple manners, but held back, not wanting to embarrass her son.
“What are you two planning on doing?” she ventured.
Johnny looked away, refusing to dignify that question with a response. All that Terry offered was, “Dunno. Just hang out, I guess.”
“Can I get you something to eat, maybe?”
“No. We’re fine.” At that, the boys didn’t give her a chance to say another word, retreated upstairs and behind a closed door.
14
Stanford had four different gun shops. Kara and Brody had visited two of them in the hopes of tracking down where the guns had come from. So far they hadn’t come up with anything. The two pulled up to the third, Stanford Firearms and Ammo. Once they entered, Kara felt like she’d walked into the NRA’s wet dream, every inch of the store covered with various kinds of guns. Along the side walls were a variety of rifles and shotguns. The back wall had been covered with assault rifles. A few aisles showed off the pistols. The glass counter showed off more guns along with what seemed to be a never-ending supply of ammunition.
Behind the counter, the store’s lone clerk sat at the register. He sported a thin beard over a bony face with a jutting chin. With the ringing bell of the door, he snapped to attention. “Morning. What can I do for you today?” he said in greeting to the two detectives.
“I’m Detective Morgan. This is Detective Smalls with the Stanford PD,” Brody said as they both flashed their badges. “We’re investigating the shooting at Stanford West High School yesterday.”
“Damn tragedy that is,” the clerk offered.
“Yes. Well, we recovered the firearms used and we’re attempting to trace them. See if we can’t find out the owner.”
“You think he got ’em from here?”
“We don’t know. We’re checking with all the retailers in town hoping to get lucky. We have the serial numbers of the weapons used and were hoping that you might take a look at your past sales.”
“Be happy to. What have you got for me?”
Kara brought out a sheet with the makes, models, and serial numbers of the guns recovered. The clerk took it while putting a small pair of glasses on. “What do we have, what do we have?” he said to himself. “Looks like two Uzis and a couple Glocks.” He moved over to his computer and he began typing away.
Kara and Brody stood in silence as the clerk went about his work. Kara had little hope that this would lead anywhere. Who knew if these guns had even been purchased in town at all? And if they had, who knew whose hands they had turned up in now?
The clerk got through with his search and chimed in, “Ding, ding, ding. Looks like we got a hit on those Uzis.” Kara and Brody both snapped to attention. “Looks like they got bought a year ago by a Jeremy Farrah.”
“Can you tell us if he’s bought anything else?” Kara asked.
“Oh definitely. Man must be a collector.”
“Could you print out what you have?”
“Will do.” Both detectives couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement and hope that this would prove to be a worthwhile lead.
Kara and Brody arrived back at the station where a horde of reporters had gathered outside. The moment they noticed the familiar faces of the detectives from the impromptu press conference yesterday, they all pounced.
“Detective Smalls!” one yelled, shoving a microphone in Kara’s face as a camera hovered right behind her. A barrage of questions came, all of it sounding like garbled mush.
Even if she had wanted to answer them, she didn’t know where she’d start. Instead, she shoved against the crowd, squirming her way through. Brody didn’t have as much trouble, though, his large bulk forcing a parting of the crowd like the Red Sea. The two stepped inside, the roar of the reporters now dulled.
“They’re persistent. You gotta give them that,” Brody said as they made their way back to their desks.
“They’re a pain in the ass,” Kara replied. Taking their seats, they pulled out the notes they had so far. “So what can we find out about this Farrah guy?”
“I’m on it,” Brody said as he went away at his computer. Meanwhile, Kara looked at the printout from the gun store, reviewing all that Farrah had bought. From the look of it, the guy must have been either preparing for war or stockpiling for the apocalypse. Over the years, this guy had bought ten different AR-15’s, five 12-gage shotguns, and a host of pistols including Sig Sauers, Glocks, and Magnum revolvers. And that’s just what had been bought at that store. God knew what else he had. “Goddammit. Who the fuck is this guy?” Kara wondered aloud.
“Jeremy Farrah. Age forty-five. Address is 4351 Clifford Boulevard. Divorced twice. And from the looks of it the guy is quite the asshole,” Brody chimed in.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, we have a host of domestic disturbance calls. Neighbor complaints of arguing. Concerns that he was abusive towards his wife. And, of course, there are those DUIs.”
“If the guy is a wife beater, how in the hell did he manage to collect this kind of arsenal?”
“Never got charged. Went out there only for the missus to say that she wouldn’t be pressing charges. Damn thing happened about half a dozen times. Asshole was basically an episode of Cops in and of himself.”
“Jesus Christ. So what are we thinking here? You think he was behind this?”
“I don’t know. Based on what we’ve seen so far it sure as hell seemed like it would have been a student. And do you go through the trouble of disguising your identity to only leave behind guns you know can be traced back to you?”
“I guess not. Well then what? Did he sell the guns to whoever did shoot the place up? If you’re buying in bulk like he does, it would stand to reason that he’s got his own little business on the side.”
“Don’t people usually scratch off the serial numbers when they do that?”
“Goddammit, I don’t know! I’m spit-balling here.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, we’re gonna want to get the guy in here to have a chat anyway, so hopefully we’ll get our answers.”
“Speaking of getting people in here,” Kara said as she turned behind her to see Dixon at his desk. “Dixon, how are the interviews coming?”
“It’s a big pain in the ass. Thank you for this esteemed honor.”
“You’re welcome. Now can you answer my question?”
“We’re about halfway down the list. Got ’em scheduled from about 8 till 3 tomorrow so far.”
“Oh my God. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will come in and confess. Save us all the trouble.”
“The likeliest of sce
narios,” Brody said.
“Let me have this, please,” Kara pleaded before continuing. “So do we know where Farrah works?”
“Last we had was Leeson’s Trucking. That was from two years ago, so who knows.”
“Well, that’s easy enough to find out. Give me the number.” Kara picked up her phone and dialed as Brody recited Leeson’s Trucking’s number to her. The conversation only lasted about thirty seconds before Kara had gotten the information she needed. “Well, no shocker there,” Kara said. “Got fired a month ago for coming to work drunk.”
“Real winner we have here. Well, we might as well try to go by his house.”
Kara and Brody pulled up to a small ranch-style home. Right away, one could see that the place hadn’t been cared for much over the years. The gray shingle sidings were stained with dirt that had worn in so much over the years that it might as well have been a paint job. The little grass that still occupied the front yard had become long and patchy. The front door had been painted an orange that didn’t go with the rest of the house at all. Looked like there had only been one coat, too, because the white underneath still showed through the streaks. The two walked up to the door without a word, both of them with their badges ready. Brody reached out and knocked. A couple minutes passed and he knocked again. After another couple minutes the door creaked open a bit and Farrah poked his head out.
“Yeah?” he said with a hoarse voice.
“Mr. Farrah. I’m Detective Smalls…” Kara began as she raised her badge. But as soon as it came in view Farrah disappeared as he turned and ran towards the back of his house.
“Fuck!” Brody cried as he took off to the side of the house and hustled to the backyard. While he did that, Kara ran back to the car, hopped in the driver’s seat, and took off. She peeled around the corner and headed towards the other block hoping to cut off Farrah.
Brody ran into the backyard, Farrah having busted out the back door and being a few steps ahead of him. Farrah ran right towards the fence and leapt over it. Brody followed close behind and vaulted the fence himself. “Stop!” he shouted as he gained on him. The two men flew through the yard coming up on a gate which led to the front yard and street beyond it. Farrah threw his shoulder against the gate and busted through, stumbling to the ground in the process. He jumped to his feet in a second and sprinted into the street.
Kara had made it around to the next street over in mere seconds. She pulled up to Farrah’s location by the time he had made it halfway across the street. She slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. She ran for a few steps before throwing herself forward and tackling Farrah to the ground. He tried to crawl away, but by that point Brody had caught up and hauled Farrah to his feet and slapped cuffs on him. He led Farrah to the car and threw him in the back seat.
“Well, we certainly earned our pay for the day, didn’t we?” Brody joked before going around and climbing in the passenger seat. Kara got in as well and called for additional officers to come out and help search the house. From there they drove Farrah back to his house and led him inside.
The state of the indoors made the outside look well kept. A dirty, moth-eaten carpet covered the floor. Paint peeled along the walls. Stuffing poured out multiple holes of a couch that seemed to occupy a no-man’s land of the living room. A stench filled the house that Brody would later describe as being a cross between shit and B.O.
Brody led Farrah to the couch, undid the handcuffs and had him sit. Kara went into the kitchen and retrieved two chairs. Once she and Brody sat down on them, the legs creaked, threatening to break any second.
“So, now that all that bullshit is over, let’s continue where we left off,” began Brody. “I’m Detective Morgan. This is Detective Smalls. We want to ask you some questions. And I’ll clue you in right now, you just made me run. And I hate running. So you’re not my favorite person at the moment. So it’ll be in your best interest to cooperate.”
“I didn’t do a goddamn thing,” Farrah barked.
“So is that why you ran?” Brody asked.
“I just don’t mess ’round with cops.”
“We’re investigating the shooting at Stanford West High, yesterday,” Kara said.
“I didn’t have a fuckin’ thing to do with that.”
“Well, it would appear you did.”
“How’s that?”
“Mr. Farrah,” Kara started as she produced the printout from the gun shop and handed it to him. “Did you purchase these weapons?”
“That a crime?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Yeah I did. Big fuckin’ deal.”
“Well, two of those were used in the shooting yesterday.” Kara leaned forward and pointed out the Uzis in question. Back at the station she had highlighted them.
“Motherfucker,” Farrah uttered, more to himself than anyone else.
“So now you see why we’re here,” Brody said.
“I didn’t do that shit.”
“Can you tell us where you were yesterday morning?”
“Here. Usually am.”
“Since you got fired, you mean?”
“That illegal now too?”
“Can anyone verify that you were here?” Kara asked.
“Yesterday? No, I don’t…” Farrah trailed off. “No wait!” he jumped back in. “I was with my cousin.”
“Doing what?” Brody asked.
“Nothin’. He’d stayed over the night before.”
“We’ll need his name and contact information,” Kara said, handing over a pad of paper and pen. Farrah grabbed it and jotted it all down.
“So how the hell did two guns that are registered to you end up being used to kill twenty-eight people?” Brody asked.
“How the fuck should I…” Farrah stopped himself mid-sentence as he looked back down at the sheet. “Oh shit.”
“What’s that?”
“Those guns were stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well, we don’t have a report of any stolen guns from you,” Kara said.
“Cause I didn’t report it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well…”
“Well?” Brody cut in, his patience having run out along with his breath.
“I don’t know how much more I should say.”
“Motherfucker.” Brody sighed in exasperation.
“Mr. Farrah. You’re already getting brought in for running earlier. It will go a long way towards helping your cause if you cooperate.”
From outside, two cop cars pulled up and four officers walked into the house. “Thanks for coming, boys,” Brody said. “Take a look around and see what you can find.”
“What the fuck? I don’t want ya snooping around,” Farrah objected. A quick look from all the cops in the room shut him up. The four officers then began their search.
“Wait a minute,” Kara called after them. A young, baby-faced officer ran up to her, looking eager to please. “Check this out. Find out where he was yesterday morning.” Kara handed him the sheet with Farrah’s cousin’s information. The officer ran out the door. With that done, Kara and Brody turned back to Farrah who attempted to avoid eye contact.
“So you gonna help us out?” Brody asked. “If those guns were stolen, why wouldn’t you report it? You didn’t think having those out in the open like that was something the police should be aware of?”
Farrah remained silent for a full minute. The whole time his eyes darted around and his mouth moved as though he couldn’t figure out how to form the words he wanted to say. Kara and Brody just watched him the whole time, not saying a thing.
“Fine,” Farrah finally said, apparently realizing that he didn’t have many options. “The reason I have all those guns is that I sell ’em on the streets. I didn’t report those stolen because I figured that’d put you onto me.”
“Is it possible that you just sold those guns and lost track of it?” Kara
asked.
“Nah. I keep track of that shit.”
“How long ago were they stolen?” Brody asked.
“Maybe a month?”
“They stolen from here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Any other guns stolen?” Kara asked.
“Couple pistols, I think,” Farrah said.
Kara nodded, assured that all the guns used had come from here.
“Well, good going. If you weren’t more concerned about your little side business, maybe we could have tracked these things down. But now twenty-eight people are dead,” Brody said.
At that, Farrah’s face cracked. Slowly and then all at once. His eyes began to glass up as well. “I didn’t mean for nothin’ like that to happen. I didn’t want that.”
“Well, why do you think people would be buying a gun on the black market?”
Farrah just looked on in shame. By this time a couple more units arrived. Kara and Brody had one of them take Farrah back to the station for processing. From there they joined the search of the house. They made their way to the basement where stacks of guns had been piled high. Sacks filled with cases of ammo sat in the corner. Over on a side table was a lockbox laying open. It had been stuffed with cash in no discernable order.
“What the fuck? How the hell does this happen?” Kara said. She, Brody, and the other cops went about their search.
It was pushing 8:00 when Brody finally walked in through his doorway. He felt like he’d fall asleep the second he laid down. But first things first, he needed a drink. Right next to his kitchen stood the bar that Brody had built himself a couple years ago. He had taken up woodworking. He found that the order that came with it went a long way towards keeping his mind off all the crap he saw every day.
Brody had come to the force later in life than most other cops had. He had just turned thirty when he decided to join the academy. Prior to that he had a few odd jobs, the most recent being bartender. Married too. Wife’s name had been Christine. His college sweetheart. And then there was his daughter, Mandy. Things had been happy enough for the three of them until… Ten years ago, Mandy had gone missing.