Done in One (9781466857841)

by Jerkins, Grant; Thomas, Jan

  Kathryn looked at him. Her eyes weary.

  “Holy shit. I get it.”

  “Yeah. Holy shit is right.”

  Kathryn turned to the darkened field, her back to Jacob. They stood in silence for a moment. Then she straightened up, lifted her shoulders. She pulled out a Mini Maglite flashlight and turned it on. She walked into the field, found Jacob’s keys, and tossed them to him.

  “Fire it back up, I’m in.”

  She turned and headed for her rifle.

  Jacob moved to the shed, unlocked it, and fired up the lights again. Kathryn got her rifle out and dropped into position.

  She said, “Cold barrel, left target, three-round group, right target?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She put ear plugs in and sank down into her rifle. Jacob put plugs in as well.

  She fired. A crack in the darkness. Then slowly, methodically, three more shots crack, crack, crack.

  She stared through her scope for a moment and assessed her performance. She seemed pleased. Jacob crossed to her.

  “Let me see.”

  She stood up and handed him her rifle. He brought it up and quickly checked her shots through the scope.

  “Look again,” he said, and handed the rifle back to her. “And yes, I see you got two in the same hole.”

  She smiled.

  “You smile when all three are in the same hole.”

  “Understood.”

  “You’ve had some alcohol, so I’ve no doubt you are on your way to all three in the same hole all right. Look how close your group is to your cold barrel shot.”

  Kathryn looked and was pleased but wasn’t sure if she should show it.

  “Go ahead and smile. Excellent job tonight.”

  And nothing followed. No rebuke, just the compliment.

  “Just one last thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable Breathalyzer unit. She gave him a you’re kidding look but quickly shook it off. Jacob Denton was not one to kid. She took in a breath and blew into the unit. It beeped after several seconds.

  Jacob stared at the digital readout, then looked at his watch.

  “It’s been forty-five minutes since your last drink. The legal limit for driving is .08. You blew a .02.”

  She smiled broadly. As much in relief as anything else.

  “So I’d say one is your max. What do you say?”

  “I say, yes, sir.”

  Jacob smiled. Just a little. “Don’t call me sir.”

  He put the Breathalyzer back in his pocket and went back into the shed. Suddenly the entire field lit up. To Kathryn, it looked like a junkyard at first. An abandoned car. Seemingly random construction debris. Castoffs.

  “Welcome to Phase Two.”

  Kathryn smiled widely as she started to make sense out of the menagerie before her. She saw an old car, but with all its glass in place. The construction materials in another spot actually formed a small office cubicle. Farther down were walls with doorways and windows to practice breaching.

  Simulations of situations they might encounter, right down to racks of shelves piled with rocks, though they could easily be the stocked shelves of a convenience store.

  Suddenly it all went dark again. Jacob exited the shed and locked up.

  “I think that’s enough for one day. What do you think?”

  “I think I want to kick your ass.”

  “Perfect. Pack up. We’re done for tonight.”

  Kathryn stared back at the field of fun she had glimpsed so briefly and then whimpered like a pup denied a toy.

  “I know, I know. We’ll come back, I promise.”

  Kathryn laughed for the first time that night. Fuckin’Denton was finally starting to make sense.

  * * *

  Jill arrived home to a dark house. Even though she knew Jacob’s schedule and that tonight was the night of the fabled alcohol test, she frowned at the digital clock on the cable box. She frowned at the emptiness and darkness. It was times like these that she missed Wyatt Morgan and Maggie most of all. When you have dogs, you never come home to an empty house. It was enough to make her think it was time to get a couple of Saint Bernard puppies. This home needed life in it.

  She looked at the clock again. And frowned. Again. She thought, Where’s my code four? Even though she knew where he was and what he was doing, they had a system, and tonight, for whatever reason, he wasn’t following it. If he was going to be late, for whatever reason, he was supposed to call in code four to Jill. Code four, meaning safe. He never had to say why he was late. He could go grab a coffee with someone, go shooting, or just be writing reports. Because when you are married to a cop, you discover that you’re also married to a clock. Your eyes watch and wait. And the later it gets, the tighter the knot in your stomach becomes. So that was the deal they’d made. He didn’t have to answer to her, but he did have to let her know he was safe.

  It wasn’t a huge oversight, because he’d already told her where he’d be and why. But still. A female partner. And he seemed to be hiding a secret. Or maybe he was just worried about seeing the shrink. The man was hard to read.

  She moved through the house, turning on lights. She turned on the lamp by the sofa, and put her keys and purse down with too much force. She stomped into the kitchen turning on more lights. She slammed cabinet doors, looking for something, but not sure what. All she could think about was the fact that her husband was out working late tonight. And that work consisted of having drinks—private drinks—with his female partner. And she hated herself for feeling jealous. She hated herself for letting her mother and sister get under her skin.

  She pulled open a drawer, still looking for nothing in particular. There was a .38 in there. Most people kept pens and paper clips and bits of string and rubber bands and old twist ties and assorted crap in their junk drawer. Jill had a .38. There was one in the cabinet over the stove, too. And a .45 under the coffee table in the living room. And a Glock mounted behind the headboard of their bed. For emergencies. There had been death threats aimed at Jake over the years. It was part of the life. And she knew how to shoot, too. She enjoyed it. She was her husband’s wife after all.

  Jill also carried a 9mm on her hip around the house. Even if she had company or a student over for tutoring. It was concealed, so they never saw it. If she ran out to the store to get a jug of milk, the gun came with her. Tucked inside her jeans with a light clip holster in a natural spot against her hip. It was essentially invisible. She had a concealed carry permit, and she understood that a gun was for personal protection only. To protect your life. Not to protect your car, your purse, or your wallet. It was to protect your life.

  As one of her uptight writer friends once observed, Jake and Jill were “steeped in guns and gun culture.”

  True. But right now, she was just pissed.

  She slammed the drawer shut. And went on to the next one.

  Finally, she grabbed a coffee mug down from the cabinet, filled it with water and put it in the microwave. She turned the microwave on and opened another cabinet, pulled out a tea bag. She slammed this door, too. She opened the tea packet but managed to tear the tab right off the string.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck! God!”

  The back door opened and Jacob walked in. He smiled broadly.

  “Were you calling me? I thought I heard my name.”

  Jill turned her back to him and took the mug out of the microwave. She didn’t want him to see her eyes. The anger, jealousy, and suspicion.

  “You wish,” she said. Easy breezy. Not quite.

  Jacob entered with caution, setting his gear down quietly. Even if she was busy putting out a fire, Jill wouldn’t keep her back to him when he walked in.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. Fixing some tea.”

  She opened the cabinet to retrieve a new tea bag and slammed the door shut. He watched as she tore off the wrapping and threw the bag into the mug of hot water. She still hadn’t turned to look at hi
m.

  Jacob walked up behind her and gave her a hug, but she stiffened at his touch. He backed away.

  “How was Brodie’s party?”

  “Fine. Good. I didn’t get a code four.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I was so close to home I thought I might actually beat you here.”

  She pulled on the tea bag string, bobbing the bag up and down in the water.

  “Problems with your sister?”

  “No more than usual.”

  Jacob shrugged out of his jacket and continued to move softly around Jill.

  “So you were training?” she asked.

  “Just finished.”

  She turned around to face him. “I can smell the alcohol, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Well, yeah, we did the alcohol test. I only had half a beer.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring her here like you have every other partner you’ve had?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to disrespect you by bringing her here.”

  “If she’s just another teammate, why would I be disrespected?”

  “Well, maybe you wouldn’t be. I don’t know. It just didn’t seem right somehow. I’m sorry, I’ve just never had a female partner before. I didn’t know it bothered you.”

  “Yeah, well neither did I. Welcome to the club.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure she’s gay.”

  “Why? Because she didn’t come on to you? Because she didn’t soak her panties just being in the presence of the Great God Denton?”

  “I do tend to have that effect on the ladies.”

  Jake had been aiming for a little humor to ease the tension between them, but he’d miscalculated. It was too early. He’d missed his mark.

  “You are so fucking arrogant. Lots of people thought I was a lesbian. And look at us now. You know, a woman can be in this field and still be straight. And you know what else? It genuinely, truly doesn’t matter. Your partner can sleep with whoever she chooses and it’s really none of your business, is it?”

  Jacob held his hands up. I surrender.

  “Fuck. I’m sorry. My sister started in on the ‘family’ thing and here I am without you—again—at another family function, and you’re out with this female. Having drinks.”

  She turned her back to him again. Ashamed of herself.

  “Every single time you’ve trained a partner, they’ve either crapped out or left to become primary snipers somewhere else. Will you ever have a true partner who can step in as primary? Will we ever have any time off?”

  “Cowell and I had her commit to three years, and she’s a natural. It’ll come.”

  He approached again and hugged Jill as before. This time she leaned back into him. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath as she relaxed into his body. Home.

  “Would it help if I told you she called me an asshole and wanted to kick my ass?”

  Jill laughed at this. She turned to face him.

  “I guess she and I have more in common than I thought.”

  “Thought you’d like that.”

  They kissed and hugged each other tight.

  “Well, she won’t be kicking your ass on my watch, I can tell you that much.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  * * *

  The Sheriff’s office took Lee Staley up on his ultimatum. They got a warrant for his rifle. It was a close call on the legal end. Probable cause was a subjective area of law. Oswald had the sniper skills, a possible ax to grind, owned the type of weapon used in the commission of the crime, and he lived in the area with an unsubstantiated alibi. But there was no concrete motive (he’d never made an actual threat) or even a witness who saw someone matching Oz’s description in the area. Nothing actually tied him to the crime, but for probable cause, circumstantial evidence could be enough. In the end, Oswald was their only suspect, and he had pointedly refused to give up his weapon voluntarily when there was no logical reason for the refusal. The judge agreed with the S.O. and signed the warrant. The Winchester was sent to a lab for ballistic fingerprinting that would take a minimum of a week to complete.

  During that time, there were no more rogue sniper shots directed at Jacob. No death threats against anyone at the S.O. It was an uneventful week all around. No SWAT activations. Kathryn started Phase Two of her training. Things were good between Jacob and Jill, and he started to feel less guilty for not telling her about the potshot someone had taken at him. He was hoping it was an isolated incident and not connected to Captain Bryant’s murder. Or, at the most, a warning to keep his nose out of it. If the shooter had wanted him dead, Jacob knew that his body would be in a metal drawer at the morgue. A part of him also realized that once Oswald’s weapon had been taken away from him, the shootings had stopped. If Oswald really had been behind it, it would also make sense that he had fired those warning shots at Jacob: Stay away. And according to the interrogation room sign-out log, Oz had departed the S.O. with enough time to track Jacob to the shooting range and set up a shot.

  Detectives Cortez and Hasan otherwise made no progress in their ongoing investigation. No additional physical evidence was found. They had the one shell casing, and the bullets recovered from the scene, but until the ballistic fingerprint results came back (or another suspect was identified), they were useless. Everything was pinned on Oz’s rifle. Still, they knocked on doors in Vista Canyon, questioned neighbors, made the rounds of local gun clubs and shooting ranges, interviewed people involved in gun culture. They pulled old case files and cross-matched with recent parolees who might hold a grudge against the captain (from any point in his career), or simply had the expertise to pull off such a shooting. Just trying to come up with another viable lead. Meanwhile, Lee Staley remained their only person of interest.

  The bullet that was shot at Jake had gone through the Expedition’s back window, hit the rearview mirror, exited through the windshield, and was stopped by a half-buried rock in the embankment. It was the same .308, 168g Sierra Hollow Point Boat Tail bullet (preferred by snipers far and wide) as used in Bryant’s murder, but the bullet was too damaged to determine if it had been fired by the same rifle.

  And during all of this, Jacob had Friday’s psychiatric evaluation to consider. He’d been evaluated when he first signed on with the S.O., but that was a long time ago, and consisted of just a few standard questions from a bored M.D., which, as he recalled, focused mainly on how easily he might get angry or frustrated.

  The psychiatrist Cowell had set him up with was the real deal, though. This doctor would hold Jacob’s career in his hands. If he didn’t like what he saw when he peered inside Jake’s mind, he could pull the plug on everything. The problem, the real worry, was that Jacob wasn’t sure if he himself liked what he saw when he looked within himself. It was an odd career choice. Maybe the people who refused to shake his hand were the sane ones.

  He just didn’t know.

  And if they took his rifle away, what would he do then? And what would Jill think of that? Maybe she wouldn’t feel safe around him anymore. Maybe she would always be wondering what was broken inside her man.

  So he worked hard and trained Kathryn hard. She would either be his “next man up,” or his replacement.

  He came home Thursday night and peeked to see what Jill had on the stove while she sat at the counter and reviewed his stack of targets.

  She flipped through them and said, “Oz called this afternoon. He started the security job. Likes it. Said to tell you thank you. He said it was time to put the past away.”

  “Good. He needs to get out of his head.”

  “Look who’s talking. Since we’re going to be in the Canyon tomorrow anyway, I told him we’d stop by and say hello.”

  “Why tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is your appointment with the psychiatrist. The fancy Vista Canyon shrink. You’ve hit the big time.”

  “Yep. Swimming pools. Movie stars.”

  “Well, it’s tomorrow. Must have slipped your mi
nd.”

  “Must have. I clean forgot.”

  They both laughed at the lie.

  CHAPTER 19

  Here they were. In Vista Canyon. Jill normally would have saluted her tree (or the absence thereof) in her usual way as they were forced to pass the area on the way to the psychiatrist’s office, but knowing what had happened there to Captain Bryant made her somber.

  As a deputy, Jacob had never liked patrolling the Canyon because of the condescending attitudes of the people in the ritzy neighborhoods—the sense of entitlement—which included some of the S.O. brass who located here. It was a desirable address, but not for Jill and Jacob.

  The office was located in one of the newer buildings in the ever-expanding Canyon, part of a complex of medical facilities with several doctors in private practice covering a wide array of specialties including psychiatry, orthopedic surgery, pain management, neurology, an outpatient surgery center, and a state-of-the-art diagnostic/imaging center.

  After checking the lobby directory, Jill and Jacob made their way through the massive building, holding hands like children lost in a dark forest. Once they made it to their destination (without the help of bread crumbs), they both scrutinized the psychiatrist’s office lobby, looking for clues, trying to draw out information from what was present in the immediate environment. The walls were painted a muted green that was oddly calming. Light and dark blues and greens on accent pieces like picture frames, tables, and blinds provided a nice contrast in color. No chattering television mounted overhead. The framed paintings on the walls weren’t corporate art, but well-executed originals that leaned toward the abstract.

  And then there was the door. Two doors, actually. The exit door was just off to their right. And to the left was another door. It looked innocent enough, but that door led back there somewhere, and it was closed. A half wall with a countertop and a sliding, opaque glass window served as the receptionist’s access to contact with patients. So far, so good.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. When they’d first checked in with the receptionist, Jill introduced herself and asked to confirm her husband Jake’s appointment. The woman confirmed the time and said, “Oh! Jake and Jill!” Then in a singsongy voice she started, “Jake and Jill went up the—”