Lockdown

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  Dr. Zimmerman, Eric’s attending physician, moved across the room to shake hands with Riley. He was tall and broad with gray hair, although he didn’t look any older than fifty. Dr. Gera, on the other hand, was young, probably still in her early thirties, and was barely five feet tall.

  “Let’s sit down, and we can get started,” Dr. Zimmerman suggested.

  They all took their seats around the table, and Chief Jobeson nodded to Dr. Zimmerman. “Why don’t you bring us all up to date on his condition?”

  He nodded. “The gunshot wound is healing well, but you should probably be more concerned with his other injuries.”

  “Other injuries?” Riley asked.

  “He has a sprained wrist, severe bruising on his left shoulder, and multiple other contusions on his back and torso.” Dr. Zimmerman glanced down at the chart in front of him. “The X-rays that were taken when he came into the ER reveal a hairline fracture in at least one rib, though that is almost healed. The X-rays also reveal several past fractures.” He leaned forward and looked the police chief in the eye. “In my medical opinion, this boy has been physically abused repeatedly, most likely for years.”

  Mrs. Cunningham’s eyes grew moist. “I reported the abuse over a year ago, but he wouldn’t talk about it. The counselors said there was nothing else I could do.”

  “It’s a difficult situation dealing with child abuse.” Dr. Gera spoke now, her eyes meeting the teacher’s. “I realize this is all hypothetical, but you know more about him than any of us do. Have you noticed any patterns of behavior that would give any clues as to who was hurting him?”

  “The fact that he came to his father’s classroom with a gun makes me think it was his dad.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Eric has always chafed against male authority figures, and he tended to be disrespectful to women.”

  “That would be consistent behavior for someone who is being abused by a father figure, especially if his mother was either unwilling or unable to help him,” Dr. Gera commented.

  “Yes, but I’m sure there are other possibilities we need to consider,” Dr. Zimmerman said cautiously.

  Dr. Gera gave a brief nod and then turned to the police chief. “Do we have the autopsy reports on the parents yet? I would be interested to see if the mother also showed signs of abuse.”

  “We only have the preliminary report so far,” Chief Jobeson told her. “It doesn’t tell us much beyond the fact that both parents were shot at close range.”

  Mrs. Cunningham shivered slightly. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  Dr. Gera folded her hands on the table. “The men who responded to the hostage situation seemed to think that you have some kind of bond with Eric, that he trusts you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I fought against his last suspension, but it didn’t do any good. The principal suspended him anyway.”

  “What happened?”

  “Another kid picked a fight with him.” Mrs. Cunningham sighed. “Eric is generally quiet and keeps to himself, but there are a few kids who seem to delight in picking on him. You would think that with his dad on staff at the school he would be left alone, but I’ve never seen his dad get involved.”

  “Do you think he killed his parents?” Chief Jobeson asked bluntly.

  “I’m sure he didn’t.” She shook her head vehemently. “He kept asking me why his father wasn’t in his classroom. He was completely shocked when he walked in and found the substitute standing there instead of his dad. Then when the men came in with guns, one of them told Eric that his father was dead, but he didn’t believe him.”

  “One of the reasons we want you to talk to him is so that we can figure out if he knew about his father before he got to the school,” Dr. Gera said gently. “It is possible for someone to suppress a memory.”

  Chief Jobeson nodded in agreement. “It’s difficult to believe that he wouldn’t have heard the gunshots when his parents were killed, even if he isn’t guilty.” He shifted in his chair. “Basically what we need from you, Mrs. Cunningham, is for you to just be with him. Introduce him to Miss Palmetta, and we’ll see if he’s willing to talk. Dr. Gera and I will be right outside the door listening so that we can try to figure out exactly what happened.”

  “Is he even coherent?” Riley asked.

  Dr. Zimmerman nodded. “He’s still on some pain medication, and I have him on a mild sedative to keep him calm, but he’s been alert for a few hours now.”

  The police chief stood up. “Let’s go see if you two can get through to him.”

  * * *

  “Why is she here?” Eric asked in a derisive tone. Mrs. Cunningham had introduced Riley when they’d first arrived in his hospital room, and now they both sat in chairs across from his bed. Eric’s skin was still pale, making his freckles appear darker than usual. His round, slightly chubby face looked young except for the wariness in his green eyes. He turned those eyes on Riley once more.

  “I’m here because I need to understand,” Riley told him with a sincerity that clearly surprised the boy. She took a deep breath. She knew trust had to be given in order to be gained. “Did you live here when the shooting happened at Oswell Barron?”

  He gave a little jerk of the head. “Yeah, so what?”

  “Did you ever think about what it was like for the people who were there?”

  He looked down at the IV in his arm, suddenly unwilling to look at Riley. “I dunno.”

  “Well, I was there that day,” Riley told him. She sensed Mrs. Cunningham’s surprise, but she forced herself to keep going. “A boy opened the door to my classroom. I saw him, but I didn’t know him, so I didn’t really think anything of it. Then suddenly people were dying all around me.” Riley felt tears threaten, but she willed them back. “Only three people walked out of my classroom that day. I was one of them.”

  Slowly, he lifted his eyes to look at her. The wariness was still in his eyes, along with curiosity.

  “Since that day, I’ve tried to understand what caused that boy to be so unhappy that he would kill people like that, people who had never done anything to him.”

  “Maybe they were mean to him.”

  “Were people mean to you?”

  His good shoulder jerked up.

  Riley glanced over at Mrs. Cunningham, and a silent signal passed between them.

  “Eric,” Mrs. Cunningham said softly. “I know someone was hurting you. Please tell me about it. No one can hurt you now.”

  “He’s going to find out. Someone’s going to tell him I had a gun.”

  “Who?” Mrs. Cunningham asked gently. “Who’s going to find out?”

  Eric remained silent.

  “Where did you get the gun?” Riley asked now. “Did it belong to your father?”

  Eric shook his head. “He didn’t need a gun.”

  “Then where did it come from?”

  “It was hidden in the paint can. In the garage.”

  Riley looked over at Mrs. Cunningham, who looked as confused as she was. “How did you know the gun was there?” Riley asked.

  Eric looked at her now with complete bewilderment. “I just knew.”

  “Did you see someone put it there?”

  Bitterness filled his voice now. “I just knew it was there, okay?”

  “Do you know who put it there?” Riley pressed.

  Eric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay,” Riley said and changed the subject. “Will you tell me about your dad?”

  “Nothing to tell,” he responded as though the answer were practiced. “Everybody liked him.”

  “Everybody can be idiots, too,” Riley retorted, surprised by her own answer. When Eric gave a little snort, she realized it might have been the right thing to say. “You lived with him. Did you like him?”

  Silence filled the room.

  “I’m going to take that as a no,” Riley said simply. “Are you glad he’s dead?”

  A sudden rage erupted in the boy. “Why
does everyone keep saying that? He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his room. I couldn’t kill him like I was supposed to!”

  Riley keyed in on his words and went with her instincts. “Who said you were supposed to?”

  Confusion quickly replaced his anger. His shouts were reduced to mumbles as he shook his head and spoke to himself rather to the women in the room. “Find the gun, go to the school . . .” He shook his head, confused. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. He was supposed to be there.”

  As though sensing that Eric had built a wall they couldn’t scale, Mrs. Cunningham stood up. “Is it okay if I come visit you tomorrow?”

  Eric didn’t respond. He was still caught in a memory and was unable to shake himself loose.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She moved to the side of the bed and gave his hand a squeeze. “Remember, he can’t hurt you if you tell the truth.”

  Both women left the room and closed the door behind them. Once the door fell into place, Dr. Gera nodded her approval. “You both did well. I’ll meet with him in a few minutes and see if I can get him to talk to me.”

  “He’s clearly confused,” Riley commented. “And it seems like the main source of his confusion is the fact that his father wasn’t in his classroom where he was supposed to be. That makes me think that he didn’t know his father was already dead.”

  “I agree that he’s confused, but that could be a form of self-preservation,” Dr. Gera pointed out. “If he did murder his parents, he may have completely blocked it out. He could have killed them and then still gone into that school truly believing his father was going to be there.”

  Chief Jobeson nodded. “I don’t see how else the ballistics could match if he didn’t do it. By all accounts he didn’t have any close friends or anyone else who might have been an accomplice.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Mrs. Cunningham shook her head. She looked at Riley, who shared her bewilderment.

  Riley shrugged a shoulder. “I’m starting to wonder if any of this will ever make sense.”

  * * *

  Tristan opened the door with a wave of relief. Riley was standing there looking surprisingly calm even though he knew she must have just come from the hospital. He hoped he sounded casual when he stepped back and invited her into his apartment.

  “How did it go with Eric Rhodes?”

  “Okay, I think.” She walked in and dropped her purse on the couch before nodding at Quinn, who was staring at the TV. “Hi, Quinn.”

  “Hey.” Quinn picked up the remote and turned off the television, shifting his attention to Riley as she sat down. “Is the kid doing okay?”

  “Yeah. The doctor said his shoulder is healing well. I’m just not sure about the rest of him.” She gave a shrug as Tristan settled on the couch beside her. “Apparently he had a number of bruises and sprains, even a cracked rib. The doctor thinks he’s been abused for a long time.”

  “We kind of suspected that,” Tristan pointed out.

  Riley nodded. “He shows no recollection of killing his parents. In fact, it was kind of odd when I asked him where he got the gun.”

  “What do you mean?” Quinn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  She gathered her thoughts for a moment before answering. “I asked if the gun belonged to his father, and he said that his father didn’t need a gun. That makes me think that it was his father who was using him as a punching bag.” Riley stroked a finger along her chin. “Then when I asked him where he got the gun, he said it was inside a paint can in the garage. Naturally I asked him how he knew it was there, but he didn’t really give me an answer.”

  “Do you think he hid it there?”

  “No, and I don’t think he saw someone put it there.” Riley sat back, letting the memory of the conversation combine with instinct, intuition, and something beyond herself. “I think someone told him it was there.”

  “But who?” Quinn asked. “Did he have a friend helping him? Or could he have bought the gun from somewhere and that’s where it was left for him?”

  “I really don’t know. By all indications, he didn’t have any friends. If his mother was being abused as well, she might have hidden the gun there, but then why would he have killed her too? It just doesn’t make any sense.” Riley shrugged. “Chief Jobeson is convinced that even if Eric is innocent, he would have known about his parents because he would have heard the gunshots.”

  Tristan, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, suddenly sat up straight. “I’ve got an idea. It’s a long shot . . .” He pushed up off of the couch, reached for Riley’s hand, and motioned to Quinn. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”

  27

  “Why are we here?” Riley asked as they walked into the local police station.

  “I just want to check something out,” Tristan told her before giving their names to the receptionist and asking to see the police chief. Quinn had opted to stay behind, insisting that he had other plans. Tristan imagined he was also trying to distance himself from the fact that he had been forced to shoot a fifteen-year-old boy.

  They only had to wait for a minute or two before being shown to the police chief’s office. Once seated inside, Tristan didn’t mince words. “The gun that Eric Rhodes had in his possession at the school, was it equipped for a silencer?”

  “I don’t know, but we can check the reports.” Chief Jobeson scratched his head just above his right ear. “One thing we haven’t come up with is a witness that heard any gunshots, not even the next-door neighbor who was outside walking his dog that morning.” The chief shuffled the papers on his desk and flipped open a thick file. Finally, he pulled out several pieces of paper. “Here we go. What exactly are we looking for?”

  “Anything that would indicate whether a silencer could have been used when Eric’s parents were killed. You know, grooves in the barrel of the gun or any differences in the ballistics reports from the two crime scenes.” Tristan gave a shrug. “I know it’s a long shot, but it doesn’t make sense that Eric would use a silencer in the morning and then remove it before going to school.”

  “We didn’t find a silencer when we searched the Rhodeses’ house.” Chief Jobeson looked at the ballistics reports and shook his head. “The reports don’t say anything about the gun being specially equipped for a silencer.”

  “What about the autopsy reports? Was there any powder tattooing or soot deposit around the wounds?” Tristan asked.

  “Unbelievable.” Chief Jobeson shook his head as he studied the reports and then looked up at Tristan. “There is a noticeable absence of powder tattooing on both victims.”

  Riley looked from one man to the other. “What does that mean?”

  “Forensics experts use the amount of soot or powder around a gunshot wound to determine how far away the shooter was when the gun was fired. But they’ve found that when silencers are used, it reduces the amount of soot and powder released by the weapon,” Tristan told her.

  Chief Jobeson nodded. “But it still doesn’t prove that Eric didn’t do it. He could have ditched the silencer on his way to the high school.”

  “Why would he take it off if he was planning to use the gun again?” Riley asked. “None of this is making any sense.”

  “I’ll have my men do another search of the Rhodeses’ house and take fingerprints in the garage.”

  “What about the fingerprints on the gun?” Tristan asked.

  “Only two sets were found,” Chief Jobeson said. “Eric’s and yours.”

  “Which doesn’t mean no one else was involved. It only means that anyone else who handled the gun must have been wearing gloves and that he or she would have had to handle the gun before Eric did, or else Eric’s prints would have been smeared,” Tristan reminded him. “Maybe it’s time to figure out who else had a motive.”

  “We’re certainly looking into it.” The chief closed the file.

  Tristan stood up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

  �
�No problem.” Chief Jobeson stood up as well and turned to Riley. “I’ll see you at the hospital tomorrow?”

  Riley nodded and then followed Tristan out of the office, down the hall, and outside into the twilight.

  “I didn’t realize you were going back to the hospital.”

  “I told Mrs. Cunningham I would meet her there at ten tomorrow morning, along with Eric’s new psychologist. We’re hoping we can figure out who he got the gun from. It’s the one question I’m sure he knows the answer to, and I don’t understand why he’s trying to suppress that memory, of all things.”

  Tristan opened the door to his truck for her as he considered her analysis. He waited for her to climb in, but then, instead of going to the driver’s side, he just studied her for a moment.

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking that you’re starting to sound more like a psychologist than an engineer.”

  Riley’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, I just always thought that you got your psychology degree to help you understand what happened at Oswell. I never realized how much you enjoyed it.” He shrugged a shoulder and closed her door.

  When he climbed in behind the wheel, he glanced over at her. “It’s a nice night out. Do you want to go for a drive?”

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Tristan started the engine. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

  Riley smiled. “A drive sounds great. I think I could use a little time away from here.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  * * *

  Barbara Gera leaned back in her chair while Eric Rhodes continued to ignore her. She couldn’t say why, but she actually liked the confused, sullen kid. After Riley Palmetta and Mrs. Cunningham had finished talking to him, she had spent a half hour with Mrs. Cunningham. According to the boy’s former teacher, he was a kindhearted kid who had never learned many social skills and didn’t seem to know how to relate to his peers or his teachers.

  Even if the teacher was correct that Eric hadn’t killed his parents, he was still going to have a lot to deal with. His mother’s death had not been mentioned to Eric yet, and Barbara hoped to find out exactly how Eric had felt about his mom. Eric looked at her without turning his head as though just checking to see if she was still there.