Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  A minute later, he pulled into an empty parking space at Highland Park. Reaching across the middle console, he took both the flag he had just purchased as well as the little white wooden cross he had brought with him.

  Stepping out, he walked through the park, listening to the dry grass crunch beneath his feet while clenching his two items close to his heart. The air was still and smelled clean. It was the perfect autumn day, warmer than yesterday’s flirtation with winter.

  Once in the middle of the park, he stopped and spun around. He wasn’t far from where he’d perched himself up on the hotel rooftop and fired his two shots that killed Cook Roberts and his partner to begin yesterday’s massacre.

  “Are you here for the vigil?”

  The Sniper snapped his head around with sudden surprise. He turned in the direction of the male voice. A boy of 17 or 18 approached and seemed intent on speaking with him. The Sniper kept quiet and stared, curious to know where this would lead.

  “I saw you holding the cross, so,” the boy’s eyes drifted to the white cross near the Sniper’s chest, “I assumed you were here for the vigil.”

  The Sniper glanced to his hands.

  “The community is gathering tonight at 8PM to both mourn and celebrate the lives lost in yesterday’s school shooting.” The young man handed the Sniper a flier. “We’re encouraging all members of the community to attend.”

  The Sniper was slow to accept the flier. When he did, he glanced to the text. A grin tugged at his lips when reading Pastor Michaels’s name, front and center.

  The kid stood and stared.

  The Sniper’s insides twisted as he felt every muscle fiber in his body flex with fear that the kid might be looking too closely at who he was. Did he just see a flash of recognition? He held steadfast beneath the light. Kept calm and planned how he would respond to this curious intruder who insisted to butt his way into the Sniper’s life.

  “We could really use your support.”

  The Sniper exhaled and cocked his head to the side.

  “Even from you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Susan Young couldn’t wait to take a break from work. The drinks she was going to have with her best friends was hardly enough to get her through the last half-hour of her workday.

  “I know a good lawyer who could consult on how best to handle this type of situation.”

  Susan’s shoulders released upon hearing Philip Price’s offer. She listened to her client’s recommendation, feeling a bit odd about taking advice from the man who was predicted to unseat the same man who had started her day off with such a bombshell.

  Ever since Governor John Scott’s announcement earlier this morning to direct all donations to the school shooting victims fund to go to Susan’s organization, Susan was struggling to contain her sudden onslaught of stress.

  “I’m going to need all the advice I can get.” Price gave Susan the name and contact details of his associate. “Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief for the first time all day.

  “I’ll tell him he can expect a call from you.” Price’s voice was light, reassuring and completely supporting, and Susan couldn’t have been more grateful for it.

  Ending her call with well wishes on the candidate’s evening, Susan dropped her face inside her hands and immediately rubbed the grit from her tired eyes.

  It hadn’t taken long this morning for the first calls from victim’s families to start rolling in, asking when they could expect to receive the funds promised by the governor to pay for their child’s medical or funeral costs. Susan couldn’t believe how people expected her to move at the speed of light. She barely had a collection plate out by the time she was expected to divvy out the payments.

  How do we decide how much each victim receives? Not all medical costs are the same. Who gets what, when, how?

  Susan knew she had little choice but to take Price’s recommendation and hire the assistance of a special attorney. Even if it ran the danger of getting political, Susan had little choice.

  Price gave a recommendation when the governor did not. Governor Scott only nominated her company when he should have also assigned a team to help with the finer details. Since he didn’t, Susan was left with only one option on how to proceed.

  Her cellphone chimed with a reminder.

  Glancing to the display screen, she thought about canceling on her friends. But even if she did, Susan wasn’t going to miss the vigil. She’d promised Sam she would be there and, besides, she knew she would have to work into the night despite anything she did now. A break would do her wonders.

  When she stood, her legs wobbled and her stomach grumbled. Realizing she had eaten very little all day, she reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder before marching out the door. She had told her staff to go home an hour ago, and now she was the last to leave.

  Exiting the building, she closed the door behind her and was locking up when she heard footsteps approach from behind.

  “Are you Ms. Susan Young?”

  Susan rolled her shoulders back and held on to her purse as she quickly assessed the man. He was well dressed, had his collar open, and appeared to be harmless. Easing a little, she said, “I’m Susan. How can I help you?”

  Delving his hand into his inside jacket pocket, the man pulled out a single white envelope. “I was instructed to give this to you personally.”

  Susan stared at the thin envelope and wondered what was inside. “What is it?”

  “A donation.” He locked eyes with her. “For the victim’s fund.”

  Sweeping her eyes up off the envelope, Susan said, “We prefer electronic deposits. All the information can be found on our website.”

  The man held the envelope closer to Susan. “Not this one. This has to be given in person.”

  Susan felt her heart knocking against her chest and her facial muscles tense. “I really can’t…”

  “This check is to be given to a specific family.”

  Susan felt her cheeks warm. Swallowing the lump down in her throat, she grew more nervous by the man’s specific request. “What family is that?”

  “Here. Take it.” He held the envelope up to her. “The family’s name is written on the outside. See for yourself.”

  Susan stared into the man’s eyes. She held her breath as she pinched her fingers onto one side of the envelope and reeled her elbow into her side. Glancing to the name written in ink, her stomach dropped and suddenly she felt sick.

  “That’s right.” The man grinned. “The money inside must be given to the Morris family.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Allison pushed us out of her office not long after she showed us the clip of Rick Morris spouting his head off into the camera. She was anxious to get working on our behalf and I didn’t want to be an unnecessary distraction so was happy to let her work in quiet. Two hours had passed and now we were back at my new desk, catching up on missed messages.

  Staring into the screen of my laptop, I scrolled through my email. It was filling up quickly, mostly from sympathetic readers who had heard about my son being a student at North High. Though I appreciated their thoughts, I nervously anticipated the moment one person would reveal our secret I didn’t want anyone to learn.

  I fell back in my chair and clasped my hands over my clenched stomach.

  I was having a tough time already, knowing Mason was a target who’d escaped unharmed. His vulnerability had me constantly worried that the man we were looking for might also be searching for my son.

  “If you were Professor Croft, which issue would you protest?” Erin had her feet up on the far end of my desk and her laptop resting on her thighs. She still thought that Croft was the voice behind the hate crimes and was determined to begin tracking his movements.

  “I guess I would have to first know if there were any planned marches.”

  A glimmer caught in her eye. “Any guesses to where the next big protest might be held?”

  “Probably wh
erever Governor Scott or Philip Price is scheduled to be.”

  Erin pursed her lips. “Hmm…” Her fingers tapped aggressively over her keyboard. “Here we go.”

  I stopped what I was doing and swiveled my chair to face my friend. I was curious to know what she was after. From the look on her face, I knew she had found something of interest.

  “Planned protests happening within the week. Your choices are,” Erin raised her hand and pointed her index finger to the ceiling, “LGBT, national security, the environment, racial justice, and religious liberty.”

  “Based on what we heard about the Patriots of God, I would have to go with either racial justice or religious liberty.”

  Erin bit her cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

  “So, my crime-solving friends,” Dawson arrived at my desk all smiles, “did Timothy Morris have an accomplice in yesterday’s shooting?”

  Lunging to my feet, I reached my hand to Dawson’s shoulder and clamped my fingers around his neck, pulling him down. Squatting in front of my desk with Erin straight as a lighthouse looking out for possible spies, I asked Dawson, “Have you told anyone our theory?”

  He was giving me a concerned look when he muttered, “No. Why? It’s true isn’t it?”

  Erin cast her hardened gaze down and we locked eyes. I watched as she ran a hand through her hair before she swiveled her head around like an owl. Luckily, no one was around. If someone like Trisha Christopher—Ms. Gossip herself—overheard our secret, it would only be a matter of time before everyone knew and our whole investigation would blow up in our faces.

  Jabbing my index finger at the tip of Dawson’s nose, I said, “You can’t tell a soul.”

  “Sam,” he drew his brows together, “who do you think I am?”

  I stared into Dawson’s trustworthy eyes, knowing I could trust him with my darkest secrets. “Yeah, it’s true. Tim had an accomplice.”

  Dawson’s eyes grew into large coins as he pinched his lips shut.

  “King and Alvarez came up with the same conclusion and are waiting for forensics to make it official.”

  Dawson’s gaze drifted to the floor. “Shit. This is big news.”

  “It’s huge. That’s why we can’t blow this investigation.” Dawson’s mind was churning. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me to find a way to publish the story but I couldn’t without tipping off the second shooter. “Someone is still out there and we don’t know what they’re planning, if anything.”

  Erin’s hip flared as she hovered over us with crossed arms.

  I turned my focus back to Dawson. “And that’s why this needs to stay between us.”

  “Of course.” Dawson’s eyes suddenly flashed with a thought. “Could it be the person who called for you earlier?”

  My lips abruptly went dry and I felt the ball of goo that had been floating around in my stomach all day suddenly harden into stone. Refusing to wear my fear on my face, I lifted my brows and asked, “Has anyone else called looking for me?”

  “Not that I know about.” Dawson flicked his gaze up to Erin.

  When my calves began tingling I stood, pulling Dawson up with me. I caught Dawson up with our investigation without revealing too many specifics. Dawson was smart enough to know I was keeping something from him but he didn’t ask, wanting to keep my sources protected. All I could say was this investigation was far from being over and I would have a great story waiting for him when it was.

  “I assume you also saw the interview Rick Morris did?” Dawson was now sitting on the edge of my desk, rubbing his brow between two fingers.

  Nodding, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Do we have any idea who the true villain he’s referring to might be?”

  Erin and I were silent for a long moment as we hadn’t discussed it ourselves. But I knew we had both given it thought. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I was hoping that maybe it had something to do with something Tim may have experienced.”

  “I can’t get over the white cross,” Erin said. “The way he held it, thrusting it into the air as he spoke.”

  “I thought it rather odd, too,” Dawson said.

  I didn’t want to say it, but I knew it was what we were all thinking. “Maybe it has something to do with the Patriots of God.” Dawson stared and I told him I had Allison crawling the web to see if she could get any hits that would indicate if the group was attempting to make a comeback.

  “Did you decide on what angle you’ll take for tonight’s coverage?”

  Reaching behind Dawson, I scooped up the printed sheets I’d made earlier. I had each of the school shooting victim’s names printed off, along with a short synopsis on their life story. “I’d like to make Pastor Michaels a key highlight and somehow use his work when sharing the legacy each of the victims has left behind.”

  Erin rapidly blinked. She stepped forward, continuing to stare.

  “I don’t want their murders to go in vein.”

  Dawson turned his head and looked away when he heard his name being called. Pushing off my desk, he said, “Sounds fantastic, Sam.” Stepping out of my small cubicle, he hollered over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at the vigil. Keep up the good work and let me know if I can be of assistance.”

  As soon as it was just Erin and me, Erin put her nose to mine. “Sam, that’s it.”

  I bounced my gaze with hers, feeling the crease between my brow deepen.

  “Your story. It’s what Rick Morris wants.”

  “I think it’s the opposite of what he wants. Which is the point I’m trying to make. No one remembers the names of the victims, but everyone can tell you who committed the crime. I want this one to be different. It’s been done and I’d like to do whatever I can to change that precedent.”

  Erin closed her eyes and shook her head. “By telling the victim’s story, you’re playing right into Rick Morris’s hand.”

  “No, Erin. I have no interest in telling Tim’s story.”

  “Look, just hear me out. Rick Morris was—and still is—a suspect. And now that we have learned more about the Patriots of God, don’t you find it interesting that Rick chose to speak publicly while thrusting a cross high into the air?”

  I felt my breath catch as I thought about the scripture Rick quoted from the bible and made public on his Facebook profile. “Okay, Rick is refusing to let his son leave the spotlight. But it’s a strange way of keeping Tim’s name in the news, don’t you think?”

  Erin’s brows lifted. “Unless we’re the villain he swore he’d expose if we didn’t begin telling his son’s story he wants people to know.”

  “What do we have to hide?”

  “Maybe it’s not our secrets we should be worried about, but those who are closest to us?”

  A cold shiver moved down my spine and I was instantly reminded of my seemingly close relationship to the Patriots of God, Cooks Roberts, and Mason.

  “Rick wants his son’s name to live in infamy. I don’t know why, but his actions leave me with little doubt that that’s exactly what he is after.”

  The moment Erin paused, my thoughts drifted to the Morris household and the framed patriotism that filled their walls. Maybe Erin was right. There was no winning this. If I wrote about the victims like I planned to do, Rick would attack me for not giving his son the credit he thought he deserved. And if I did write about Tim, he would attack me for telling the things Rick didn’t want to hear.

  Erin’s lips were pursed in thought. “Maybe it’s time we ask Rick Morris what he knows about the Patriots of God.”

  “I agree, but that’s not what I’m thinking is going on here at all.”

  Erin crossed her arms and tipped her chin back. “Then, tell me, what do you think is going on here?”

  “I think the true villain Rick is referring to is Rick Morris himself and I’m afraid of what he might do to make his voice heard.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Erin and I couldn’t come to an agreement by the time we arrived t
o the small restaurant off Federal Boulevard on the north side of town. We agreed to disagree and decided it best to let it come to a vote over drinks with the girls.

  As soon as I stepped outside, the spicy scent of Mexican food made my stomach grumble. Poblanos and a tall margarita were on the menu for me, but what I needed most was to hear my son’s voice.

  I followed Erin to the entrance before stopping. Pulling out my phone, Mason still hadn’t checked in. “I’ll meet you inside,” I said. “I’m going to call Mason.”

  Erin nodded, reached for the door handle, and stepped over the threshold of the double wooden door entrance. Her words were still rattling between my ears and I couldn’t escape the thought that maybe she was right about Rick. What if he was coming after journalists and the people closest to us? It certainly seemed possible with what little we knew about him.

  I pressed my phone to my ear and listened to it ring.

  I didn’t want Erin to be right. Not this time, anyway. It would be much easier if Rick was only referring to himself as the villain he wanted to introduce to the world because, then, at least we had somebody to keep a close eye on. But if he wasn’t the villain, we still had nothing. Either way, I was beginning to see Rick as a serious threat.

  I exhaled a deep sigh just before I was about to give up. Then Mason answered.

  “Mom, hey.”

  “Just calling to check in.”

  “I’m still with Nolan.”

  “Is everything going all right?”

  “Everything is fine. Why?”

  “I haven’t spoken to you all day. Have you eaten anything?”

  “I visited the cafeteria and have been picking from Nolan’s plate.”

  “Mason.” I sighed.

  “He wasn’t eating it. Anyway, I guess I should tell you now that I was planning to attend tonight’s vigil.”

  “Good. I think you should go.”

  “Nolan wants me to go, too.”

  That made me smile. “As long as you’ll be with friends and people you can trust.”