Chapter Fifty-Eight
We weren’t more than fifty feet outside Croft’s office when I told Erin, “We need to find Chandler.”
Erin’s blonde hair lifted off her shoulders as she galloped to catch up with me. “You think he knows something about Croft?”
“I think he knows a lot. But what I’m most curious about is if he knew Timothy got that tattoo.” I slowed to a near stop, turned to Erin, and held her gaze inside my own. “These young kids like to brag about their new ink. I’m sure it was big news at the time.”
“Wait,” Erin’s expression pinched, “did you ever hear back from Nancy Jordan?”
I shook my head.
“I knew it.” Erin flicked her gaze down the hall. “She must not have anything, otherwise she would have contacted you by now.”
Suddenly, I was curious again. I glanced at my phone just to double check I hadn’t missed anything. Still nothing from Nancy. I kept walking.
Erin’s boots clacked behind me. “If we’re going to speak with Chandler, it wouldn’t hurt to know why he wasn’t interested in last night’s extra credit.”
Searching for signs to point me to the registrar’s office, I said, “Maybe he didn’t need it. Or he didn’t think it was worth involving himself in something he considered toxic.”
“It’s a soft approach. A way for us to break the ice. C’mon, Sam, we have to use the information we have to get us closer to asking the tougher questions without risking scaring him off. He’s currently our best chance at understanding exactly what has been happening inside Croft’s classroom. We can’t lose him.”
“And we won’t.” I swiveled my stiff neck around, trying to locate any directory. “There,” I said, pointing at the far wall.
Digging my shoes in to the polished flooring, my soles squeaked as I took of jogging. My palms slammed into the wall and I dove to the sign, looking for a number. “Here it is.” I turned to Erin.
“Croft’s class list?”
Excitement flashed over my eyes as I nodded. We kept moving.
“We can check Croft’s alibi, too. Make sure he was home last night grading papers like he said. That was a thick stack of papers. I’d like it if someone could vouch for his whereabouts.” Erin kept her gaze forward as she nodded along. With each step, my pace increased. “He’s left important details out before. We can only assume that he did again today.”
We turned the corner like a couple of race horses and hit the brakes as soon as we came to the office door. Erin hung back. “I’m going to call Ginny Morris; ask her if she knew about Tim’s tattoo.”
“See if you can get her to hint at what her husband has been up to, too.”
Erin gave a single nod of confirmation as I stepped through the registrar’s threshold. Blood sloshed in my ears as I approached the front desk. I was still fuming about the way Croft acted so arrogant toward the entire situation. He seemed like a man pissed off at the world. I wondered what caused that kind of resentment and if it gave him enough reason to want to kill.
I stopped at the front desk. A round woman sitting behind it swept her gaze up and batted her long lashes. “Hi. I’m Samantha Bell from the Colorado Times—”
“What can I do for you, Samantha?” She smiled before letting me complete my sentence.
“I’m doing a story on the school shooting at North High and I was hoping I could get a list of students currently enrolled in Professor Dean Croft’s Political Science course?”
“You’re in luck.” The woman half smiled, half frowned. “I’ve been getting lots of requests for this lately.”
It wasn’t all that surprising considering it was the biggest story in the state, maybe the country. Cops, reporters, hell, everyone was trying to connect the dots to why someone would shoot up a school.
“Here you go.” She handed me a single sheet of paper. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now,” I said, muttering a quick thank you on my way out the door.
“No one is answering,” Erin said, her face flustered with growing frustration. “I’m going to call again.” She hit redial, pressed her phone to her ear, and paced the hallway corridor with fingers drumming on her side.
Gripping the class list with both hands, it didn’t take long for me to lock in on a familiar name.
“I got their voicemail again.” Erin sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, clenching her cellphone at her side. “What is it?” Her brow furrowed.
I lifted my gaze. “Turner. Chandler’s last name is Turner.”
“Does that mean anything to you?”
“No. But now we have a last name, which could lead us to a home address.” I handed the paper to Erin. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“But shouldn’t we stay and find Chandler?”
My phone rang. I felt my arteries open up. When I saw it was Susan, my lungs released.
“Sam, Rick was here. At my office.” Susan’s words flew at me fast. “Ambushed me outside on the street. He attacked me, Sam.”
“Are you all right?” The cords in my neck strained. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Worry knotted my belly.
“He knew I had money donated specifically for his family.”
“How did he know that?”
“I don’t know. But I told him to contact our attorney.”
“And did he?”
“Doubtful. He didn’t even give me a chance to give him our attorney’s name. And it just so happens, the attorney is on his way here now.”
I stared at Erin with my heart pounding. She stared with curiosity twitching her brow.
“But here’s the thing,” Susan continued. “Rick said that I have until tomorrow to decide what his family gets, and if I don’t give him his fair share, he said, ‘Just think how the white community will react to you playing favorites.’”
“He actually said that?” My jaw unhinged.
“And I still don’t even know who gave this check to me.”
“Rick Morris is clearly trying to pour gas on the situation.”
“Sam, be honest with me. What’s the chance that Rick is the one behind all this racial tension?”
“I’m not sure, but let’s not make it any worse by giving in to his demands.”
“I don’t know what to do, Sam. What if he comes back?”
The room spun around me and I could feel the tension building on all sides. The air buzzed with an electricity that raised the hairs on my arm straight into the sky. Something big was about to happen, and I didn’t feel any closer to zeroing in on any one target to stop it before lightning struck. “You need to call the cops before that happens. Rick Morris could be just as dangerous as his son was.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
He flicked his wrist and flung his head. The digital wristwatch frantically beeped. Slapping his free hand over the time piece to silence its alarm, the Sniper lifted his gaze and glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
It had been fifteen minutes since he had seen Samantha Bell and her blonde sidekick parked near the entrance to Pastor Michaels’s church. Their presence had caught him by surprise. His gut told him that they were well on their way to learning his true identity.
He double backed around the block, cursing under his breath the entire way. The pastor had been talking. The Sniper’s anger and resentment swelled with each step as he reminded himself of the mistakes he had made. He knew he should have killed the pastor first instead of the man the news was calling Dennis Hall. It was the pastor who deserved to die, not Dennis. Dennis was a means to an end. It just so happened his luck had run dry.
With his heart drumming loud inside his hollow chest, the Sniper hid behind a thick cottonwood, keeping one hand securely attached to his guitar case. From behind the tree, he stayed on the lookout for any other unexpected surprises before making his next move.
When his eyes stopped on the landing of the church steps, he thought about the medallion he had left for the pastor to find
. A smirk tugged at his lips but, inside, he was mostly filled with regret. Today, he didn’t have anything clever to give the pastor. Only a bullet that would end his life.
With Samantha Bell gone, the Sniper pushed away from the tree and marched up the sidewalk. He kept his head down, visualizing inside his mind what he would say before taking the life of Pastor Michaels.
His blood pulsed as he moved into position. His body buzzed with excitement knowing how close he was to ending the life of the person who pretended to be a man of God. The Sniper knew better. And, soon, the entire world would learn of his secret, too.
The entrance drew closer. Just as he was about to turn and gallop up the front steps, he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye that made him pause. In that split second, he was forced to make a quick decision to not head into the church.
Without visibly reacting, the Sniper cursed to himself as he pulled his baseball cap visor further over his eyes and kept walking.
The police car slowed as it approached the church. The Sniper’s heart nearly stopped but he kept his eyes forward and his stride even.
No. This can’t be. I’m not finished. I must finish what I started!
Inside his head he was running while he moved at a slow and even pace to not draw attention to himself. His palms sweated and his heart swelled uncomfortably but he kept moving. If he was stopped and questioned, he was doomed. It would have been impossible for him to assemble his rifle and pop off a couple of shots before he’d be hit with one first.
Adrenaline kept his nerves jumpy and only did they start to settle once he turned the corner and disappeared around the block. Blowing out a shaky breath, he could feel that his days were limited.
Closing his eyes, he paused to remind himself what he was once told about being a martyr.
Martyrs are the true patriots who serve others by making the ultimate sacrifice to ensure a better future for all.
The Sniper dug his heels into the concrete and suddenly stopped. He picked up his head and glanced over his shoulder. His thoughts churned as he stared at the parked patrol car. A dozen different scenarios played out inside his head, and then, an idea came to him.
Chapter Sixty
Susan stared out her window, pinching her lip between her fingers. Her pulse was slow but she was still breathing. She hadn’t moved from her chair since getting off the phone with Samantha. Her words were still rattling around Susan’s head and she wished her friend had given better advice than to just call the police.
Susan sucked back a deep breath and sighed.
She didn’t know what she wanted her friend to say to her, what other options she had. The city was on edge and Rick Morris’s words kept her stomach feeling jittery.
When Susan ironed her hand down the arm Rick had grabbed, Samantha’s warning whispered into her ear.
Rick Morris could be just as dangerous as his son was.
Susan flinched, shivering in the cold chill that sent a wave of fear up her spine. Those departing words Samantha left her with managed to steal her entire focus. It was bad enough that the attorney was running late, but this was proving difficult to shake.
A part of Susan wondered if that wasn’t Sam’s objective—to keep Susan vigilant when danger was knocking on her door. She could have just said it if that was her intention.
Susan startled when she heard a set of knuckles tapping lightly on her office door.
Rolling her neck, she stepped out of her web of thoughts and found Carly standing with a concerned look creasing her brow. More bad news, Susan thought.
“Is he here?” Susan asked about the attorney.
“No sign of him yet.” Carly dropped her hand from the door and let it dangle at her side. “People are beginning to speculate how much money has been donated to the victim’s fund.”
“Okay. Let them speculate.” Susan leaned forward and pretended to work. Another quake rolled through her body. She knew she would never be able to meet Rick Morris’s insane demand by tomorrow. “We’ll release numbers soon enough, but now we keep our mouths zipped until a more appropriate time.”
“I understand.” Carly’s chest rose as she nervously bit the edge of her lip.
Susan knew the money her organization had received was incredible, but they were still undecided about a realistic timeline of when the victims could expect to begin receiving their allotted sums. Susan was hoping that was something the attorney could sort out with them.
“What is it, Carly?” Susan was short, feeling irritated.
Carly visibly swallowed when she inched closer. “The media is speaking to the victims’ families.” Carly paused and Susan stared. “They’re upset, asking what we’re waiting for.”
Susan fell back into her chair, threading her fingers over her stomach. “What we’re waiting for?” It had barely been 24 hours since the governor had unexpectedly opened a victims’ fund at Susan’s company. Donations were pouring in at a rapid pace. They couldn’t be expected to send money out until the fund was closed.
Carly nodded. “The reason I’m bringing this to your attention is because soon we’ll be forced to release a statement ourselves.”
Susan understood perfectly well what was coming. “What else are the families saying?”
“They’re saying all sorts of things. They’re asking how can we drag our feet when they don’t have the choice to push back their child’s funeral. Medical bills are adding up and will be sent out soon. Susan, people are anxious and don’t know how they will cover these costs or if they’ll ever receive the money that was promised to them. They think we should just pass it straight through our bank account in an instant. That we shouldn’t hold on to it at all since it isn’t ours.”
Susan’s heart went out to each of the families. While she was looking forward to helping them out, there was nothing she could do to speed up the process. “Prepare a statement to be released after we meet with the lawyer.”
“But there is something else.”
Susan shot Carly a tension-filled expression, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Go on.”
“There is also a rumor going around that we’re stealing the money to pay down the business’s debt. That that’s why we’re not giving it away as soon as we have it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Susan guffawed.
“But people believe it.”
“Where the hell is this guy?” Susan stood, turned to face the window and quietly cursed the governor for selecting her organization to take on this extraordinary role with no outside assistance.
Susan’s desk phone rang. Both women stared. Susan reached for it and gave Carly a look. “Some privacy please?” Carly trotted out the office, closing the door behind her. “Susan Young speaking,” she answered.
A local reporter from 9News introduced himself and didn’t stop to pause before firing off the first question. Susan responded professionally, mostly directing him to her attorney who she had yet to meet personally. Then he caught Susan off guard when he asked, “It has come to my attention that your organization is also planning to give Timothy Morris’s family an equal share of the donated funds. How much are you planning to give and will you make that public?”
Susan lowered her brow and softly asked, “Where did you hear that?”
“Are you confirming it’s true, Ms. Young?” She could almost hear him smiling.
A bubble closed over Susan when she muttered, “We’ll be releasing a statement soon. Until then, you can direct all your questions to my attorney.” Susan slammed the phone down in its cradle, hung her head, and screamed.
Chapter Sixty-One
Alex King ended his call with Sam feeling pellets of sweat stream down his back. He lowered his head and pushed his fist into his mouth. Biting down on his knuckles until the skin broke, he stifled a loud growl of frustration. His hands were tied. Without a known threat on the pastor’s life, there was nothing he could do. But maybe he could go after Markus?
Slamming
the heavy metal door wide open, King exited the stairwell and marched back to his desk with Alvarez giving off a vibe that said I told you so. He dropped like a deadweight into his beat-up old chair and proceeded to leaf through his piles of papers. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam and how his gut told him there might be more to Markus than what she was telling him.
Alvarez leaned back with a perp’s profile in his hand. “If Markus was Gavin’s partner, he could have learned what the pastor did from Gavin.”
King turned to his partner. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Alvarez gave a single nod. “What’s Samantha saying about all this?”
“I thought you didn’t want to work with a reporter.”
Alvarez quirked a brow.
King rolled his chair to his partner’s desk and lowered his voice. Over the next several minutes, King filled his partner in on everything he and Sam currently knew about Markus.
Alvarez listened, saving his follow-up questions for when King was finished. Maybe there was more to Samantha’s investigation than he’d originally given her credit for.
King told his partner about Markus’s sudden reappearance after all these years and how it coincided with the first shots fired at the school. It was King’s theory that Cook Roberts was Markus’s way to retaliate against the department that betrayed him, and now he was back to balance out the world order he believed had been knocked off its axis.
“This is messed up.” Alvarez scrubbed a heavy hand over his face. “Have you checked to see if he’s visited Kenneth Wayne?”
King held his partner’s gaze and shook his head no. “The only connection I know of is with the pastor and Markus’s past hatred against Lieutenant.”
Alvarez’s eyes flashed when he turned to look at Lieutenant’s office. “Has he made contact with either of the two?”
Bell Hath No Fury Page 22