by Jan Coffey
Geary moved to the other side of the map. “January 3. San Francisco, California. A fifteen-year-old guns down eight students as they walk to school from the bus. The crossing guard is shot dead. The suspect kills himself on the sidewalk by the front door of the high school,” the SAC continued with the same intensity.
Bryan saw Hank sink lower in the chair. He had a good idea that his friend hadn’t been given any say, either, on whether or not he wanted to work on this case.
They both had said never again. The prison visits, interviewing the kids, parents of the victims and accusers, the grief that surrounded everyone associated with these tragedies had been overwhelming, even for reasonably tough guys like them. Because of what was going on in his life, Bryan had taken the hit harder than Hank. It had been more than just feeling low. It has messed with his head.
And on top of it all, they hadn’t been able to solve anything. It was back.
“Wickfield, Connecticut. Yesterday, another fifteen-year-old male opens fire on a teacher and fellow students in the school library. Seven injuries, two critical. Miraculously, no deaths. More amazing, the suspect is alive but in critical condition.” The FBI Special Agent stopped and looked around the room.
This was his chance, Bryan thought. His seniority should count for something. After twenty three years in the Service, he was practically ancient. He could say screw it and walk out. He’d been here, done this. Bryan wasn’t the right person for this case. He could cite medical reasons if they tried to force him. Hank would support him. So would the department shrink who’d spent months observing him and talking to him. Outside doctors would attest to it, too. His department had kept him away from these kinds of cases since the study was published. Why was he back in now?
“Everyone has already met Secret Service Agents Atwood and Gardner,” the SAC continued.
There were nods across the room. Most of them were half his age, Bryan thought. Green and tough. They would bounce back…most of them. A case like this was a young person’s game.
“Last week, we were going over the reports you wrote on this topic,” a female FBI agent announced, sounding impressed. “The process you outlined for threat assessment in schools is still the benchmark.”
She didn’t look much older than his eldest daughter. How old was Andrea? Seventeen. Bryan ran a tired hand through his hair.
“Years ago, I sat in on one of the talks you gave to discuss your research,” Geary said to Bryan directly, as if knowing he was the more resistant of the two. “I recall the results being very well received.”
Bryan nodded. “I think I can speak for Agent Gardner when I say that you’ve seen, read, or heard everything Hank and I have to offer on a project like this,” Bryan said. “I really don’t know why we’re here.”
“Reports can never replace firsthand expertise,” Geary said.
“True, but we weren’t really involved in the initial investigative stage of those cases,” Hank put in. “We were the Monday morning quarterbacks. Paperwork shufflers. We analyzed data and wrote the reports.”
That was a lie, but Bryan wasn’t going to correct his old partner. He understood what Hank was trying to do. It was the same thing that he would do himself. Neither of them wanted to be involved with this.
“You’re too modest, Agent Gardner,” Geary said in the smooth tone befitting a true paper shuffler. “But your reputation precedes you. This is a very high visibility case. Everyone, going up as far as President, is sensitive and anxious about results. People all over the country are nervous about sending their kids to school. There have been six shootings, all within a month. It’s as if these kids are like time bombs, ticking away, and they’re going off too close to one another.”
For ten days of that period, most school districts across the country had been shut down for the Christmas holidays. What other acts of violence had been committed by kids in the same age group—acts that didn’t occur on a school property and as the result weren’t on that map?
Bryan realized what he was doing. He was already thinking about it.
“Frankly, there hasn’t been enough time for us to go over all the background on what you two accomplished in working up that report. We doubt we’re asking the right questions. We all know what the post-911 shakeups have done to our organizations. Terrorism has been the priority. Now, we need expertise on this.” Geary turned directly to Bryan. “And your names are the ones that have come up over and over again. The latest call I had came from the White House.”
Geary was lathering it on thick. He was one of the new generation of SACs. Some of these guys spent as much time learning to be politicians as they did learning law enforcement. Of course, there was also the fact that their asses were being held over a bonfire with these shootings.
“Similar to the panel you worked on before, we need group intelligence to crack the case,” Geary explained.
“I keep hearing you repeat the word case. There have been six shootings. Are you saying that you’ve already established a tie between all of them?” Bryan asked.
“I think we may have, but we’re not sure,” Geary said motioning to an agent to his left to pass two thick files to them. The younger agent had straight shoulder length black hair, pierced ears, and an untucked shirt over blue-jeans. He’d been introduced to Bryan as Nick Luna when they’d first arrived. Christ, things were changing.
“They were all honor students,” the younger agent explained. “And by that, we don’t mean the top ten percent, but absolutely the very top of their class. The top one percent of the national population IQ rate.”
As father of two very bright students himself, Bryan knew about the battle gifted kids faced. The school systems didn’t want to hear it. The taxpayers remained deaf to it. But at the time of cuts, gifted programs topped the lists. They didn’t understand that they had to keep these kids active, challenged, busy, or they got bored and robbed your houses or became ax-murderers.
“They were all the work of fifteen year olds,” Nick continued.
“Tough age for kids, especially for boys,” Hank commented. “Their brain capacity makes them so smart that they become stupid. What else?”
“There’s more to the age thing,” Geary broke in. “They all turned fifteen within this past month.”
“These teenagers have different toys to play with today than what was available ten years ago,” Hank said. “Internet, cell phones, X-Box 360, all kinds of shooter-type video games. We were told the shootings were widespread across the country, but were these kids in contact with one another in any way? Could it be a cyber-gang of some sort, tied to their birthdays? Maybe the violence is even part of a ritual?”
A few of the agents started scribbling down notes furiously. A couple of others leafed through the folders before them.
“Another thing, has anyone compiled a list of the prescription drugs these teenagers were taking?” Hank continued.
Bryan leaned back against his seat. Hank was in. But it wasn’t like they had any options.
“Put up what we have on the board,” Geary said to Nick Luna. He looked like he’d just eaten the canary. “We’re ready to go to work.”
Bryan wished that was true. He hoped it would be easy to zip shut the bag of worms he could feel wriggling deep inside of him.
Whatever happened, he had to stay strong enough to make it through this investigation without losing it.
~~~~
Chapter 4
Wednesday January 16
Yale-New Haven Hospital, New Haven, Connecticut
Her son needed help, but Lexi was helpless. Her feet were planted in soft, wet cement. She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her throat. They were taking him away, and no one saw her. There was no one to help her go after him. Darkness was closing in around her, and Juan was being swallowed by it.
Her leg jumped uncontrollably and Lexi’s eyes opened wide. She’d fallen asleep. It was only a dream, a mishmash of every nightmare that had ever ha
unted her sleep.
The cold vinyl seat was stuck to the back of her sweatshirt. Her neck was sore, her bones ached. She looked around. The sterile hallways of the hospital stared back. The smell of disinfectant was familiar and instantly sobering. Reality was much scarier than the nightmare she’d just had. She didn’t know what had become of Juan. An invisible hand was thrusting itself into her chest, grabbing her heart and squeezing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Tears rushed to her eyes as the events of the past two days played in her head.
She’d arrived here on Monday. She’d left a patient on the examining table and two more in the waiting room and had walked out with the police officer who’d arrived at her practice bringing the horrific news. Her denial had been instant. The son she’d raised was incapable of violence. They had the wrong boy. This couldn’t be happening to Juan…not to her son. This whole thing had to be one massive mistake.
Leaning her head back against the wall, Lexi tried for the zillionth time to make some sense out of all of this. Two days later, she still had no answers. The shock of hearing that Juan had shot his teacher and classmates had been more devastating than anything she’d faced in her entire life.
Not her child. He couldn’t be capable of such an act. They’d told her he’d collapsed after the shooting, passing out and slipping into a coma. Two days later, he was still the same.
Lexi rubbed her pounding temple. She wanted to know exactly what tests they’d run on him so far. She wanted to see the results. As a doctor, she knew too much. She’d been contemplating too many scenarios, all of them scary. But the officials gave her no answers. Her background didn’t matter a bit to these investigators. Being Juan’s mother seemed to matter even less. He was the assailant. Period. And they were in this alone.
Lexi’s brother, Allen, had arrived yesterday and stayed overnight. He had to go back to New Jersey tonight, though. His wife, Donna, was having her second chemo-therapy treatment for breast cancer tomorrow. His family needed him.
Bad luck came in waves. The past couple of months had been surreal, worse than a nightmare. Donna was fighting for her life. And now Juan and the shooting. Lexi felt like her life had become entrapped inside a snowball rolling down a steep hill. The farther down she went, the faster and more out of control everything became.
She reached deep inside the front pocket of her slacks and found the business card she’d stuffed there this afternoon. An attorney. A stranger that Allan had found for her. Judith McGrath’s specialty was juveniles. Her brother had called the attorney for Lexi, even met with her this morning. Judy, he’d called her. She was coming over to the hospital tomorrow to see Lexi. By then, maybe Juan’s condition would have improved, too. Maybe he’d be awake.
But then what? She knew the end of Juan’s coma was only the beginning. Panic started to close her throat again. Her son’s medical recovery would be the last of these people’s concerns. There would be a trial. Lexi wondered if they’d move Juan to a prison. He’d be scared. Tears rushed in again. She wiped them away. She couldn’t let her mind go there. Not yet.
“I’m going down to the cafeteria, Dr. Bradley. Can I get you something to eat?”
Lexi recognized the voice. One of the third-shift nurses. Her name was Linda. She’d been here last night, too, and had asked the same question of her and Allan. She wiped her face with the bunched tissue in her hand and looked up at the softly wrinkled black face. She’d been so kind from the very start. No judgments at all. “You don’t have to call me Dr. Bradley. No one else around here does.”
“Those cops have forgotten their manners. And the nurses will know better from now on. I gave every one of them the whole scoop on you.”
Lexi rubbed her stiff neck. “And where did you get the scoop on me?”
“I have my sources.”
Lexi shared an internal medicine practice with three other doctors. There were half a dozen nurses and physician’s assistants who worked with them. But she also worked with both Waterbury and St. Mary’s hospitals. The state of Connecticut was too small for people to not know one another. “How bad was the scoop?”
“I’m mentioning no names, but the word out there is that this shouldn’t be happening to you and your son.” Linda patted Lexi gently on the shoulder. “Everyone is really worried about you.”
Lexi choked up. For the most part in the past couple of days, she’d kept a tight rein on her emotions in front of other people, but kindness got to her.
“So how about some food?” Linda said repeating her original question.
“Can I see my son?” Lexi asked instead.
“I’m sorry, Doc, but that’s not my call,” the nurse said in a hushed voice and pointed with her head in the direction of two uniformed officers stationed outside Juan’s door. “And I wouldn’t ask that bunch over there, either. They don’t make any decisions on their own. You’ll have to wait for one of the detectives in charge to come in.”
Juan had been wheeled out of that room on a gurney once today. Unlike Monday, when she’d been forced to stay in the waiting area of the emergency room, or yesterday, when the hospital staff had kept her an arm’s length away, Lexi had been allowed to hold his hand and walk next to him when he went to MRI. He’d slept through it all, only waking up for the first time momentarily when he’d been inside the machine. But there had been no recognition. He’d only touched his head and said, “It hurts,” before going back to sleep.
Yesterday, when they told her he was in a coma, she had also learned that all his vitals were excellent. Then, Lexi had been able to coax one of the residents last night to show her Juan’s charts. Everything she’d seen looked normal.
Today, no one explained whether or not anything was different. But the fact that he’d opened his eyes and spoken a couple of words, even though it was only for a moment, meant nothing. A few possibilities had been running through Lexi’s mind. Juan could have had a stroke. Or perhaps he had a brain tumor—a sudden, dramatic change of attitude was one of the symptoms, as were seizures. As scary as the prospect of a tumor was, it made it easier for her to rationalize his actions on Monday.
Over the past couple of weeks he’d been complaining of headaches. She hadn’t done anything about it, blaming it on his allergies and a respiratory virus that was making its way around school.
She’s been blind to whatever it was that Juan had been fighting. It was right in front of her, and she’d not pursued it. Guilt was a constant companion to all other emotions raging inside of her.
“Has he shown any more alertness?” Lexi asked knowing she had to make good use of any direct information she could get from the hospital staff.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll double check with other nurses when I go back.”
“Are any doctors going to see him again tonight?” Lexi persisted.
“One of the residents will make the rounds of the floor in another hour.”
“Do you know who’s on call tonight?” Lexi asked, hoping that the same doctor as last night would be on staff.
“I’m not sure. But I can check on that, too.”
“Whoever it is on,” she added quickly. “Will you ask them to talk to me? Just to answer a couple of questions?”
She hadn’t heard anything about Juan’s imaging tests. By now, they had to have some results. Lexi knew she wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list to get answers.
Allan had relayed Attorney McGrath’s explanations. Because of the shooting and his arrest, Juan was now in the custody of the state, and Lexi had practically no say in anything when it came to her son’s care and condition. She was at the mercy of whatever government agent or detective happened to be in charge at the hospital.
“I’ll try to do whatever I can, Dr. Bradley.” Linda patted Lexi’s hand gently. “How about some food? You haven’t left the hospital for two days now. Your brother was very concerned about you when he left. How about a nice sandwich or at least a salad?”
“No, thanks. No food. I can
’t eat,” Lexi whispered, planting her elbows on her knees and sinking her face into her hands. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t going to go home and take a nap, or have a shower. Her clothes were wrinkled. So what? She smelled like the antiseptic soap in the bathroom, but she didn’t care.
She wouldn’t call any friends and pour out her grief, either. She couldn’t ask for anyone’s help in this community. Her practice would run on its own. Her partners would take care of things. She had a couple of messages on her cell phone from the people at the office. They’d said the same thing, told her not to worry about things there. She couldn’t bring herself to call them back. Everyone was somehow affected by the shooting. Wickfield was a very small town. Everyone knew one another. They all knew those who were injured at the high school. Lexi wondered what would become of their future…Juan’s future and hers.
“You can’t be much help to your son if you let yourself get rundown like this,” Linda said softly.
Lexi had no answer. She was at a loss for what to do, where to go, whom to contact. This was totally unlike her. She was a person always in charge.
She heard Linda’s footsteps move down the hall, and unexpected tears wet the palms of her hands. Lexi didn’t know she had any left. Helpless, weak, confused, scared. She wished she could fight it. But there was nothing left in her. All she felt was empty and alone.
~~~~
Chapter 5
“So much for not being involved in the first stage of the investigation,” Hank Gardner complained.
He and Bryan sat in the black SUV on the second level of the parking garage. A dim spotlight at the far end of the row shone on the cars and illuminated wisps of steam escaping the building ductwork next door. The air outside was crisp. All day, the radio stations had been threatening significant snowfall for tonight.