Dead Center

by Susan Sleeman

  He tapped the envelope. “Time to get out the camera.”

  She set it up and gestured for him to start. He smiled at the camera and eagerly ripped open the envelope. “I’m back with the earlier findings.”

  He withdrew the sheet of paper and read down the page. “Ah-ha. The expert simply didn’t do a thorough job, but assumed all 9mm Luger bullets were of the same length when in fact they vary. Even ones coming off the same manufacturing line. For example, the diameters of the bullets I scanned from the box located at Mr. Eggen’s house ranged from 8.95 mm to 9.01 mm.”

  Grady took a long breath and checked the page again. “The report says our expert determined the bullet in Mr. Eggen’s head had a diameter between 9.03 and 9.19 mm at the base, which the expert said was in line with the general dimensions of a 9 mm Luger bullet. He’s incorrect. Luger bullets don’t exceed 9.02 mm. But the dimensions he quoted could fit a wide range of 9 mm varieties, and even .38 Special or .357 round types. Any one of these bullets could be lodged in Mr. Eggen’s head but not the bullets found in his gun. This concludes my video report, and I thank you for listening to the technical details.”

  He looked at Ainslie to end the video.

  “Wow,” she said. “You really know what you’re doing.”

  He was about to comment when his phone rang. “It’s Sierra.”

  “Is Ainslie still with you?” Sierra asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Put me on speaker, please.”

  He tapped the speaker icon.

  “What’s up?”

  “Two things. Detective Flores just had a hair sample messengered over to me.”

  “Wade’s?” Ainslie asked excitedly.

  “Yes. And I’ve done a preliminary analysis. The hair I recovered at the shooter’s hide matches this sample.”

  “So, Wade is the person who’s been trying to kill me?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Is this enough to charge him with attempted murder?” Grady asked.

  “That, I’m not sure of, but Flores has asked our team to process his apartment with her, and I’m hoping we’ll locate additional evidence to point to him.”

  “Can I join you?” Ainslie asked.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Sierra said.

  “Will you video it so I can watch? I mean I hate to ask—”

  “Of course I will,” Sierra said. “But before I go, I’m going to give my buddy a call to get him out here ASAP. He’s the guy who can complete a more thorough analysis of the hair. An analysis that will stand up in court.”

  “Thank you, Sierra,” Ainslie said.

  “You’re welcome.” Sierra’s tone was warm and genuine. “And as a bonus, since I’ll be at Wade’s apartment, my condo will totally be free for your dinner with Grady.”

  22

  Grady had to admit that he’d hoped dinner would be more intimate and romantic. Instead, it was a simple meal with salad, lasagna from the freezer, and the laptop sitting on the island standing by for Sierra’s video call.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have more to choose from for dinner,” she said, putting a bowl with rosy red tomatoes and crisp cucumbers resting on fresh green lettuce in front of him

  “I don’t care what we eat,” he said. “Besides I like rabbit food.”

  “What’s your favorite meal?” she asked, seeming to want to know more about him, which he took as a good sign.

  “Steak, baked potato, and my mom’s garden peas.” He stabbed a fork into his salad and held it midair. “Or actually pretty much anything my mom makes.”

  Ainslie sat at the island and poured ranch dressing on her salad. “Sounds like your family is close.”

  Good. She’d brought up his family. It would be a good segue to tell her about Uncle Tommy.

  He looked at her. “Yeah, we are. I don’t get back to Nebraska nearly often enough to eat her cooking, but I usually attend Sunday family dinner via Skype and drool over the food. She’s not able to grow as much produce as she did on the farm, but she uses every inch of the space she has available.”

  “Losing the farm must’ve been hard on them.” Ainslie stabbed her fork into a tomato.

  He watched it squirt against the bowl before responding. “It was hard until Dad got a sales rep job for a seed company. Turns out he really likes the work, and he’s good at it. They miss farming, but don’t miss the uncertainty of crop failures. Or weather disasters and lean years. He likes that regular paycheck and big bonuses.”

  She took a sip of water. “Did you ever consider farming?”

  He shook his head. “You see your parents go through the struggle of working so hard only to have the government interfere with pricing and screw things up. Or a drought takes a crop. Or even a tornado. You don’t get any time off, working pretty much twenty-four/seven, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year. That wasn’t the life I wanted.”

  “How did you get into weapons?” she asked. “I mean, you’re not born an expert at that.”

  “True that. Takes time. I went to visit my older brother at college for a big game. His roommate’s dad was there, and he was a ballistics expert at the FBI’s Quantico lab. I was a big hunter and belonged to a gun club for competitive shooting. I was totally into it, and once I heard you could make a living doing something like that, I decided that was the job for me.”

  She cocked her head, a cute quizzical look on her face. “But then you went into the military.”

  He nodded. “We didn’t have money for college, so that was out. And there’s no better place to shoot tons of guns and gain practical experience than in the military. So I enlisted. Got my bachelor’s in forensic science. Then as I worked on my master’s, I did an internship program with the FBI lab.”

  “That’s a lot to cram into a short period of time.” She sat back and carefully watched him. “I don’t know when you could possibly have had time for a personal life.”

  “I don’t have much of one. I go to games and watch sports when I get a chance, but that’s about it.” The more personal the discussion got, the more he was losing his appetite and set down his fork.

  “No dating?” she asked.

  “Very little.” He folded his hands on the counter and met her gaze head-on. “But that’s not about having the time. It’s about my past.”

  She didn’t say anything for the longest time just continued to watch him. “What you were alluding to in the lab, and the reason we’re having dinner.”

  He nodded. “I have something in common with Ethan.”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you had a drug problem.”

  “No. I have a secret. And until I notify the right people, I’ll always be a slave to it. Like Ethan was. I didn’t turn to drugs to forget, but it’s haunted me for a long time.” He took a deep breath and thought about the words to say so she would understand. “I was nine, and it’s something I should have told someone back then, or in all the years since, but I couldn’t be the one to destroy my family. Then the years slipped away. I stayed busy to avoid it. You know, became a workaholic, which is why I was able to achieve so much. But now, because of everything that’s happened with you and Ethan, I know I have to tell my parents and the sheriff back home.”

  “Go on.” Her expression was unreadable when he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

  “You’ve said you can’t understand keeping a secret, and if you don’t want to have anything to do with me after you hear about this, I’ll understand.”

  She slid closer. “Don’t think about that. Just tell me.”

  “Our farm was near a small town where my Uncle Tommy lives and owns a body shop. A vagrant had been wandering around town for a week or so, panhandling. Church folks helped him out, but the local businesses didn’t like having him around. Said he was bad for business. Uncle Tommy kept finding the guy sleeping near his place when he’d open shop in the morning. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

  Grady paused, h
is heart pounding at the telling. “At one of our Sunday night dinners, Uncle Tommy was angrier than I’d ever seen him. He’d just run the guy off again.”

  Grady shook his head. “Uncle Tommy’s this crusty bachelor. Former military. Kind of rough around the edges and not the kind of guy who found compassion in his heart for a homeless guy. He said often enough that he believed people should pick themselves up by their bootstraps and make something of themselves.”

  “So what happened?” She looked mesmerized by the story, but what was she feeling about it?

  He wouldn’t stop to ask. “One night this vagrant was killed in a hit-and-run on the highway. The sheriff didn’t have any leads other than that the guy was likely hit with a large pickup that potentially had white paint. That described half the vehicles in the county and didn’t narrow things down a lot. I listened to all the gossip, but being nine, I didn’t think much about it. Until I went to see Uncle Tommy late one night. He was teaching me how to play poker without my parents knowing about it. I would sneak out of the house on Friday night and ride my bike to Uncle Tommy’s apartment above his garage. But this particular night, he must’ve forgotten I was coming, because he was in his shop working.

  “He didn’t hear me come in.” The painful memory twisted Grady’s gut. “He was working on his truck. The front end was all bashed in. Like he’d hit something.” He paused on the next word, which he could barely get out over a tightening throat. “Someone.”

  “The vagrant,” she said, sounding breathless.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I paid more attention to the gossip after that night, and the damage fit the details that people were talking about.”

  She leaned even closer. “What did you do?”

  “I ran to my bike and hightailed it home. I didn’t know what to do next, so I did nothing. Funny enough, the next day Uncle Tommy came by driving his old Jeep and asked why I didn’t show up for poker. I lied and said I was sick. He bought the story, and all was well with us. Or at least from his side of things. Except it kept bugging me. Badly. I wasn’t sleeping much, and when I did, I had bad dreams about Uncle Tommy running the guy down. I tried to tell my mom a few times, but Uncle Tommy’s her brother, and I just couldn’t hurt her. So I didn’t say anything to anyone. And here we are. All these years later. Uncle Tommy’s a free man. As far as I know, they never identified the vagrant and never figured out who hit him.”

  She sat back and eyed him, but he couldn’t read her reaction. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  He had to work hard not to gape at her response, so different than he’d expected. “Thank you. I thought you’d be disgusted.”

  “I totally get how a nine-year-old would keep that to himself. But I won’t pretend to understand how you could continue to stay quiet. Only you can really understand that.” Her tone was flat. Her face devoid of any expression.

  Yeah, but what was she thinking about him? About a possible future with him? He was desperate to know, but his pride wouldn’t let him come right out and ask.

  But he could try to explain. “I don’t think even I understand my continued silence. It’s just one of those things that seems less real as time passes. Like it happened to someone else, and I can push it into the back of my mind. Try to forget about it. But then something happens and it comes flooding back.”

  She pursed her lips and watched him for a long uncomfortable moment. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Yeah, what? “After we clear Ethan and Wade is charged with trying to kill you, I’m going back home to tell my parents then go to the sheriff.”

  She gave a sharp nod as if she approved, yet her expression remained blank. “That’s good. I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you do.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure how I’ll forgive myself for not doing it all this time, but I’m gonna try. Because I want more than work in my life. I want a wife and family. And to be the best husband and father I can be, I can’t keep carrying this heavy guilt.” He waited for her to say something but she just continued to watch him. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m trivializing my actions, and that I think I should just get over it. It’s serious, and I take full responsibility for my part in staying silent.”

  She opened her mouth like she was going to say something. Maybe tell him how she felt, but her computer chimed, and she clamped her mouth closed.

  He let out a breath. “That will be Sierra, right?”

  Ainslie nodded and accepted the call, leaving Grady to wonder what she thought about him and the secret he’d kept for so many years.

  She got the video running, her mood somber, but it could be because they were looking at Wade’s apartment. Or it could be because she was so disappointed in him that she couldn’t even talk about what he’d done. He’d expected to feel relieved, but he didn’t. Not one bit. He still had a long way to go, but, like he’d told Ainslie, he would put in his best effort to let go of his guilt.

  He shifted his focus from the video, where Sierra systematically worked her way through the apartment, to Ainslie. Maybe once they parted ways for the night, she’d think about what he’d done, really think about it, and then decide she couldn’t be with a guy who’d hidden such a big thing for so many years. Or she could even be thinking that right now.

  He would totally understand. Totally.

  “Well, would you look at this.” Sierra pulled a box out from under the bed covered in a worn floral bedspread.

  The camera focused in on the box holding a small drone and supplies to make Molotov cocktails.

  “The drone that started the fire.” Ainslie shot Grady an excited look.

  “Sure seems like it, and there’s more.” Sierra dove back under the bed, the camera feed going dark.

  Ainslie’s gaze was pinned to the screen, and she slid to the edge of her stool.

  He could feel her excitement, and his heart lifted over the fact that they were finally getting somewhere in clearing Ethan’s name.

  Sierra scooted back out, and the camera caught a clear shot of a black semi-automatic rifle.

  Grady leaned in for a better look. “It’s an M&P15. Chambered for .223 cal like the slugs recovered at the crime scene.” Grady looked at Ainslie. “Likely the gun that was used to try to kill you.”

  “Something about it looks so deadly.” She stared at the screen and shivered. “The black frame. That stock. It doesn’t look like a hunting rifle you see on TV or movies. More like the kind of gun that bad guys and cops use. So it’s a people hunting gun.”

  He’d never heard it called that before, but she was right. “Yeah, it’s more of a personal protection gun. And it’s popular with law enforcement agencies. But don’t confuse it with automatics that the real bad guys use. It’s not like that at all and wouldn’t have been used for the drive-by you were working.”

  Ainslie’s phone rang, and she grabbed it from the counter. “It’s Matt Murphy.”

  She answered and pursed her lips as she listened. “Sure, I guess, but couldn’t you just wait for her to call you back?”

  She frowned and tapped a finger on the counter as if irritated. Not that Grady was surprised she was getting frustrated when talking to Murphy. The guy might know how to do his job, but he sure didn’t know how to play nice.

  “Okay. Fine.” She sighed. “Text me when you arrive, and I’ll come down to get you.”

  She slammed her phone on the counter. “He’s really something, you know that?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Emory called him and left a message saying she had Neil’s DNA results. She told him to call her back, but she’s not answering, so he wants to come over here and talk to her in person.”

  Interesting. “Why in person?”

  “He didn’t really explain, but he never was a patient sort.”

  “I don’t want to see the cranky sheriff, but it’s good news that the DNA is done.” He smiled at her and tried not to think about the fact that he still didn’t know
how she felt about his secret. In any event, it didn’t seem to be interfering with her ability to focus on the investigation.

  “It’s odd that Emory called him first,” Ainslie said. “But she’ll let us know as soon as she thinks we need to know anything.”

  “Nothing else to see here,” Sierra announced grabbing their attention.

  “Thanks for letting us watch,” Ainslie said.

  “Can you get that gun back here ASAP?” Grady asked. “I want to confirm it’s the one used at the crime scene.”

  “I can have Chad finish up here, and I’ll bring it back to the lab.”

  “Perfect.”

  She stood facing the door. “So how’d dinner go? Are you two dating now?”

  Grady groaned. “Hanging up now, Sierra. See you in the lab.”

  He closed the computer, and his phone rang. “It’s Emory.”

  He put her on speaker. “Sheriff Murphy’s looking for you.”

  “I know. I went to my condo to put my feet up and have dinner with Blake, and Murphy left me four messages. I’ll call him back after I hang up with you.”

  “No need to. He called Ainslie. He’s on his way here, and she’s going to let him in.”

  “Then I guess we all might as well just meet in my lab, and I’ll review the DNA results with everyone at once.”

  By the time Ainslie and Grady got down to the lobby to escort Matt to the DNA lab, he’d already managed to annoy their night guard. Pete’s tight expression as Ainslie walked through the lobby toward him proved it.

  “You may be a sheriff, but we don’t make exceptions for anyone.” Pete gritted his teeth. “Everyone signs in and needs an escort. Everyone.”

  Matt planted his hands on his hips and stared at the iPad on the counter.

  She stopped at the desk and gave Pete an I’m sorry look. “Is there a problem, Matt?”

  He fired her a testy look. “Other than you don’t trust anybody here, you mean? Where we’re from, we have a little faith in people.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust,” Grady said. “It’s a matter of chain of custody and protection of evidence. I’m sure you employ similar security standards at your office.”