“It’s not obedience but wisdom, man. Do what every woman wants or risk her wrath.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Sierra to lighten the mood.
She punched him, and he stifled the urge to knuckle her head. Exchanging barbs with his siblings was always guaranteed to brighten things up, even if they were acting like teenagers again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Grady said. “Here she comes.”
Frost strode across the street, but her face was a mask of stoicism and Erik wished he knew what she was going to say.
She stopped and planted her feet.
Uh-oh.
It didn’t look good—not good at all—and Erik offered a prayer as he braced himself for the answer.
“My LT has worked with Veritas several times, and he’s glad for the help,” Frost said, surprising Erik. “He just asked that you send over that standard contract, and we’ll move forward.”
“I’ll do it right now.” Sierra got out her phone and tapped the screen.
“So what are we looking at here?” Erik asked.
“Apartment over the pharmacy is vacant and has an exterior entrance on the back of the building. The shooter jimmied the lock and slid a table over by the window, where we think he rested his weapon.” She looked at Grady. “I’m sure you can confirm that once you do a trajectory analysis.”
Grady nodded. “With the number of rounds fired, I’m sure to find bullets lodged in multiple locations, and I can easily make an official determination.”
Frost unfurled her hand to reveal an evidence bag holding bullet casings. “From the apartment. Any thoughts on what kind of weapon we’re looking at here?”
Grady took the bag and studied the contents. “Looks like 9×19 mm Parabellum ammo. Which won’t likely be any help. It’s the world's most popular submachine gun cartridge. It’s also the caliber for the most widely used military and police handguns.”
“So too common to be unique?” Frost asked.
“Exactly.” Grady ran a hand through his sandy-red hair and fixed his blue-eyed gaze on the detective. “Best we can hope for on the casings—other than using them for trial when I can match the bullet to the weapon if we recover it—is to find that the subject transferred his DNA when the bullets were loaded into the magazine.”
“If the shooter cast his own ammo instead of using factory cast ones, he’d likely leave prints on the bullets, right?” Frost asked.
“Sure, but not in this case.” Grady turned a casing over. “These are from jacketed rounds, which individuals can’t cast.”
Frost narrowed her eyes. “Well, shoot.”
“Hold on,” Grady said. “You might not be able to cast FMJs at home, but the casings can be reloaded, and we might gather prints that way.”
Frost took a step closer. “So you can tell they’re jacketed rounds just by looking at the casings?”
“In this case, yes,” Grady said. “And if you want some good news, I’ve seen two case types in this bag so it’s likely they are reloads. I’ll know more after I look at additional casings. The more case types I find, the more likely they’re reloads. If you have anyone else collecting bullets, which I hope you won’t, they should pay extra attention so they can be processed for prints and DNA.”
“I’m almost certain the bullets came from a submachine gun,” Erik said. “At least that was the sound pattern.”
“Though I didn’t hear the gun, I would agree,” Grady said. “You can’t always determine by looking at casings whether or not they were fired from a sub-machine gun rather than a different semi-auto pistol or carbine. However, I’m pretty confident I already know the gun we’re looking for here.”
“You what?” Frost gaped at him.
“Way to bury the lead, man.” Aiden rolled his eyes.
“So what are we looking for?” Frost asked.
“An H&K MP5. Pretty much all H&K guns leave a fluted marking on the case that quickly identifies the gun they were fired from. These casings have that telltale fluting. Plus, the H&K prefers FMJ over pretty much anything, so that’s another tipoff.”
“You’re amazing.” Sierra gazed at Grady with respect.
Grady waved a hand. “You do the same thing only with other evidence. And of course, this is a specific science just like your forensics are, and my immediate determination is an educated guess based on the markings and the amount of casings as well as their fall pattern. I’ll take all the evidence back to the lab and confirm the weapon used.”
The detective kept steady eye contact. “I’ve heard the Veritas experts could do things we don’t do in our lab. You all keep proving it.”
“We do for sure.” Grady frowned. “But I’m not going to pull a rabbit out of a hat. In general, unless the shooter was grossly inept or wanted to be discovered, it’s going to be extremely difficult to find any markings to give you a lead on his identity.”
“But not impossible, right?” Erik asked.
“Not impossible.” Grady shifted the bagged casings in his hand. “And of course, if we find bullets that aren’t too mutilated and with good markings, we can run them through the federal firearms database.” Grady looked at Frost. “With your official approval, of course.”
Just like running prints and DNA in databases, the National Integrated Ballistic Information Network—NIBIN—database managed by ATF was limited to participating law enforcement agencies. It stored over four million pieces of ballistic evidence, providing a nationwide network of ballistic data for firearms to be shared, researched, identified, and cross-referenced.
Frost’s phone chimed. “That’s my LT. Let me see what he wants. Be right back.”
She strode across the street again.
When she was out of earshot, Erik looked at Grady. “Anything you were holding back?”
Grady snapped off a glove and scratched his close-cut beard, the color matching his red hair. “I might’ve played down my ability as the best firearms examiner outside of the FBI’s lab.” He grinned. “Let me get to work on taking these casings into evidence for them. Gonna take a while with the quantity.”
He’d brought a large plastic case much like Sierra’s, and it contained some of the same tools. Markers to denote bullet locations. Camera to document items found. Tweezers to remove bullets from any kind of substance they pierced. And bags to collect all the evidence, which he would take back to his state-of-the-art firearms lab, a place Erik and his brothers took every opportunity to visit.
Frost came back. “LT got the form, so we’re good to go. But before you leave here, we’ll want an evidence list and your scene photos.”
Sierra started to pump her fist but must’ve thought better of it, as she lowered it. “Sure thing.”
“Same with you, Houston,” Frost told Grady.
Grady gave a tight smile. “You got it.”
Sierra looked at Frost. “So we’re good to go?”
“Not inside,” Frost said. “I still need to tell our criminalists to stand down. They’re not going to like it, but you can get started out here with wide shots of the scene. Just sign in with the officer of record. I’ll tell him on my way past that you’re officially welcome.”
“Thank you,” Erik said.
She let her penetrating gaze linger. “Just don’t do anything to make me regret my decision.”
She marched away and stopped by a patrol officer holding a clipboard.
“Making friends and influencing people.” Sierra laughed. “But on the bright side, I doubt the criminalists are fond of me to begin with. Despite me telling them that they’re super good at their jobs and they just don’t have all the cool toys.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Grady said. “You’ve got mad skills and experience that they don’t possess.”
“Well, yeah, but I thought that would sound too cocky to say aloud like you do.” She laughed and lifted the camera that hung around her neck. “I need you all to wait here so I can take scene photos. And move your kit, Grady, so it’s not in my pictures.”
“Did I mention bossy, too?” Grady laughed.
“Hey, you’ve only had to deal with it for a few years.” Erik slung his arm around Sierra’s shoulders. “I’ve been bossed around by her my whole life.”
He loved that he could tease her, and she went with it. Most of the time. But right now he was more thankful for those mad skills Grady mentioned. Maybe she would recover something that would produce the lead Erik was desperately looking for. No guy threatened Kennedy and got away with it. That wouldn’t go unpunished. The creep could count on that.
Erik stood back and contemplated leaving after he and Aiden had given their statements. He wasn’t needed here. Grady and Sierra would do top-notch work, and all he could really do was get coffee. But he wasn’t ready to go back to his place, where he’d have to fight his feelings for Kennedy. The shooting had really done a number on him, bringing up all the old feelings for her. Maybe cementing them in his heart again. And it seemed like she felt it too. Or maybe he just wanted her to.
It would be a lot easier to stop thinking about her—about the way he was starting to feel again—if he hadn’t once known what it was like to be wholly loved by her. But he did. And it had been exhilarating and calming at the same time. An impossible contrast, but there it was. Kennedy. He’d never been able to put his finger on why he was so drawn to her, but he was leaning toward surrendering to it again. Lock, stock, and barrel.
He started to sigh but stopped when Sierra glanced at him. If she got even a hint of his returning interest in Kennedy, his sister would start asking questions. She must not have seen anything interesting in his expression because she returned her focus to her work. He watched her, taking a moment to appreciate his family. And thinking about how Kennedy was almost alone. Just a sister left.
Frost returned, grabbing his attention. “Let me show you inside so you can get started on the evidence.”
Sierra had finished taking her shots, so Frost led them to the back of the building and up worn wooden stairs with plastered walls to a landing with two doorways. One of them stood open.
She stepped through it into a single room that was made up of a living, bedroom, and kitchen space. The table she’d mentioned sat in front of the open window, shell casings scattered across the floor.
“Let me snap pictures, then we can get to work,” Sierra said, already lifting her camera.
Frost focused her attention on Aiden. “I’ll take those statements now. You know the drill. One witness at a time. So if you’ll wait downstairs, I’ll talk to Erik first.”
“It’ll give me time to look around outside.” Aiden jogged down the stairs and out the door.
Frost drew a small notepad and pen from her pocket. “Tell me what happened.”
As Grady tapped his foot and watched Sierra, likely jonesing to get to the casings, Erik launched into a description of the incident.
Frost asked a few follow-up questions, then closed her notepad. “I’ll just talk to your brother and let you know if I have any more questions.”
“Thanks again for letting us handle the forensics.”
“Just remember. They’re not being processed for you but for PPB. I’ll decide if and when I’ll share any information.”
Erik nodded, and she started down the stairs. She was right. The evidence was confidential, but if Sierra or Grady discussed something they discovered and Erik overheard the conversation, all the better.
“Here! Look!” Sierra’s excited tone broke into Erik’s thoughts.
He moved closer to her. She was holding up a white vinyl wristband for Grady to see, but she cast Erik a subversive look. She knew he was listening, but wouldn’t acknowledge it.
Erik focused on the bracelet similar to ones handed out for admission to theme parks, waterparks, and bars. Large black letters were embossed on the band, as were tiny red hawks. Erik tried to read the writing but couldn’t make it out.
“Where’s it from?” Grady asked.
“Hood to Coast relay race dated this year.” Sierra turned the bracelet in her fingers. “The race ends today.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Grady took the band with his gloved fingers and studied it. “A guy runs the world’s largest relay race and then stops in to shoot at an SUV. Not likely.”
“Maybe his leg of the race was done earlier,” Sierra said.
“But if his leg was done, and he came here to commit a crime, why keep the band on?” Grady asked.
“Bragging rights?” Sierra looked at Erik. “Our family ran the race one year, and we were so thankful to finish. Nearly two hundred miles. We told everyone who would listen.”
Erik thought about the two-day race with over a thousand teams of eight to twelve members who ran or walked a course that started at Mount Hood, wound through Portland, and ended at the Pacific Ocean. Registration for the iconic event filled on opening day for the past thirty years. But Erik didn’t comment as it would be an acknowledgment that Sierra shared evidence with him.
“They didn’t give out bracelets when I ran it in 2001,” Grady said.
“Not when we did either,” Sierra said. “That was in ’05, but I guess things could’ve changed. Or maybe the team had them made. Or a vendor was selling them as a souvenir. But if that was the case, I don’t get the red hawks on it.”
Erik’s sister was in tune with him, as that was his thought as well.
Grady glanced at Erik. “If it was a team thing, we should be able to comb race videos to identify the team by the bracelets.”
Sierra nodded. “That would bring us down to twelve suspects. Well, plus the people on their road crew.”
Erik’s parents had served as their road crew, driving the support vans that picked up and dropped off the runners and gave them a place to sleep and hydrate along the route.
“Still, I don’t see our shooter yanking off the bracelet and leaving it behind,” Grady said. “But I suppose the band could’ve distracted him while he was shooting. Depending on the weapon, and if he was holding it right, it could’ve even brushed against his arm or chest and irritated his skin.”
“Or it’s not from him,” Sierra said. “A hitman would never leave his brass behind, much less something as easily identifiable as this.”
“He did leave brass here. Lots of brass.” Grady looked around. “Looks like he fired off a couple of magazines, and each one can hold up to thirty rounds. We might be looking at sixty casings here. Probably too much for the shooter to pick up before the police arrived. He didn’t want to risk getting caught.”
“Then you guys should get back to it,” Erik said, finally unable to keep quiet. “I’m going to search the web for information on Tile trackers to see if we can figure out who used them to track Kennedy and her mom. And then I’ll search for Hood to Coast pictures of teams who might be wearing those bracelets. Hopefully, we’ll find our suspect’s group and narrow it down to him. And once we have the shooter, we’ll use Grady’s expertise to put him away for a very long time.”
16
Kennedy appreciated Drake’s escort down the sixth floor hallway, but she could no longer keep up the conversations they’d been having. She needed to go to bed. Not that she would. She hadn’t heard from Erik except for a text telling her that he, Grady, and Sierra had not only been given access to view the scene, but that the Veritas Center would collect and process evidence, meaning they would be at the scene for hours. And a later text that said they’d found a bracelet for the Hood to Coast race, giving them a direction to proceed.
She imagined him persuading the detective to accept his help, and her feet slowed at the image. The detective likely had no chance against Erik’s persuasive personality. When he’d turned his charm Kennedy’s way, she’d rarely been able to ignore him. If he decided he wanted to be in a relationship with her again and started to pursue her, what would she do? Would she cave? Resist? She suspected she was leaning much closer to caving than resisting, and oddly that was less terrifying than it had been just a few day
s before.
“Coming?” Drake paused at the skybridge and glanced back at her.
“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”
He gave a pointed nod, then took long strides, and she hurried to keep up over the gently swaying bridge. He’d been very attentive while they waited for news in the Nighthawk office. He’d even tried to keep her mood up by telling her childhood stories about Erik, and she didn’t want to take up any more of his time.
A text sounded on her phone, the ping echoing off the glass enclosed space.
“It’s from Erik,” she said. “He’s in the parking structure with Grady recovering slugs from the vehicle.”
“And you want to go out there.” Drake’s statement was followed by a lopsided grin.
“Is that a problem?” She shoved her hand into a pocket to keep from busying her fingers with a lock of hair.
“Nah. It’s just going to take quite some time to document and recover all of the bullets, and I thought you wanted to rest.”
“I might be able to help.”
His eyebrow went up, and he cocked his head.
“What? You don’t think I know how to recover evidence that isn’t in the bottom of some body of water?” She crossed her arms. “Because I do. And I’m very good at it too.”
Drake held up his hands. “Not questioning your skills. Just wondering why you’d want to hang out in the parking garage when you could be comfortable in Erik’s condo.”
Because I want to see Erik. There. She had to admit her real reason. After the shooting, she wanted to confirm again that every hair on his head was fine.
“But to each his own.” Drake crossed the remaining distance to the door. He opened it then looked out. “We’re clear.”
She took the last few steps and paused at the open doorway. Erik, Grady, and Sierra stood near the battered SUV, their backs to Kennedy.
Erik spun, his sharp expression softening when he locked eyes with her.
“Ah, so that’s your real reason.” Drake’s snarky grin irritated Kennedy, but he was right on target.
Sure, she wanted to help if she could. She really did. She also wanted to make sure Erik was all right. But she hadn’t seen him in over six hours, and she missed him. She didn’t know what was going on with him. With her. With them.
Night Watch Page 16
