The Second Shooter

by E. A. Briginshaw

  Todd started his car and drove to the intersection, scanning to look for the best place for him to set up. He circled the block a few times before making his decision.

  The area around the two universities was experiencing a bit of a construction boom. Many of the small houses had been bought up by developers who were now in the process of putting up high-rise condos and apartment buildings in their place. Todd decided the best vantage point would be a relatively small building of about eight stories.

  He pulled into the muddy construction site and parked beside a half-ton truck. Most of the construction workers were packing up for the day, although there were still a few around finishing up whatever they were working on.

  When Todd got out of his car, he put on the coat he had brought with him to go hunting. It didn’t look much different than the clothes the construction workers were wearing.

  “Time to call it a day,” one of the workers said as he threw his gear into the back of the half-ton. His buddy did the same and then climbed into the passenger side. When they backed up, they didn’t notice Todd grab the hard-hat from the back of their truck and put it on.

  There were a bunch of discarded steel studs piled a few feet away. Todd went over and grabbed a few of them. He did a quick look around to make sure no one was watching and then opened his trunk. He pulled the steel gun case out and placed it with the steel studs. Then he picked them all up, threw them over his shoulder and walked into the building. He looked just like any of the other workers carting material around.

  There were a few workers in the steel hoist coming down from the upper floors of the building as Todd approached. They opened the cage door and filed out with their gear. One of them held the door open for Todd to get in.

  “Hold up,” a man yelled as he approached the hoist. He climbed in and hit the button for the sixth floor. “What level?”

  “Four,” Todd said.

  The hoist lurched and then squealed as it started the ascent. When they got to the fourth level, the man opened the gate for Todd. “Don’t be too long. The supervisor will be around to shut everything down in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ve just got a few things to finish up,” Todd said.

  As he walked around, he was pleased to see that the fourth floor was abandoned, although he could still hear work going being done on the floors above him. He headed over to the side of the building that faced the University-Sunview intersection and determined that his sight lines were pretty much perfect. However, lighting was going to be a problem. The building was lit up like a Christmas tree with construction lights and Todd didn’t want anyone to see him.

  He found a place he could hide until the rest of the construction workers left. Gradually there was less and less noise on the floors above him as the workers headed home for the day. He heard the hoist coming down and was alarmed when it stopped on his level. “Anybody still here?” he heard someone yell. As he peeked over the pile of construction materials he had hidden behind, Todd could see it was the supervisor making his last round. Todd didn’t make a sound.

  He watched as the supervisor flipped the breaker to turn off the construction lights. Suddenly the floor went dark, except for a few lights near the elevator. He watched the supervisor get into the hoist and head down to the third floor, where he repeated the procedure. Over the next twenty minutes, the construction site got darker and quieter until there wasn’t any sound at all.

  Perfect. Now Todd could prepare for his assignment. He carried his gun case over to the side of the building facing the intersection, opened the case and pulled the rifle out. Then he attached the site to the rifle and verified that he had a good view of the location.

  Now all he had to do was wait.

  * * *

  David threw his soccer bag over his shoulder and walked the few blocks from his residence to the intersection where the professor said he wanted to meet. There weren’t a lot of people out on the street at this time. Students who had evening classes were already there as they typically went from seven to ten. Since it was a cool night, there weren’t many people heading out just for a walk. Everyone who was out this night had a purpose.

  David saw a bus pull away as he approached the stop, so there wasn’t anyone else waiting. He sat on the bench that had a huge picture of a local real estate agent on it. He saw a blond woman across the street walking her dog, growing more and more impatient as she waited for the dog to do his business. There was no sign of the professor.

  When he looked down the street, he could see someone approaching. At first, he thought it was the professor, but as he got closer he realized it was just a student. The hoodie and the backpack were a dead giveaway.

  The professor was late.

  * * *

  Bronx was on her way back from doing some shopping. She normally walked everywhere, but had decided to take the bus back to the residence because it was a cool night and she didn’t want to have to lug the bags all that way. She was getting close to her stop so she was starting to gather up her things.

  The bus started to slow down and stopped to pick up a student who was waiting on the bench, but he waved the driver on.

  “Are you sure?” the bus driver yelled as he opened the door. “This is the only bus running this time of night. The express buses quit at six.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m not waiting for a bus – I’m just meeting someone here.”

  Bronx looked out of the bus window and was surprised to see that it was David. “Wait!” she yelled to the driver. “I’d like to get off.”

  The bus driver opened the rear doors of the bus and Bronx scrambled to get off.

  “David – where you headin’ off to?”

  He was surprised to see her. “Nowhere. I’m just meeting someone here.”

  She plopped down on the bench beside him. “Mind if I wait with you?”

  “Ahh – it’s probably not a good idea.”

  She studied his face. “If you’re meetin’ some girl, you can just tell me, yunno.”

  “I’m not meeting a girl.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind me waitin’ with you.”

  “It’s probably best if you go,” David persisted. “He’s already late. Maybe he won’t show at all.”

  Bronx looked worried. “Are you getting’ yourself into trouble again?”

  “No. It’s nothing.” David could see someone approaching. “That’s probably him now. You should go.”

  Bronx saw the man approaching as well. “Okay, if you say so.”

  Bronx started to walk away, but she kept looking back over her shoulder. She watched David talk to the man and she saw him give something to David, but she couldn’t see what it was. She looked ahead and saw someone wearing a hoodie coming toward her. Something wasn’t right – she could feel it. She turned and started to run back toward David.

  As he was opening his soccer bag, David looked up to see Bronx racing back toward him. He could also see the person who had walked by him earlier – the student in the hoodie with the backpack – coming up behind Bronx. He was pulling something out of his backpack.

  David turned to the professor. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He noticed a red dot dancing across the professor’s chest. He had no idea what it was.

  But being the daughter of a New York cop, Bronx knew exactly what it was. “Gun!!!” she screamed.

  A gunshot pierced the air and David watched the professor fall to the ground. He froze in disbelief.

  A second gunshot rang out as Bronx tackled him to the ground. As he lay there with Bronx on top of him, David knew he had been shot, yet he couldn’t feel anything. He felt numb.

  He heard someone shuffling around him, picking up the CDs the professor had given him that were now scattered all over the ground. Then the man in the hoodie stood over him, aiming the automatic pistol directly at his head. Their eyes locked and David was sure he was about to be executed. He closed his eyes.

  He heard a third gunshot and t
hen everything went silent. That’s the last thing he remembered.

  * * *

  “Dammit – dammit – dammit,” Todd said as he pulled out his cellphone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1. What is your emergency? Police, fire or ambulance?”

  “I need an ambulance at the corner of University and Sunview immediately.”

  “Is this a car accident?”

  “No. There’s been a shooting.”

  “What is your name and location, sir?”

  Todd ended the call without answering and then quickly packed his rifle into the gun case. As he surveyed the scene, he saw the lady with the dog cross the street to check on the victims. A bus heading in the other direction slammed on the brakes and the driver ran off the bus carrying his emergency kit.

  Todd heard the sound of sirens approaching. There was nothing more he could do. It was time for him to get out of there.

  *** Chapter 23 ***

  Laura was reading the newspaper while she sat in the waiting room at the hospital. “Two Dead, Two Injured in Waterloo Shooting” the headlines read. Henry was pacing back and forth, looking at the doors into the Intensive Care Unit every few seconds. They had flown back from Chicago as soon as they’d received the call – the call that no parent ever wants to receive.

  The newspaper didn’t have many details at this point, but the few they had were shocking. “Professor Nigel Livingston, of the University of Waterloo, was shot and killed while he waited for a bus at the intersection of University Avenue and Sunview Street in Waterloo at approximately 8:30 p.m. last night. A second unidentified man was also shot and killed. Heather Low and David Shaw, both first year students at Wilfrid Laurier University, were also shot in the incident and are in critical condition in hospital. Police do not have a motive for the shooting at this stage, but indicated they are still in the preliminary stages of their investigation.” The article continued, but it mostly consisted of background information and speculation as to whether the shooting was a possible terrorist attack.

  “Dad, you should come and sit down,” Robert said. “They said we wouldn’t hear anything more about David’s surgery for at least two more hours.” Robert had been at the hospital all night. He went over to give his father a hug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  “Why is it taking so long?” Henry asked.

  Robert escorted his father back to the seat beside him. “They said he’s stable, but they don’t want to operate to remove the bullet until they can reduce the swelling. They may not have even started his surgery yet.” Robert had delivered the same message to his father several times already.

  When the doors to the ICU opened and a nurse came out pushing a stretcher, everyone in the waiting room sprang from their chairs.

  “Heather,” a man said when he recognized the person on the stretcher. He was a big man with broad shoulders and a square jaw, wearing the uniform of a New York City cop.

  “Are you her father?” the nurse asked.

  “Yes. Is she going to be okay?”

  Heather’s mother tiptoed toward the stretcher as if she was almost afraid to look.

  “She’s going to be fine,” the nurse said to both of them. “The bullet went right through her and didn’t strike any vital organs. She’s a lucky girl.”

  Another man elbowed his way up close to the stretcher. He was middle-aged, but the lines on his face made him appear much older. The faded brown sports-jacket he was wearing looked like it hadn’t been dry-cleaned in over a year. “I’m Detective Tremblay,” he said to the nurse. “When will she be ready to answer questions?”

  “She should be fully conscious again within the next hour or so, but you’ll have to keep it short. She needs her rest.”

  They all watched as the nurse pushed her stretcher down the hall to the recovery room. Heather’s father walked alongside the stretcher, holding his daughter’s hand the entire way. Her mother, a petite woman, held onto the other side of the stretcher, looking as if she would fall down if she let go.

  Henry approached the nurse when she was on her way back to the ICU. “Any update on my son?”

  “The swelling has gone down. They’re just prepping him for surgery now. We should know within the next few hours.” She reached out and touched Henry’s arm. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Henry resumed his pacing.

  * * *

  It was almost two hours later when the detective made his way into Bronx’s room. He introduced himself to her parents and obtained permission to talk to their daughter.

  “Miss Low, I’m Detective Tremblay. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  She looked surprisingly good for someone who had just come out of surgery. “Sure. Do-ya know if David is okay?”

  The detective pulled out a notepad and a pen from his pocket. “I believe he’s still in surgery. Did you see who did the shooting?”

  “I think so. He was wearin’ a hoodie and had a backpack, but I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

  The detective was confused. The guy in the hoodie was dead. They thought he was one of the victims. He pulled a picture out of his pocket and showed it to her. “Is this the man you think did the shooting?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Did-ya catch him?”

  The detective didn’t answer. “Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell us what happened from the beginning?”

  Bronx could tell the detective had doubts about what she had said. She looked over to her father for help. He took her hand to comfort her. “It’s okay. Just tell the detective what you saw.”

  “Well, I was on the bus comin’ back from shoppin’ when I saw David at the bus stop, so I got off. He said he was waitin’ to meet someone and I offered to wait with him, but he kept tryin’ to get rid of me.”

  She looked at her father, who encouraged her to continue.

  “I figured he was waitin’ for a girl, so I started to leave. When I looked back, I saw a man givin’ somethin’ to David.”

  The detective pulled a picture of the professor from his pocket. “Is this the man that you saw give something to David?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Who is he?”

  “His name is Nigel Livingston. He’s a professor at Waterloo. Did you see what the professor gave David?”

  “Not really. It mighta been some CDs, but I can’t say for sure.”

  The detective continued to take notes. “Go on.”

  “Then I saw the man in the hoodie comin’. I just knew he was going to hurt David. I don’t know how – I just knew it – so I started to run back toward David. That’s when I saw it.”

  “Saw what?” the detective asked.

  “The red laser-thingy of a gun. Ya-know, like the ones on TV.” She looked at her father. “Like the ones your SWAT guys use.”

  The detective continued to take notes, but it wasn’t making sense. They hadn’t found a gun at the scene or any CDs. “And then what happened?”

  “I yelled gun when I saw the laser-thingy on the professor’s chest. Then he got shot. I tried to knock David out of the way. That’s the last thing I remember. I guess that’s when I got shot.”

  Bronx started to cry. Her father leaned in to hug her.

  “I think that’s enough questions for now,” the nurse said. “We should let her get some rest.”

  The detective picked up the pictures he had shown her and put them back into his pocket along with his notepad. “Thank you, Miss Low. You’ve been a big help.” He turned to leave.

  “Will you let me know if David is okay?”

  The detective looked at the nurse. “I’ll let you know when I know.”

  * * *

  Detective Tremblay went to the end of the hallway and called his chief to report his findings. “The girl says the guy in the hoodie was the shooter, but that doesn’t make any sense. Do we have an ID on him yet?”

  “No,” the chief said. “It’s really strange. He had no identification on him whatsoever. We’ve r
un his fingerprints through the system and got nothing. If he really was the shooter, you’d think he’d be in the system somewhere.”

  “The girl said she saw him pull a handgun from his back-pack and saw a laser sight on the professor’s chest before he was shot.”

  “That sounds like a Crimson Trace laser sight,” the chief said, “and that’s only used by pros. Do you think there’s any way this was a professional hit?”

  “I find that hard to believe, but this whole case doesn’t add up. If he really was the shooter, then where’s his gun? We didn’t find any weapons at the scene. And who the hell shot him?”

  “Hold on,” the chief said. There was a pause of a few seconds. “You’re not going to believe this. The M.E. just handed me a report saying the bullet they pulled from the guy in the hoodie doesn’t match the bullet that killed the professor. It was a 5.56mm bullet – the kind used in military rifles. You know what that means.”

  They were both thinking the same thing.

  There was a second shooter.

  *** Chapter 24 ***

  It was almost four hours later when the nurse wheeled David out of the Intensive Care Unit. David’s grandmother and his Aunt Jenny had now joined the rest of his family waiting to hear how he was doing.

  Henry was still pacing back and forth when the doors opened, but his knees buckled when he saw David’s swollen face and the bandages around his head. Robert caught his father before he hit the floor.

  “How is he?” Robert asked the nurse.

  “He’s a very lucky man,” she said. “It was touch and go there for a while, but the surgeon managed to successfully remove the bullet from the base of his skull.”

  Henry almost threw up. “He got shot in the head?”

  “The bullet actually entered his chest just below the collarbone, exited out of the top of his shoulder and then re-entered along the side of his neck. We believe this was the same bullet that went through Miss Low. She was found lying on top of your son at the scene.”