Striking Distance ti-6

by Pamela Clare

  * * *

  JAVIER LOOKED OUT over the rooftops of Denver, trying not to feel anything as he spoke. “We came across a shepherd and his two sons on our way in. You know the choice—kill them or let them live and risk them giving us away. I did what I felt was right. We gave them chocolate and water, even fixed blisters on one boy’s foot. The moment we left, they must have hightailed it to the village. We were ambushed by Taliban fighters. Eighteen men died.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” Nate stood beside him in his fleece barn jacket, cowboy hat pulled low to keep the wind from catching it. “I’d have done the same thing. Most of us would.”

  Nate had called shortly after Javier and Laura had finished breakfast to say he’d heard about the shooting and was on his way over. The two of them had retreated to the rooftop so as not to distract Laura, who was still on the clock.

  “That’s what I tell myself.” He’d been telling himself that for more than five months. “My squad agreed with my decision. No one wanted to put a bullet through those kids, man. The boys couldn’t have been much older than nine or ten. But then I see that helo flying in, getting blown to bits along with medics inside . . . They died trying to save our lives.”

  He could still hear the rotors, feel the blast wave, smell the burning fuel oil.

  “I tried to help Krasinski hold on, but . . . I took another round, lost consciousness, woke up in a hospital. In my dreams, Crazy K is lying beside me, bleeding out in the dirt.”

  “Just like your brother.”

  Javier nodded, his throat tight. “Krasinski trusted me. He was a tough kid, a hard charger. He gave it a hundred and ten percent. He was a warrior. I guess he reminded me of Yadiel—that enthusiasm, that deep loyalty, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Javier drew a deep breath, then turned to look at his best friend. “You were right. I’ve been acting like an ass. I’m sorry, man.”

  “You got no reason to apologize. You’ve always been there for me. I just wanted you to trust me enough to let me be there for you. I know it’s not easy for you to admit that you need anything from anyone. Thanks for opening up, for letting me in.”

  And Javier finally understood.

  He’d tried to be the one that everyone could count on, the one who didn’t need help. He’d felt that’s what he’d had to do to be strong. But this kind of brotherhood—it was a two-way street. It had been arrogant of him to try to help Nate when he refused to let Nate help him.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You going to see a therapist when you get back?”

  That was a completely different question. “I don’t know. The nightmares have always stopped eventually. If they don’t . . .”

  If they didn’t, he might talk to someone then.

  The conversation drifted. Nate shared his news. Megan had gotten into law school and would be starting at the University of Colorado School of Law in August. Jack was getting ready to head out for a forty-fifth reunion with his platoon of Army Rangers. Emily had lost her first tooth.

  Then Javier told Nate about the commander’s phone call and his refusal to return to Coronado until his leave was up.

  “He asked me if I was trying to make a name for myself as an individual by hanging with a celebrity. After fourteen years of service, a Silver Star, two Purple Hearts, and a half dozen other medals, I didn’t feel I deserved that kind of bullshit.” A handful of SEALs had risen to individual prominence in recent years, giving the Pentagon a headache when it came to national security, but Javier had never sought to cash in on his Trident. “I got pissed, told him I wasn’t doing this so someone could buy the book rights. I love her, Nate.”

  Nate grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know. How does she feel?”

  Javier wasn’t entirely sure. He knew she trusted him more than any other man. He knew she cared about him, felt sexual desire for him. She wanted to stay in touch after he left. For now, that was enough.

  “She cares about me. She was really shaken up yesterday.”

  “I don’t blame her.”

  Javier’s cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “It’s McBride.”

  “On my way over,” McBride said. “A couple of these puzzle pieces just came together.”

  * * *

  LAURA DIALED TED Hollis’s number to complete the interview that had been cut short by the car bomb and was relieved when he answered on the second ring. “Hi, Mr. Hollis. This is Laura Nilsson from the Denver Independent.”

  “Hello, Laura. It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “It’s been a while since we last spoke. I’m sorry our interview was interrupted. I meant to get back to you sooner, but things have been busy.”

  He laughed. “You couldn’t help that.”

  “How are you doing these days?”

  “Oh, I’m hanging in there. I’m still having nightmares. I tried to quit drinking myself to sleep, but that just meant I didn’t sleep.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. I called to see if you had anything else you wanted to add to your interview.”

  “Oh, well, I can’t remember what we talked about. How are you? You’ve had a lot happen in your life since we spoke. The bomb. Some guy trying to shoot you. That must be very scary. I watch the news at night. I saw your interview and saw how afraid you were when they showed you that footage. I never did like Gary Chapin.”

  “I’m doing fine. The U.S. Marshals are keeping me safe.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Javier appeared beside her.

  “McBride is here,” he whispered.

  She said a quick farewell to Mr. Hollis, thanking him for his willingness to share his story with her readers, then ended the call. “Did they say why he’s come?”

  He shook his head. “He’s waiting for you.”

  She was glad he was here, regardless of the reason. She needed to speak with him about Ali. She got up from her desk and walked with Javier down the hallway. “Alex said this morning in the I-Team meeting that the FBI was close to making an arrest in the bombing case. Maybe that’s what they’ve come to tell us.”

  She found Zach sitting in her living room.

  He stood when she entered. “Sorry to interrupt your work, Laura, but I’ve got some news for both of you.”

  She sat, her hand instinctively finding its way into Javier’s, his warm fingers closing reassuringly around hers. “Go ahead.”

  “First, I wanted you to know that Derek Tower might pull through after all. He’s been upgraded to critical but stable. He hasn’t fully regained consciousness, and he’s not yet breathing on his own. Hopefully, we’ll be able to question him soon.”

  That was good news.

  “How’s Janet?” Laura hadn’t had time to call and check on her this morning.

  “She may be looking at another surgery, but she’s recovering.” Zach took a photo out of a file folder and slid it across the coffee table toward Laura. “We’ve identified the man Corbray shot yesterday. Do you recognize him at all?”

  Javier leaned in. “That’s him, all right.”

  Laura looked at the image, feeling revulsion to think that this was the man who had tried to kill Javier. She looked at the man’s lifeless face and vacant eyes. He had lost most of his hair, his face fleshy, his mouth gaping open. “No, I don’t. Should I?”

  “He was Sean Michael Edwards, age forty-one,” Zach said.

  Sean Michael Edwards.

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t say why.

  Zach went on. “DPD sent a team to do a search of his residence last night. They completed that search this morning, and what they found will interest both of you. In addition to an arsenal of toy firearms, we found an AR-15, an M110 sniper rifle, and two double-deuce pistols. We also found a wall covered with photos of you, Laura.”

  “What?” Laura’s stomach sank.

  Javier gave her fingers a squeeze. “So he’s not just some random nut
job. He’s a part of this somehow?”

  “We can’t be sure of anything yet, but it certainly seems that he had an obsession with you. He had photos dating back three years. They’d been cut from newspapers and magazines and stuck on a bulletin board until they overlapped—dozens of them. Also, the rifle in the surveillance footage from the parking garage was an M110. It’s hard to imagine this could all be a coincidence.”

  “Why would he go after Javier?”

  “We can only speculate,” Zach said. “Given that Corbray was featured alongside you in news coverage of the sniper attack, perhaps he felt that getting Corbray out of the way might make it easier for him to get to you. We’re sending the weapons in to ballistics for testing and should have an answer by tomorrow.”

  “Wait a sec.” Javier looked confused. “Are you saying this guy is our sniper? I just can’t believe that he could miss Laura’s head by less than an inch from more than two hundred yards and then almost miss me when he was standing just fifteen feet away.”

  Zach shook his head. “There’s more. We did an extensive background check on him. He served two deployments as an RTO—a radio telephone operator—with the army infantry in Iraq. His first was in 2007, while you were there, Laura. He suffered a traumatic brain injury near the end of his second deployment and was given a medical discharge. What we found more interesting was the fact that he was disciplined for his involvement in a protection racket. It seems that he and a few of his fellow soldiers were shaking down residents in a neighborhood in Baghdad. You broke that story, Laura.”

  Sean Michael Edwards.

  Laura’s heart gave a hard knock. “Oh, my God.”

  She tried to remember the details of the investigation. It had been so long ago. Four soldiers had run a shakedown racket against residents of one Baghdad neighborhood, promising protection in exchange for money and other favors—cigarettes, liquor, sex. She’d been tipped off by a woman, a pediatrician, who lived in that neighborhood and had filmed the soldiers looting with her phone. They’d been disciplined—each of them sentenced to fines and a reduction in rank.

  She glanced down at the photo again, his face that of a stranger. “His name sounded familiar, but I didn’t make the connection. I don’t recognize him at all.”

  Javier looked down at the photo again. “A lot of us felt those guys got off easy. They should have gone to prison.”

  Zach looked from Laura to Javier. “Clearly, this connection constitutes a motive for murder. We took the liberty of looking up the other soldiers who were a part of that scheme. One—Theodore Kimball—was reported MIA and declared dead not long after Laura’s investigation. The other two—Paul Mortimer and Tyler Robb—are in Miami and Detroit. We looked into them, but neither of them has been to Colorado, so it looks like Edwards was carrying this grudge on his own.”

  Javier pointed to Edwards again. “So this guy is one of the soldiers Laura busted with that investigation, and he wanted revenge. I get that. But what I don’t get is where Derek Tower fits in—or how the guy I shot could be connected to Ali Al Zahrani.”

  And then Laura felt pieces fall into place, insight riding on a surge of adrenaline. “He isn’t. I think Ali Al Zahrani was framed.”

  The two men stared at her.

  Javier spoke first. “I know you care about what happened to this kid, but you’ve got to have strong evidence to say something like that.”

  Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got a feeling you’ve been investigating this on your own. Maybe you should start talking.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  JAVIER WAITED WITH McBride for Laura to explain. When in the hell had she reached this conclusion? She hadn’t said a word about it to him.

  She sat up straighter and looked from him to McBride. “You should know that I won’t divulge my sources, so don’t even ask.”

  McBride’s gaze grew hard. “I could subpoena that information under federal law, and the state’s journalism shield law wouldn’t protect you. You’d be forced by the court to divulge your sources or face prison time.”

  She nodded. “It wouldn’t do you any good. I’d choose prison.”

  The two of them sat in silence, their gazes locked, and Javier knew they both meant what they’d said, the tension between them seeming to fill the room.

  It was McBride who blinked. “I don’t want to go that route. Just be sure you don’t impede our investigation or give the wrong information to the wrong person. Then I might not have a choice.”

  “I understand.” She excused herself and went to get her notebook from her office, then sat beside Javier again and glanced through what she’d written. “I reviewed all the available documents on Ali Al Zahrani, and I discovered that he could not have made those incriminating Internet searches.”

  “Why do you say that?” McBride asked. “They were on his computer. They all originated at his IP address. No other prints were found on his keyboard or his computer.”

  “I’m aware of all of that. Just hear me out.” Laura began to explain. “Ali worked at his uncle’s halal grocery store after class every weekday afternoon except Fridays and all day on the weekends. His uncle says he was very dedicated and never missed a day. He also said Ali didn’t leave during his shifts. The Internet searches began abruptly two months ago. They all originated from his home IP address, but here’s the problem. They all occurred during hours when he was known to be at work—never on Fridays when the store is closed and never on weekends when his parents were home.”

  That was strange.

  “Are you sure?” There was a note of doubt in McBride’s voice.

  “I went through the documents four times, checked each and every search. But there’s more.” She looked at her notes. “The terrorism-related searches were all saved in a browser under a different user identity on his computer. Investigators probably think that serves to incriminate him because it looks like he was trying to hide his activity from his parents. But what if someone was trying to hide those searches from him?”

  “You got any proof of that?” McBride asked.

  “No,” she admitted. “But stay with me for a minute, okay?”

  “I’m listening.”

  As Laura went on, Javier felt himself growing more impressed with her intel abilities. None of the evidence she presented was the obvious sort that would have jumped out at investigators. It required some thought. Like the fact that the kid’s browser had recorded searches pertaining only to explosives, jihad, and terrorism—no T&A, no music, no sports, nothing about Laura or Al-Nassar. And the fact that Ali had visited some of the sites for only a handful of seconds—just long enough for the page to load—before he’d apparently moved on.

  “I read fast,” Laura said, “but even I can’t absorb the content of a web page in a single glance.”

  McBride was still playing devil’s advocate, but it was clear to Javier that he saw where she was going with this. “Maybe he was downloading the pages to a flash drive that we haven’t found. Or maybe he was printing them. There could easily be a logical explanation.”

  “If you find one, let me know.” Laura looked down at her notes again. “As I see it, there are two possibilities. Either his uncle is lying and Ali wasn’t at the store when he was supposed to be, or someone else was using his computer during hours when no one in the family was home, creating an Internet history to make him seem guilty.”

  “You’re forgetting that the explosives were found in his car, along with his body,” McBride added.

  “True.” She frowned and seemed to mull this over. “What if that setup was just another part of the plot to leave the blame at Ali’s feet? Investigators found no trace of explosives at the Al Zahrani home. If he’d actually built the bomb, wouldn’t they have found something? And don’t forget that he’d been dead for hours before the explosion. Someone might have set him up to look guilty and then murdered him to put both him and his car at the center of the crime. What better way to hide a motive th
an to make it look like the explosion was the result of Al-Nassar’s call to kill me?”

  The hair stood up on Javier’s neck, his instincts telling him she was right. “What you’re saying is that the kid might not have had anything to do with this.”

  Laura nodded. “When I realized that he couldn’t have been responsible for those Internet searches, I began to wonder. Now that we have Edwards here, I’m almost certain.”

  “I don’t often find myself in the position of defending the FBI,” McBride said, “but don’t you think they’ve checked into some of this?”

  “I have no idea.” Laura shrugged. “Why would they? A VBIED goes off outside the newspaper near my window a short time after Al-Nassar called on his followers to kill me. A young Muslim man is found in the car, making the blast look like a suicide bombing. The suspect’s computer reveals a browsing history of do-it-yourself bomb and terrorism sites. In other words, investigators found exactly what they expected to find. Why dig any further?”

  McBride seemed to consider this.

  Laura went on. “They have a dead body, a car packed with explosives, and these Internet searches. But they don’t know where the ANFO was mixed. They can’t find any ties between Ali and any known terrorist elements. They can’t explain why he was shot before the bomb went off or find the man who killed him and detonated the explosives. They’re ignoring the missing and contradictory evidence because the rest of it fits together so nicely.”

  Javier’s gaze dropped from Laura to the photo of the man he’d killed yesterday, Laura’s theory opening up all kinds of new possibilities. “Maybe this has nothing to do with Al-Nassar at all.”

  For a moment, there was silence.

  McBride chuckled. “I can’t wait to see Agent Petras’s face when I go over this with him. I can’t stand that son of a bitch.”

  Neither could Javier. “That makes two of us, bro.”

  “So you’ll take this to the task force?” Laura asked.

  “You’ve painted a compelling picture. I’m impressed. Yesterday’s shooting adds weight to your theory. You bet I’m taking it to the task force.”