Outside his black Honda Civic, children laughed and played around him, completely oblivious to his watchful eye. After all, this was their neighborhood, their playground after school. The place they came while waiting for their parents to come home after work.
School age girls were biking in circles while the boys tossed a football. They laughed and screamed at each other, acting as if yesterday’s school shooting had never happened.
The Sniper watched intently, wondering if any of these children had older siblings attending North High. For these kids, life went on, just as it did for the Sniper. Another day. Another hour. One minute closer to acting out his next mission.
Fifteen minutes passed where nothing happened. Suddenly, a pair of headlights turned onto the quiet street and caught the Sniper’s attention. He flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, wondering if it was the man he was waiting to see.
Squinting, he adjusted the mirror to get a closer look. When he noticed the vehicle was a patrol car, he felt his heart lunge into his throat. Panic made it hard to breathe and a million different scenarios rushed through his head. How did the police know he was here?
His heart hammered hard inside his chest and, despite his clenched stomach, he held steadfast. Casting his gaze forward, he didn’t bother to slink down in his seat. He was either caught or he wasn’t. Either way, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Reaching between the seats, he gripped his 9MM semi-automatic pistol for added security, for the just-in-case scenario that might arise. Then he held his breath and waited.
The headlights drew ever closer.
Creeping up from behind, the Sniper swore he noticed the patrol car slow its approach.
Did they know what car he was driving? Impossible. They knew nothing. He was a ghost to the world. His ego boosted his growing confidence.
The Sniper’s palms sweated as he stared, listening to his thrashing pulse grow louder inside his ears. With his finger feathering the trigger, the police cruiser passed by without even glancing in his direction.
His lungs released and he blew out a breath of hot air.
Laughing, the Sniper closed his eyes for a brief moment, pulled his lips into a smirk, and proceeded to turn on the radio to a low volume.
As much as he loved the unexpected rush of adrenaline, it was important he reminded himself that his involvement in yesterday’s massacre was still unknown.
He listened to the news, had watched it when he could throughout the day. No matter who was reporting, they were still all talking only about Timothy Morris.
Glancing around at the quiet street, pride bloomed across his chest.
It was important he remembered why he was here, that none of this would have been possible if it weren’t for Timothy’s sacrifice. The Sniper considered him a martyr. If not for Tim, the Sniper wouldn’t be able to fulfill his responsibilities to the much larger war they had waged together.
A minute later, a red Ford F150 pulled to the curb in front of the house the Sniper had been watching. He knew immediately that this was the man—and vehicle—he had been waiting for.
Glancing to the clock, it was nearly time for him to go. The vehicle’s arrival was just as the Sniper had hoped.
Routine was everyone’s worst enemy, the Sniper smirked.
Tempted to wave, greet the man stepping out of the pickup truck by name, the Sniper made a fist and kept himself from the easy delight, knowing he would have his chance for a personal meet and greet soon.
Chapter Thirty
King had me feeling afraid of what I might be walking into. But I couldn’t let it go. I knew we were onto something. By the time I fell into the driver’s seat, Erin was already on her smartphone, researching the Patriots of God.
Backing out of our parking space, I pointed the nose of my car southeast and started our journey to Community College of Denver to meet with Professor Croft.
“Says here the Patriots of God were blamed for instigating the riots, just like King said, but it also goes on to say that they refused to take responsibility and deflected the blame toward the Black and Hispanic communities.” Erin shook her head. “Could you imagine if this happened in today’s world with access to social media?” Erin lifted up her head and cast her gaze to the road ahead. “It would have been ten times worse.”
“I remember seeing it on the news,” I said.
“Me too.”
“But I was too young to fully grasp the extent of what was really going on.”
“And I certainly don’t recall ever hearing the name the Patriots of God.”
Neither did I. “Though they don’t sound much different than any other militant group wanting to direct their anger toward the government.”
Erin kept reading. “The second in command King referenced, his name is Kenneth Wayne.”
I shook my head. The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Mentions he’s serving out his life sentence here in Colorado.” Erin turned to me. “Maybe we could meet with him?”
I exited Speer Boulevard and merged onto I-25 South.
“I wish King would have told us that,” I said, quietly debating with myself if I should just stop while I was still ahead. The last thing I wanted was for Mason to get hurt, or left without a parent to help him navigate this world.
“Maybe he didn’t know?” Erin shrugged.
Once I settled into the flow of traffic, I instinctively reached for my phone. Checking for an update from Mason, I was disappointed when I didn’t find one. Though I wasn’t at all surprised. Mason had a habit of disappearing and wasn’t the best at checking in. Telling myself, no news was good news, I let it go. At least until we stopped driving.
Erin must have seen what I was doing because she said, “You’re going to tear yourself up constantly worrying about him.”
I gave her a knowing look. Her natural instinct to always know what was going on was more impressive than I had originally thought. It was one thing I loved about her from day one, but she couldn’t fully understand the extent of a mother’s worry. “Did you really mean what you said back there?”
“What, that you’re the common denominator?”
“Yeah,” I breathed.
Erin spun her head forward. “Sam, maybe you didn’t know your husband as well you thought.”
A hot flash exploded from my core. “Don’t speak about something you know nothing about. I knew Gavin better than I know myself.”
“Then why was all that news to you?”
Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I watched my knuckles go white. “We all have secrets hanging in our closets.” I flicked my gaze to Erin. “But you missed a critical piece of what King was saying back there.”
“I heard every word.”
“I don’t doubt that. But it’s what he didn’t say that left you in the dust.”
Erin pinched her brow and gave me a confused look.
“The cop who killed the Patriots of God leader? That was Gavin.”
“Are you sure?” Erin’s face tightened. “I didn’t get that from him.”
Nodding, I said, “You don’t know King like I do. I could see it in his eyes.”
“You should have asked him straight up, even if you already knew.”
“I didn’t have to. Gavin was the best shot I’ve ever known. There was a reason SWAT recruited him. And, think about it, if Gavin was the one who killed the Patriots of God leader, that would give motive for Timothy to specifically want to target Mason, and the second shooter to murder Cook Roberts. Gavin and Cook were close.”
Erin stared at me for a minute before asking, “Have you received more threats you’re not telling me about?”
“I haven’t checked.” My voice fell flat. “I’m too afraid to find out.”
Exiting off I-25, I slowed the car and merged onto Colfax.
“Nothing has been posted on our website,” Erin assured me. “Maybe we’re just overthinking all this. Like King said, no one could escape their in
volvement in a case this big. This could all just be coincidence?”
As if that was supposed to ease my constant worry for my son. I flashed Erin a skeptical look. “Don’t be naïve. You’re better than that.”
She stared back with her glowing blonde hair framing her face in the afternoon light.
“By the way, good job on identifying a second shooter before King did.”
“I’m just glad that he let us in on his findings. Now we know we’re on the right track.”
“Speaking of which, any idea where we’re going once we get there?”
“Somewhat.” Erin was back on her phone. “Shouldn’t be too hard to track down Professor Croft’s office.”
A few minutes later we arrived at the Community College of Denver, speaking of how distant our own college experiences seemed. Erin managed to get her bearings once we entered the building and she led me confidently through the halls as if she had been here before. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop thinking of Gavin and what other secrets he’d decided best not to share when I received a call from Dawson.
“Hey Dawson, what’s up?”
“A man just called looking for you.”
“Okay.” I paused and shared a look with Erin. “Did you take a message?”
“Tried to but they weren’t interested.”
“Did you at least ask why they were calling?”
“I did. And that’s why I thought I should call.” Silence filled the line. “Sam, this man wanted to speak with you personally about the school shooting. Said you would find what he had to say most interesting.”
“But he didn’t leave his name?”
“Or a way to reach him. The call came from a blocked number.”
A shiver moved up my spine, getting my neck hairs to stand on end.
“Something about it was off.”
I took in a deep breath, reluctant to think too much into it. “If he calls back, try to get him to talk.”
Dawson agreed he would do his best. “Stay vigilant, Sam. We are no longer seen as allies but viewed by many as enemies first.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I muttered as I pulled my cellphone away from my ear, feeling queasy with everyone’s warnings.
As much as I appreciated both Dawson and King wanting to look out for me, I found their need to tell me to stay safe more distracting than anything else. I had to stay strong and, in order to do so, I couldn’t allow fear to seep its way into my thoughts.
“What was that about?” Erin asked as we started to move.
“Just missed a call at the office,” I said, rounding the corner and coming within sight of Professor Dean Croft’s office.
“Shit. It’s closed.” Erin rattled the door handle. Spinning on a heel, she asked, “What do we do now?”
Flipping through the sheets of announcements hanging below Professor Croft’s nameplate on the wall, it didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. “According to his schedule, his office should be open now.”
Erin pulled up her sleeve and checked the time. “Then where is he?”
Suddenly, the hallway filled with sounds of a horse trotting. I turned to find a middle-aged man stuffing what appeared to be a flyer inside his sport coat pocket, heading straight for us.
“I’m here. I’m here.” He waved his hand through the air in the shape of a large rainbow.
“Professor Dean Croft?” I asked.
“Yes, that is me.” He paused and cocked his head to the side when looking at me. “You’re Samantha Bell. I know you.”
“From The Colorado Times.” I grinned. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Ahh… then I assume you’re here to ask me about Timothy Morris.”
Erin raised both her eyebrows and looked impressed. “How did you guess?” Erin introduced herself.
Professor Croft bounced his gaze between us. “He was in my class.” He dug out his office keys and unlocked his door. Kicking it open, he said, “I’ve been waiting for the first reporter to show.” He turned and smiled. “Congratulations. You won.”
Following him into his tiny office, I asked, “You mean no one else has come to speak with you?”
“Surprising, isn’t it?” He set a few things down and began sifting through stacks of papers. The place was a mess and lacked the organization I would have expected from someone in his position.
“Why do you say that?”
His head tilted to one shoulder as he lowered his chin, giving me a look of disbelief. “I’ve been following the news, Mrs. Bell. And, from what I understand, Tim killed himself.”
“How did you react when you heard the news?”
His gaze traveled up and down both Erin and me. “I assumed the case would be closed but, I suppose with you being here now, that might not be true.”
“Mr. Croft, we’re only curious to learn what Tim was like inside your class.”
“Quiet,” the professor said, matter-of-fact. “But brilliant when he wanted to be.” Mr. Croft turned his attention back to his desk, sifting through a stack of papers. “When he first arrived in my class, I assumed his shyness was only because of his age.” Croft turned to look at us. “He was the youngest in the class, you know.”
“Did Tim interact with other students?”
Without looking, Mr. Croft said, “Tim was an unassuming kid. He came and left, often times going undetected. I never saw him hang around much.” As if hearing a class bell go off, Mr. Croft flicked his wrist and checked the time. Scooping his stacks of papers into his arms, he headed to the door. “I have class now.”
“We’d still like to ask you a few more questions.”
“Then you’ll have to do it while we walk.”
Following Professor Croft down the halls, I said, “Tim’s mother seemed to think that something about this class in particular sparked an interest.”
Croft dug his heels into the floor and came to a sudden stop. “She said that?”
I nodded.
A smile sprouted on his face and it was clear he was proud to have made an impact on one of his student’s lives. He began walking, this time picking up the pace a little faster than before. “In today’s political climate, and with so many hot button issues, we can’t afford to sit on our hands and do nothing. It’s an exciting time in our political history.”
As soon as we entered his class, a half-dozen students were already sitting at their desks, another half-dozen filing in not long after us.
Croft headed for the front table near the whiteboard. Setting his things down on top, he continued, “Each of us has a chance to be part of history, create our own legacy if we so desire.”
I saw Erin’s head lift like a helium balloon out of the corner of my eye. She’d heard it, too. Croft’s word choice couldn’t have been by mistake. “Professor, we have reason to believe that Tim may have been part of a political group.”
“Oh?”
The doors behind us opened and a young man trudged in with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Keeping one eye on him, I asked, “Has there ever been mention of the Patriots of God inside your classroom?” As soon as the words fluttered over my lips, the young man lifted his head and paused. I knew he was listening.
“Impossible,” Professor Croft said.
I watched the young man make his way to the back of the room and, to my surprise, exited the classroom without making contact with any of the other students. Erin was watching a circle of students working on a project, making posters it looked like. Flicking my gaze back to Croft, I said, “You are aware of the group, though?”
“I am. That was a long time ago, Mrs. Bell. Many of my students were yet to be born.”
Itching to catch up with the young man who’d left in such a hurry, I asked, “That may be, but is there any chance it might have found a place inside your class?”
Looking me straight in the eye, Croft said, “Mrs. Bell, I stand for the constitution. Not bigotry. If it has found a place inside my classroom, I would be the first to k
now about it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Sam, slow down.” Erin chased after me.
I couldn’t leave fast enough. The student who’d arrived and left so quickly had my head spinning with possibility. His actions left me feeling like he knew something. I was determined to find out if my suspicions were right.
Lengthening my stride, I increased my pace until I was nearly running. The soles of my shoes hit the floor harder with each step. “Professor Croft is either part of it or ignorant to what may actually be happening inside his classroom.”
We burst through the exit with heaving chests.
My head swiveled on my shoulders like a spool of unwinding yarn.
“What are we doing, Sam?” Erin followed my darting gaze, looking everywhere I looked.
“That kid.” My eyebrows slanted as I scanned every bench, planter, and concrete wall I could find.
“What kid?”
I turned to Erin. “You didn’t see him?”
Erin flicked her brows, continuing to act oblivious to the ghost I seemed to be chasing.
“The male with a black backpack slung over his right shoulder.” I paused, hoping Erin would give me any sign of recognition. Rolling my attention back to the surrounding areas, I said, “He entered the classroom right as I asked Croft about the Patriots of God.”
“I must have missed it.” Erin sighed behind me.
Where did he go? Running out of options, I took my chances by heading right. Moving at a quick clip, Erin was one step behind.
“I’ll tell you what I didn’t miss.” Erin raised her voice to make sure I heard as I briskly walked ahead. “Croft didn’t seem to react to the news of Tim’s suicide.”
“It’s was certainly a strange response, wasn’t it?” I kept looking with fear hardening in my stomach that maybe I had missed my chance.
“Considering his student died? Yeah.” Erin wet her lips. “He didn’t seem devastated or saddened by the news.”
“You think Croft isn’t telling the truth?”
Bell Hath No Fury Page 11
