by David Archer
“We’ve met,” Wendy said, and then she winked at Harvey. “Good to see you again.”
“Um, yeah,” he said, following her lead. “You, too.”
“Okay, good, then we can get down to business. Wendy, I’ve scheduled you to cover the Levinson funeral this morning, it’s at the First Baptist Church on 12th Street at ten, and you’ve got the Terrell wedding today at three, but then I got a call this morning about a new park opening up. That’s at one, and it’s over at Buckingham Street and Fifth Avenue, so I need you to cover that, too. Harvey, working with a reporter sometimes means surprises that can hit at any minute, so I got you a van assigned, but let me tell you, I had to twist arms to do it. It’s our oldest van, I’m afraid, but it’ll have to do. You’re to keep it with you all the time, even drive it home. That’s so if a story comes up in the middle of the night, which has definitely been known to happen, you can just meet Wendy there and have all your gear ready.”
Harvey grinned. That would solve his problem on getting to work, at least. “No problem, sounds great!”
Jillian looked at them. “Okay, then, go get your gear and your van, and make sure you’re at the church on time! Scat!”
Harvey and Wendy walked out of her office together. “I’ve got to go sign out my camera and stuff, and I’ll meet you at the motor pool, okay?”
She smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll grab us some coffee on the way.” She turned and was gone before he could tell her how he liked his coffee, but he figured he’d cover that another time. It was nice of her to offer, and he’d drink it with mud in it before he’d complain about someone so pretty being so nice!
The video equipment they gave him was not the most modern or up to date, but he could work with it. He had three cases to carry with sound equipment and wireless microphones, plus the old Sony FDR camera; between them all, they must have weighed close to a hundred pounds, but he was stout enough to handle it. He’d had to carry even more at times in school, when he worked for the college station.
He found his way to the motor pool and looked around for a moment before he saw Wendy waving at him. She was standing next to a van that looked like it belonged in a junkyard, but it had the station’s logos painted on both sides, the front and the rear, and had a satellite transceiver antenna on top, so he figured it must be theirs. He walked over to it and opened the side doors, then set his gear down on its floor while he looked at the mess inside.
“Holy crap,” he said. “This is a mess!”
“Wow, it is! I can’t believe they’d give us a van that’s so torn up!”
He looked at the stuff that was strewn around it for a moment. There were spilled coffee cups, candy wrappers, and goodness knows what some of those sticky messes were! “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna need some cleaning supplies.”
Wendy smiled. “Okay, I’ll be here. Oh, here’s your coffee!” She passed him a cup.
He took it and smiled. “Thanks,” he said, and took a careful sip. To his surprise, it was exactly the way he liked it, just sweet enough, but not too sweet. “Hey, perfect!” he said as he walked back toward the building in search of cleaning supplies.
As soon as he got back, he started cleaning out the trash and sticky residues that seemed to be all over the interior of the van. He worked fast, and it wasn’t long before all the trash had been carried out and dropped into a garbage dumpster that was standing nearby.
Harvey looked inside the van and grinned. “Okay,” he said, “I guess it could’ve been worse, but I’m not sure how.”
Wendy grinned and bumped him with her shoulder. “Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad! We can make it work for a while, don’t you think?”
He looked at her and grinned, her beautiful eyes making him agree with her. “Yeah,” he said. “It does look lot better already.” He climbed inside and started wiping the shelves that were supposed to hold his equipment, and seemed to lose himself in the work. Wendy took some of the paper towels and a spray bottle and began cleaning the seats and dashboard.
“Thanks,” Harvey said when he realized what she was doing. “I’ll do that, if you want.”
“No, I don’t mind. I mean, we’re just about gonna live in this thing together for a while, we might as well work together to make it as nice as we can, right?”
The thought of spending so much time with Wendy suddenly appealed to Harvey, and he smiled. “I guess so,” he said, and went back to cleaning the shelves and racks. When he was done, he started putting all of his gear into its proper places, and by the time he’d finished that, Wendy had the cab looking great. In fact, other than a few rips in the seats, it didn’t look bad at all.
“Well,” he said with a grin, “I gotta tell you, this thing looks a whole lot better than it did an hour ago! It’s a little after nine, and we’ve got the funeral at ten, so I guess we better get going! Ready to take it on its maiden voyage?”
Wendy smiled. “Let’s do it!” she said, and Harvey climbed into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition, so as soon as she was settled, he turned them to start it up.
3
The little Cessna jet touched down to the tarmac at Denver International at 11:49, a little more than ten minutes early. Windlass personnel were accustomed to the charter jets they used beating their predicted arrivals, however, so the car was already waiting on the tarmac when the plane came to a stop. The copilot opened the hatch and let it down, and Steve and Walter stepped off into the mile high sunshine.
Roger Bowman, one of the regular security guards Windlass employed, had been designated as the driver for the day, and was standing beside the car with a smile on his face. He opened the back door of the black GMC SUV and took their bags to the back as the two men climbed inside. He slammed the tailgate and then got behind the wheel.
“How was it, guys?” Roger asked. He’d known both Steve and Walter for more than a year, and liked them both.
Steve Beck had been a police detective in Golden, Colorado, twelve years earlier when Sam Prichard had been a brand new recruit in the police academy. The two of them had gotten to know each other because Steve was a regular guest instructor, and had quickly become friends.
Walter Rawlings was only twenty-six years old, and described himself as a highly functioning autistic. He had an innate ability to look at hundreds or thousands of apparently random factors and connect them, seeing clues that anyone else would miss because it didn’t seem possible they might be relevant. He was already becoming something of a legend in the law enforcement community nationwide, because of his ability to walk through a crime scene and understand exactly what had taken place, even when other crime scene experts were completely stumped.
“It was pretty wild,” Steve said. “Salt Lake City PD thought we were nuts when Walter told them what had happened, but they turned into believers when he proved to be correct.”
Roger laughed. “And how much did they offer him to come work for them directly?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “how much was it, Walter?”
“Sixty-five thousand,” Walter said. “Sixty-five thousand a year.”
Roger whistled at that. “Wow, that’s got to be an awful lot for a CSI. Most of them don’t make that much, do they?”
“Nowhere near,” Steve said. “And especially not to start. Good thing we pay him a lot more than that, right?”
“Nah,” Roger said, “Walter wouldn’t leave us, would you, Walter?”
“No. I like my job. I like traveling, and I like Steve. And I like Sam.”
“See?” Roger asked. “Not a thing to worry about. Listen, guys, have you had lunch yet?”
“Not really,” Steve said. “They gave us a snack cake and a can of pop on the plane.”
“Well, in that case, I’m supposed to swing through a drive-up window and get you something to eat, because they want you back at the office ASAP. There’s a hot new case and Mr. Prichard wants to talk with you about it before you go look at the crime scene.”
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br /> “Let me guess,” Steve said. “We’re going to the Canterbury? Where that kid was shot on a webcast the other night?”
“Bingo,” Roger said. “The company has hired us for security and to find out who the shooter was. I heard the Denver PD is even taking backseat on this, can you believe that?”
“I believe it,” he said. “Sam Prichard is running the investigation, it can’t get any better for them.” He turned to Walter. “Walter, what do you want for lunch? We have to get it and take it with us back to the office.”
“I want Popeye’s,” Walter said. “The spicy kind.”
Steve chuckled and looked at Roger. “You heard the man,” he said. “Popeye’s it is.”
There was a Popeye’s on the way, and Roger steered the big SUV through the drive-up lane. They got their order and were back on the road only a couple of minutes later.
When they entered the building, Steve spotted Kate Higgins, another of the office girls, and asked her to let Sam know that he and Walter would be in the break room. She said she would, so the two of them continued on their way. Sam found them sitting at a table a few minutes later, each of them munching on a chicken leg.
“Good to have you back,” Sam said. “And good work in Salt Lake City. Did they catch the thieves yet?”
“I got a call as we were headed for the airport this morning,” Steve said. “They caught them, and the statue had been recovered. If I recall correctly, that means the company gets a twenty percent bonus.”
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ron and Jeff will be delighted with that news,” he said. “No, actually I think it’s Eileen who will be excited. The guys don’t seem to worry a lot about the money, whether it’s coming in or going out. I think they leave all that up to her.”
“They should,” Steve said. “I’ve seen that lady negotiate the contract for the company, she’s like a shark. She squeezes the client for every dime she can get and then gets them to agree to a bonus for full satisfaction. It’s the bonuses that really make the money, but that makes it sound like we keep our fees low. I don’t know what she did before this, but she’s definitely good at what she does now.”
“She certainly is. Listen, as soon as you guys finish eating, the three of us are going over to the Canterbury Arena. You heard about the shooting there the other night?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It was all over the news, you couldn’t get away from it.”
“Good. I want Walter to take a look at everything there. They think they know where the shot was fired from, and they got an idea how the shooter got in and out, but absolutely nothing is showing up on security video that could be a rifle. I know there are rifles that can be taken apart, even carried in your pockets, but this thing must’ve happened so fast that the shooter would’ve had to take it apart on the fly. That doesn’t sound to me like it would be easy to do, but maybe I’m behind the times.”
“No problem,” he said. “Walter can figure it out, right, Walter?”
Walter only nodded.
Sam was smiling again. “Great,” he said. “We’ll head over there as soon as you guys are ready.”
It took a few minutes for them to finish eating, and then Steve, Walter, Sam, and Karen Parks all climbed into another of the company’s SUVs. Sam got behind the wheel and drove into Denver proper.
“Okay, here’s what we’ve got,” Sam said. “The shooting occurred in what was supposed to be the last few minutes of the program. Mr. Petrelli, the victim, had just stepped out from behind the curtain when he stumbled, but then it looked like he caught himself and was coming on out. He took one step, and then fell flat on his face. When the stagehands and program hosts got to him, they turned him over and saw blood on his chest. The building was locked down immediately and police and paramedics were called. Paramedics got Petrelli stabilized and rushed him off to the hospital, but no one else was allowed to leave. The police interviewed everyone who was present, but no one reported hearing a gunshot or seeing anything out of the ordinary. After enhancing the audio recordings of the program, they did find what seems to be the sound of a suppressed gunshot hidden behind the music.”
“What’s the current theory on the shooting, Sam?” Steve asked.
“Right now, police believe the shooter was on a catwalk above the audience. They pinpointed the spot they think he had to have chosen, based on the angle of trajectory. The only problem with this theory is that there is no sign of anyone entering or leaving the building with something long enough to be a rifle.”
“Probably a take down rifle, then,” Steve said. “Carry it in, put it together, make the shot, take it down, and carry it out.”
“I thought of that, too,” Sam said. “A take down rifle, though, still occupies a lot of space. With the exception of a few women’s purses that have already been cleared, we don’t have any video footage of a bag large enough to fit that description. Now, it’s possible that the shooter had the individual pieces hidden inside his clothing, of course, but even that should be detectable. I mean, you’d almost have to be wearing some fairly heavy clothing with straps or pockets hidden inside to hold the parts. That should be noticeable, and it would probably make you walk differently than normal.”
“That’s a good point,” Steve said. “We’ll just let Walter do his thing. Okay, Walter?”
“Yes. I think I know how it happened already, but I want to look at the crime scene.”
Sam looked at him in the rear view mirror. “You have a theory already?”
Walter nodded. “I think I figured it out already,” he said. “But I want to look at the crime scene before I say anything.”
The drive to the Canterbury Arena took forty minutes, and all of them had to show their IDs to get into the building. It was still on police lockdown after the shooting, with one of Karen’s detectives holding down the fort for the police department.
“Sam Prichard,” Karen said, “this is Detective Russell Dolby. I’ve had him keeping an eye on things here while I play the politics game down at the mayor’s office. The city’s CSI team has already done their thing and got nothing, so all we’re doing right now is keeping it secure. Russ, this is the famous Sam Prichard, and these gentlemen are Steve Beck and Walter Rawlings.”
Dolby held out a hand and shook with Sam and Steve, but Walter kept his hands in his pockets and Dolby caught the wink Steve gave him. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said. “Mr. Prichard, I’ve been hearing about you since the day I first met Karen.”
“Pleasure is mine,” Sam said. “Mr. Rawlings is our crime scene expert. We need to let him look around the area for a while, so he can figure out exactly how this shooting ended up happening.”
“Yes, sir,” Dolby said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where we believe the shooter came into the building.” He turned around and started walking away, and the four of them followed.
Walter looked at the employee entrance Dolby showed them for a couple of seconds, then turned around and started walking toward the metal stairs that led up to the catwalk over the audience area. He went up them with everyone else following, stood at the top for a moment and looked around, then started walking across on the central catwalk. This was also known as the third catwalk, and was the one the police had concluded was used by the shooter.
Walter was looking down at the open grating that formed the floor of the catwalk as he followed it along. He stopped almost dead center and looked toward the stage, where a wooden X stood in the exact spot where Max Petrelli had stumbled. He looked at the stage for moment, then turned and looked down at the grating under his feet for another moment before looking upward.
There were dozens of horizontal cables and pulleys overhead, part of the system of specialized lights and cameras that could be moved to just about anywhere under the roof. The actual house lights were below the catwalks, and bright enough to make it almost impossible to see past them. When those lights were off, however, the sheer darkness guaranteed that
no one would be able to see what was happening over their heads.
Walter pointed at one of the cameras that was hanging about fifty feet away. “I need that camera over here,” he said.
Karen turned to Dolby, who shrugged and then walked slowly across the catwalk and down the stairs. He went to the control booth and spoke to the people inside it for a moment, and the camera Walter had asked for came moving slowly and smoothly toward him.
Walter waited until it was hanging just over his head, then suddenly started climbing on the railing of the catwalk.
“Walter, please be careful,” Sam said, but Steve put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “When he’s after an answer, nothing is going to stop him.”
Sam, Karen, and Steve stood transfixed as Walter stood on the two rails, his legs spread wide. He held onto the camera, which was huge. It measured almost four feet long by two feet high and almost a foot wide. From where he was standing, Walter could just see the top of it.
There were a couple of flashes as he took pictures of something with his phone, and then he suddenly dropped back to the floor of the catwalk. The whole thing shook ominously, but it held.
“Well?” Steve said. “What do you think?”
“The reason you never saw the shooter on camera,” Walter said, “is because he was already in the building. He didn’t have to carry a rifle in or out, because it was already here.”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “What? Was it hidden on top of the camera?”
Walter held out his phone, showing the photograph he had taken. It showed a stripped down rifle mounted on some sort of electrically controlled tripod. There was a video camera affixed to a scope on top of the rifle, and an electrical solenoid was mounted just in front of the trigger. On one side of the receiver was a small plastic box with an antenna, with wires running to the solenoid. As they’d expected, there was a large sound suppressor on the end of the barrel.
