Hanging up, Gannon nearly dropped his phone.
In the movement he saw a figure, looked like a woman, seated at the desk. Gannon could not see enough detail to determine her identity, but her actions chilled him. She set her head flat on the desk, raised her right hand and extended her forefinger to it as if it were a gun.
Lisa Anne Palmer was the name of Morrow’s eyewitness.
Age: Thirty-one, widowed, with a ten-year-old son, Ethan, and eight-year-old daughter, Taylor. Gripping his folding clipboard, Morrow studied Lisa’s personal information, her preliminary statement and her driver’s-license picture. Five foot four, one hundred fifteen pounds. Pretty. Dishwater blonde. Blue eyes.
Morrow’s collection of information for the investigation was growing. Upon arriving at the center, he’d interviewed the first responding officers to ensure the scene had been protected and to get an assessment. Then he’d slipped on elasticized shoe covers, tugged on latex gloves and examined the body of each victim before members of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team put on their coveralls and began processing the scene.
Other agents, supported by local investigators, were conducting separate interviews of travelers, locals, employees—everyone who was here when the crime happened. Outside, they took note of every plate and vehicle in the lot and they were checking security cameras. An enormous amount of work lay ahead. But as things stood, Lisa Palmer was the most valuable part of Morrow’s investigation.
Now, as he stepped into the center’s office and looked at her for the first time, sitting there in the manager’s leather chair, he asked himself if he could help this widowed supermarket cashier from Queens to lead him to the killers responsible for this bloodbath.
“Lisa…” Morrow shot a glance to the other agents in the room, along with Rowan, the uniform from Ramapo P.D. “I’m Special Agent Frank Morrow, FBI. I’m the case agent. I’ve read your information and—”
“Did you find them?”
“Not yet.”
“You have to find them!”
“We’re doing all we can. Odds are they’ve left the area. We don’t think they’d have any interest in having any contact with the victims again.”
“You don’t know that! I saw what those monsters did!” Anguish webbed across her face. “Are my kids okay? They took our cell phones! What if they get my home address and go after my kids?”
“Take it easy, Lisa. We located the bag with the cell phones,” Morrow said. “The suspects tossed it in a ditch near the lot and set it on fire. We believe they took them to buy time. What remains of the phones is evidence.”
“But nobody will let me call my kids. Are my kids okay?”
“They’re okay. We’ve taken care of that.”
“How?”
Morrow consulted his notes.
“You told us you left them with your friend, Rita Camino.”
“Rita, yes.”
“We’ve requested the NYPD send an unmarked plainclothes unit to get Rita, Ethan and Taylor. We’re making arrangements for you to see them. For now, it’s vital that we keep things confidential. Okay?”
Lisa’s fingertips caressed two small photos on the desk. Her children, Morrow figured, pegging the pictures as the wallet-size format from the type portrait studios offer at malls.
“How long before I can see them?”
“We’re working on that.” Morrow nodded to two other agents in the office who’d finished setting up a small video camera, then said, “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through and I know you’ve already given us your account, but as the case agent, I need you to talk to me and we need to record it. Okay?”
She continued looking at her children and Morrow asked if the paramedics had given her a sedative.
She shook her head; so did the Ramapo officer.
Good, Morrow thought. A sedated witness could be a challenge.
“I know this is difficult,” Morrow said, “but I need you to give me every detail of everything that happened while it’s fresh. Can you do that?”
Lisa’s breathing quickened. Her gaze lifted to the big windows and the center’s parking lot as if the murders were replayed out there.
“It was horrible.”
For nearly half an hour, Lisa took Morrow through it all, telling him all she could remember from the lobby, then inside. One of the gunmen sounded American, another sounded foreign, European, maybe. Their movements suggested those of men in their late twenties, early thirties, though Lisa couldn’t say for sure.
They wore motorcycle helmets with dark shields that hid their faces. They had full-body suits that motorcycle racers wear. They were wearing gloves. As for weapons, all Lisa saw were handguns.
“Do you recall seeing any distinguishing marks?”
Recognition rose in her mind then vanished.
Awareness rose again before dissipating. Lisa couldn’t remember. She shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Morrow asked.
Lisa blinked hard.
Morrow pressed for other details. How were Lisa and the agent positioned? Show us the angle, show us the distance. Show us where on this floor plan. Where were the suspects? What were they saying?
“I know this is awful,” Morrow said, “but it might help if you reenacted where the killer positioned the gun before he pulled the trigger.
She then lowered her head flat on the desk, atop the photos of her children, and positioned her fingers like a gun. With her trembling forefinger as the barrel, she pressed it to the side of her head.
“He never pleaded for his life like I did. He tried to help us.”
Lisa sobbed.
The Ramapo officer comforted her.
Morrow gave it a moment and looked to the window; that’s when he thought he saw someone at the edge of the lot.
Morrow returned his attention to Lisa, who was calmer. He had finished interviewing her for now and closed his clipboard.
“Thank you, Lisa.” Morrow gave her his card. “Call me at any time if you remember anything more at all. I don’t want to put you through this too many more times, but we’ll talk again soon. Matt Bosh is here and he’s going to help you now.”
A second man, who had quietly entered the office, took Morrow’s cue.
“Lisa, Matt Bosh. I’m with the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance. We’re here to help you. First thing we want to do is get you into town to be with Ethan and Taylor, to make sure you feel safe and comfortable.”
