people you'll ever meet. I met your dad, Darren, on an Iron Pig rally this summer. He seemed really cool and really nice. With your dad and mine working on it, I just don't think whatever's going on is gonna be that big of a problem.'
Deshawn Zook nodded his head. He was smaller version of his father.
Then Chooch looked down at his clipboard and said, 'Deshawn, you're playing inside linebacker, right?'
'Yes.'
'You like that position?'
'Not really.'
'Why not?'
'Used to play fullback. Like that better.'
'Okay, then here's the deal. All positions are open again for two days. Everybody write down the position you prefer, the position you'll take, and the position you're playing now. Hand 'em in after practice. I'll work with each of you to try and get you where you want to go. I can't promise to move you, but everybody can have one tryout at any position he asks for. By Tuesday any position changes will be posted, and then we'll get back to work. Fair?'
The boys started nodding, some were even smiling.
Half an hour later, when the scrimmage started, I left, slipping out behind the bleachers. I don't think Chooch ever saw me. As I walked back to the Acura I was thinking how proud I was of the way he handled that-how smart. Throwing everything open and giving everybody a second chance was a great idea. The kids were now focussed on the future, not on Emo, or me, or any of the other angry nonsense that had washed over them.
When I reached my car I had another surprise. Scott Cook and Rick Manos were standing there with Darren Zook and Sonny Lopez. As I took out my keys, Rick Manos intercepted me.
'You know what happened this afternoon?' he asked, not waiting for an answer. 'Warrants got served on us. They think we shot that fed. Your SWAT guys rolled in and took all our long guns.'
I stared at him, not sure how to play it. Then I glanced over at Sonny. 'You call these guys when you saw me arrive?'
'No sir,' he said, leaning on the sir so it sounded more like a curse than anything else. 'All our kids play on the team. Pickup is in half an hour.'
I turned back to Manos. 'I'm getting sick of this. I'm just doing a job, what do you want from me?'
Now Scott Cook leaned forward and fixed me with a level, no-nonsense stare, frightening in its focus. 'You don't know where this is headed Scully. If you did, you'd play it differently.'
'Then you know something,' I said.
They started to walk away, but Scott Cook turned back.
'I know what those assholes at Treasury are capable of,' he said. 'I know whatever those casing striations show, we didn't shoot Greenridge. And I know this has just started, Scully. Nobody can stop it now.'
Chapter 29
I'm worried,' Alexa said.
I was barbecuing chicken in the backyard, basting on my beer butter sauce and nervously watching the Santa Ana winds blow briquette smoke and sparks across the fence into the yard next door. I hoped my surfboard-shaper neighbor, Longboard Kelly, wasn't watching and cursing as my embers sailed over the fence. Franco was right at my feet, purring. He liked my barbecued chicken, so he was watching carefully.
'I'm worried too-these hot embers. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea,' I said, trying to refocus the conversation.
'I'm not talking about the wind or the damn barbecue,' she snapped.
'I know you're not, honey.'
'How long until the sheriff's ballistics lab can get us a match on those casings?'
'I don't know.'
The phone rang and Alexa jumped. She was that stressed.
'Delfina will get it,' I said. 'It's probably just Chooch telling her he's gonna be late getting home from football practice.'
I wanted to tell Alexa about what I'd seen and how proud I was of the way Chooch had handled the team, but I didn't want to compromise the story by telling it while she was this upset.
After a minute Delfina walked outside. 'It's for you, Shane.'
I handed the barbecue tongs to Alexa. 'Don't let my little chickadees burn,' I said, doing a bad W. C. Fields. Then I gave her some Groucho eyebrows, trying lighten the moment. But she was in no mood to smile.
I went into the den and picked up the phone. It was Jo.
'You want the bad news, or the bad news?' she said. 'Shit.'
'We got a positive match on the three-oh-eight you and I pulled out of the apartment. The pin impression and ejection striations line up perfectly with a long gun from the sheriff's SEB armory. A Tango fifty-one. Serial number X-one-five-seven-eight. Brand new sniper rifle bought three months ago.'
'Whose gun is it?'
'That's the problem. They don't assign individual weapons at SEB. They have an armory, keep 'em in the van when they roll, and pass 'em out when they hit the event.'
She was right. That's what I had seen happen at Hidden Ranch Road.
'So anybody could have taken this gun out of the armory and used it,' she finished.
'Great.'
'Sometimes one of the snipers will check a long gun out and take it home if he's on standby. That way they can roll to a call from home. When that happens, they sign them out. I imagine certain guys get attached to certain guns. They like the way the sights line up or the way the trigger pulls, the balance-stuff like that. I figure, if this long gun kept getting checked out to the same guy, maybe that leads us somewhere. I'll get the records'
'Right. Good thinking.' I tried to guess where this was going. No doubt we would now have to take the whole SEB Gray team off duty, print everybody, and hold them somehow.
'I called Sheriff Messenger,' Jo said. 'He's not a happy camper. ATF went out to our crime lab with a court order and took the two-twenty-three casing we found at Nightingale's house. They're doing their own ballistics match. Messenger's gonna send a print team out to our SEB SWAT house at South Fetterly. With that three-oh- eight casing match, we have enough PC to force a print check on everybody in our enforcement bureau. That's all the updates.'
I stood looking down at the desk, trying to figure out what our next move was.
'Whatta you bet we also get a positive on that two-twenty-three casing from SRT?' she said.
'No bet,' I replied.
'Your place or mine? We've got a lot to do here.'
'Whatta we gotta do, besides wait?' I asked. 'You figure we should go out and roll prints ourselves?'
'I've been working on your angle. Rebuilding Smiley's back-story-his history. Isn't that what you wanted? I've been doing computer runs all afternoon. I've got reams of county and city printouts. I could use some help sorting.'
So, while I'd been at football practice Jo Brickhouse was down at the sheriff's computer information center doing runs on Vincent Smiley. I was impressed, and okay, a little embarrassed. I should have been on that, instead of watching my son coach. Figuring out priorities are a bitch.
'Your place,' I finally said, because Alexa was in a foul mood and I wanted to get some air. Also, she hated my background approach, so I'd just as soon not do it right in front of her.
Just before Jo hung up I said, 'Hey, Sergeant, Brickhouse?'
'Yeah?' Her voice was wary.
'Thanks for the help.'
