Kate stood, hands in pockets. “Can you identify the make and model from these markings?”
“This is from a.22 caliber semiautomatic. From what John says, it was a hand gun.”
“What about the bullet in the wall?”
McNab sighed and swiveled on his chair. “Not much left of it, I’m afraid it’s only a fragment. I can tell you it was a hollow point, but there was something odd we found. It had wheel-bearing grease on its nose.”
Kate glanced up at Zimmer. “When I was a kid, my father used to use hollow points to cull rabbits.”
“The structure facilitates expansion on contact,” McNab explained, “thereby killing the animal more quickly.”
“What’s the wheel grease for?” Anya asked, having not encountered it before.
“It’s new to me too,” said Zimmer. “I don’t know the significance.”
Kate rubbed her temple. “It may or may not be relevant, but my dad used to put a smear of vaseline on the tips of his bullets. I remember because I used to help. Reason was, he said it made the bullets pass faster through the barrel.”
“Grease has a higher melting point than water, so it would accentuate the concept of the bullet expanding, like a ramming device, you could say.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Kate whispered to Anya.
“So, whoever shot Natasha had knowledge of guns and was probably a hunter?”
“Or just grew up on a farm like I did,” Kate added. “If that’s the case, the choice of weapon doesn’t sit right.”
“Go on, Detective,” McNab folded his arms in anticipation.
“We all know the.22 is fairly easy to come by. Sporting shooters, armed robbers, security men and every wannabe crook has one. Hell, before we heard of corruption, police used them as fit-up guns.”
“Those were the days,” Zimmer put his thumbs over his belt and rocked on his heels, “when you could shoot some bastard, then fire the fit-up gun and whack it into his dead hand. No doubt about it, any judge would rule self-defense every time. Yep, those were the good old days.”
Kate smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “This is serious. A.22 isn’t exactly sniper material. It’s a huge risk, having to get so close to be accurate, especially if the target’s mobile. I wouldn’t even use one for self- defense.”
McNab suggested, “Maybe the shooter wanted Natasha Ryder to know who killed her. Maybe he deliberately went that close. I mean, if it was personal.”
Zimmer became somber again. “Or could be our shooter doesn’t care if he gets caught.”
With that, discussion halted. Anya and Kate seemed to have the same thought. The Harbourns not only had reason to dislike the prosecutor, but were not afraid of the legal consequences. They acted as if they were above the law. Even so, it still wasn’t their style. Unless they had hired a professional this time to remove Natasha from the trial.
Noelene had plenty of seedy connections and Natasha had been involved in prosecutions against the family before. This time the stakes were higher than ever. They had a lot to lose.
If the killer were someone else, the Harbourns had definitely benefited. Luck didn’t seem to be something that followed the family around.
“Nick, everything okay?” Zimmer appeared concerned.
McNab uncrossed his arms. “Something just doesn’t sit right. There’s something familiar about these cartridge markings that’s bothering me. Let’s run it through our database. If it matches anything, we’ll know in a couple of hours.”
Kate headed toward the door. “Thanks, and call me any time. No such thing as too late.”
The trio exited the laboratory and walked the two flights back to Homicide.
“Wheeler found out that Noelene Harbourn’s brother has a farm west of here-the one where we found the list. Apparently the boys would go up and shoot foxes and rabbits on weekends. Maybe we should go up there with a metal detector and check it out.”
“Did they keep weapons out there?” It was a long shot but if they had killed Natasha maybe the murder weapon was hidden there.
“No such luck. They wised up. Those guns we found in the wall of their house were from a robbery. They probably sold the rest on the black market or have another stash somewhere.”
Back at her desk Kate threw her jacket over her chair. “Still bothers me, though. We think these guys have access to firepower better than a.22. This just doesn’t fit their pattern of using a truck of dynamite to blow away a cockroach. Natasha got one shot in the head. Quick and clean. No signs of overkill or any other violence.”
She sat down and put her feet up on the desk. “It doesn’t fit their usual lust for blood and suffering. I mean, look at what they did to Rachel Goodwin.”
Zimmer sat on Wheeler’s desk. “Got to admit that car accident wasn’t their style either. Far too subtle. If they wanted to send a message to the rest of the clan about sticking together, they could have made more of a show of Savannah’s death.”
As a mother, it was possible that Noelene had more control over her sons than they realized. “What if the mother hadn’t agreed to the killings? What if they were out on their own, knowing the police were sniffing around. Wouldn’t that make anyone more cautious?”
“Not necessarily, we had one serial killer know he was under surveillance. Didn’t stop him walking into a house and killing a victim with the police outside. A ferret still kills for pleasure, whether it’s hungry or not.”
Anya and Kate looked at him, then laughed.
“God, you’re corny,” Kate said.
“What? I used to keep ferrets as a kid. They kill for fun, it’s what they’re bred for.”
Kate laughed until she snorted, then the other two joined in.
It was enough to break the tension. The truth was, they were all intimidated by possible threats to their own safety and this was one place they could feel relaxed despite the late hour.
Minutes later, Anya was headed to her home to pick up a toiletries bag and change of clothes, so she could stay the night in Kate’s spare room-for protection from the Harbourns. All humor was quickly forgotten.
36
The detective had changed into exercise pants and hooded top. She had set up an office on her living room floor, sitting barefoot with one leg tucked under and the other outstretched, papers spread around her and a large bag of potato chips at her side. Anya found patches of carpet to step between.
“I’ve been thinking. Zimmer might have had a point about ferrets being bred to kill. It’s in their makeup, just like dogs are naturally carnivores.”
“Okay, you lost me.” Kate crunched on some more chips.
“The nature or nurture concept. I used to think that the environment we’re brought up in makes us what we are, but studies are starting to challenge that.”
“Monkey see, monkey do. Does it matter when the end result’s the same?”
Anya appreciated Kate had little patience for theories that didn’t alter outcomes. And she had a point. She was task oriented and focused on end results, not necessarily on the process. It was one of the things she liked about Kate. Not one for sitting around contemplating the meaning of life, her friend was the most practical person she knew. The bookshelf that still sat in pieces at Anya’s house would have been assembled as soon as it arrived if Kate had her way.
“Beats me how you separate genes from environment anyway.” Kate continued to munch away while Anya sat on the arm of the lounge.
“It’s interesting, looking at studies of adopted children. They’ve found that children born to a criminal parent but adopted into a law-abiding family still have a much higher chance of committing crimes than their adopted siblings. Whereas kids born to noncriminal parents but adopted into criminal environments are more likely to stay within the law.”
Kate grinned. “Those studies are like statistics. You find one to justify anything. Remember all that work on
