Whatever…(click)…
He’d set up an old-fashioned firing range complete with cans, bottles, and sawhorses. It was twenty yards into the woods with a couple of 4’ by 6’ pieces of plywood behind it. Philip had modified the cans slightly with some gold and silver paint. Otherwise, the range was free of ornamentation. He had been chomping at the bit to shoot something since he was denied use of his firearm at City Hall.
Okaaaaay, so it looks like the public shooting thing is only going to work once.
”Pow – ping!”
I’ve put the police on their guard, which makes life more difficult, but I knew that was going to happen.
“Pow – ping!”
What then?
He revisited the little speech he gave himself when he was thinking through the first shooting.
It’s got to be quick. It’s got to be painless. It’s got to be free of fear.
”Pow – ping!”
Only now, it has to be with cops around. How the hell am I going to do that?
”Pow – smash!”
Well, obviously, I can’t.
”Pow – smash!”
Soooo, what do I need? A silencer for starters.
“Pow – ping!”
And I need to find a time when there are no cops around. When are there no cops around?
“Pow – smash!”
He froze with his eyes fixed where the last bottle used to be. Then he moved his arm to hold the gun away from his body, scratched his neck, and spoke out loud.
“No way. It can’t be that simple.”
He put the gun down.
“What do I need? What do I need? What do I need?”
He started to pace.
“A map. I need a map. A map. A map. And a place to sit. Hunting gear. I need to find some hunting gear.”
For what may have been hours for all Philip knew or cared, he paced the length of the range until, at last, he found himself next to his spot of origin.
Got it.
With an enigmatic smile, he scooped up his gun, and walked towards his uncle’s work shed.
7. The Food Court at the Galleria
Julie wasn’t about to make things easy on her cop boyfriend. She had been sending Lynch dirty text messages ever since he told her about his meeting at the Galleria. Each one shot home the benefits of sleeping with a writer.
The little bit of work that he and Gomez were able to do at the station yielded close to nothing. Samuel was a ghost. There wasn’t a single namesake in the five surrounding counties that matched his description. Wherever he was living and/or working, it was under a different name. The only thing left was ballistics, which they didn’t expect to see until the next day. He was, therefore, really hoping his conversation with Kelly would prove to be fruitful.
He and two tall lattes had been sitting at a café table in the Galleria food court for half an hour. Kelly was running predictably late. Lynch always kept a book of logic puzzles in his glove compartment for, among other things, killing time. He was filling in the last few boxes of a grid marked “challenging” and mumbling about how Sudoku is for pussies, when she suddenly appeared in the seat across the table. He understood why she chose the location. She said in her message that the police station and the barn were not options, which meant no local cops and no black trench coats. She wasn’t likely to run into either at a crappy little mall two towns away from Potterford.
She wasn’t in her UJ get-up, which made it easier for Lynch to be pleasant. Lynch preferred pleasant. He also preferred eye contact, which he wasn’t getting.
“Hi, Kelly.”
“I’m not late. I was over there.”
“Where? In American Eagle?”
“I wanted to make sure you came alone.”
“Very smart. Are you convinced?”
“What’s in the book?”
“Oh…logic puzzles. My grandmother died of Alzheimer’s, and I read somewhere that keeping your brain busy is good preventative measure. Who knows if it’s true, but I get paranoid. It’s a nasty way to die.”
Kelly said nothing. Lynch wasn’t even sure she heard him.
“I got coffee.”
“Huh?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked. My girlfriend’s niece is about your age, and she usually orders a caramel latte, so I got a caramel latte.”
She broke from her erratic glancing about and focused in on the trendy cup in front of her. Lynch’s words finally appeared to register.
“Thanks.”
She picked up the latte and drew it to her face. Perhaps the conversation could start.
“Kelly? We good?”
She continued her gulp. She was obviously stalling. Progress was only going to be made if Lynch did the broaching.
“Kelly, did you want to tell me something abou…”
“Okay, look. I don’t…I’m not…I don’t know…dammit! A bunch of us went over to visit Jeremy this morning.”
She told Lynch about what happened with Traci and the miracle cure.
“Really? Well, whatever works I guess.”
“The thing is…the thing is, later on, a couple of guys came by. Cops. A guy and a girl, actually.”
“Reilly and Warner.”
“Yeah, that was their names.”
“They’re investigating Jeremy’s beating.”
“They are? I thought you were.”
“No. The bishop’s murder case is mine, but it’s okay. Go on. What happened?”
Kelly suddenly got lost in thought, as though a bad situation just got worse.
“Kelly?”
She spoke slowly and angrily.
“The hospital only allows three visitors in the ICU at one time, so when the cops showed up waving their badges around, we had to leave. Rick and Traci headed for the exit, but I didn’t leave so fast.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to leave. I kind of walked backwards slowly towards the door, so I saw what happened when…oh God.”
“When what?”
“When the cops got close.”
She stared at her cup.
“What happened when …?”
“Jeremy freaked the fuck out. That’s what happened! They got up next to the bed, and all of Jeremy’s vitals started to spike! He started to shake, stuff started falling off the bed table, and then he went back to being…being…”
She was welling
