“Justin McCabe,” Megan said softly. “My husband knows the chief of police from the golf club. He called him last night when the news didn’t say anything about who the shooter was. He is a student at Central Coast. No criminal record at all though.”
“I’ll have to ask around at school.” The confirmation that the attacker had been a student weighed on Katherine’s heart. “I always worry that there are signs we miss as educators. I worry about the school becoming so large that we miss students who need help.”
Had someone missed warning signs? Did the young man live in a dormitory? Did he have family close by? What kind of support system did he have? Or not have?
“Some people are just nuts,” Toni said, her voice flat. “Or evil. That’s no one’s fault.”
Katherine didn’t agree, but she didn’t want to start an argument with a woman she barely knew.
Megan looked between Katherine and Toni several times. Katherine could sense her tension growing. Something was bothering her. Something had her nearly bursting.
“That gun just jumped into my hand, y’all.” Megan finally spoke. “I didn’t grab it. I didn’t even reach for it. I just thought in my head ‘someone needs to get that gun away from this kid,’ and then it just flew into my hand all on its own, and I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know what to think at all.”
Katherine stared at Megan with wide eyes. Toni was staring too.
The door opened and someone said, “Professor Bassi, Detective Bisset can see you now.”
* * *
“Professor Katherine Bassi.”
The detective who said her name was younger than she was. His skin was a dark, unlined brown, and his closely cropped hair showed not a hint of grey or silver. Still, the expression in his eyes as he examined the yellow notepad on his desk told Katherine that he was not an inexperienced police officer.
He looked up and offered her a polite smile. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like a forty-seven-year-old woman who recently took up tackle football.” Katherine settled into the upholstered chair across from the detective. “I don’t recommend it.”
Detective Bisset chuckled.
“But nothing is broken. No permanent damage. I’m craving potato chips, but I think that has something to do with seeing them in the break room.”
“I can have an officer get you some if you’d like.”
“No, I’m okay. But thanks.”
“The manager of the club who witnessed your actions said you tackled the man from behind, disarmed him, and knocked him to the ground.”
Katherine chose her words carefully. “I tackled him. I don’t think I intentionally disarmed him, but I might have knocked the gun from his hand. I don’t really remember.”
“But you remember seeing his weapon.”
She thought about what she could say. Had she seen the man pulling out his weapon? In her vision she had. Close enough. “Yes, I saw the weapon. It was a handgun. I couldn’t tell you much more than that; I don’t know much about guns. It was black and had a brown handle.”
Detective Bisset frowned a little, tapping a pen on the notepad in front of him. “From behind?”
“What’s that?”
“You saw the gun from behind the gunman?”
She kept her voice and expression even. This was far from the most intimidating interview she’d ever had. That belonged to her first doctoral dissertation panel. “I must have seen it at an angle. Why else would I tackle a complete stranger?”
“Good question.” He looked up. “Was he a complete stranger?”
“He was wearing a CCSU sweatshirt, but I didn’t recognize him. That said, it’s very possible he’s taken one of my general-ed classes. I sometimes have over a hundred students in those sections.”
Detective Bisset nodded. “So you might have known him.”
“Known him would be an overstatement. My teaching assistants—graduate students—would have been the ones interacting with him if he was taking a class from me, grading his papers or answering questions, things like that. I don’t remember him ever visiting me during office hours, but honestly, like I said, it’s possible. I see a lot of students in my general-ed classes.”
“How many of those do you teach?”
“Usually I teach two general-ed classes per semester and two upper-level physics classes as well as supervising a number of graduate students in the department. And then I have a collaborative grant project I’m working on right now.”
“Busy.”
“Yes. But I enjoy my work.”
“So you did not know Mr. McCabe.” He flipped to another page in the folder. “And Mr. McCabe says he has no memory of this incident.”
“Pardon me?”
Detective Bisset looked up. “He says he remembers you tackling him, but he doesn’t remember having any intention of shooting anyone. He doesn’t even remember taking a gun to the gym.”
“That seems improbable.”
“I agree.” He closed the file. “It’s a strange case, Professor Bassi. Very strange.”
Katherine frowned. “Does he have a concealed weapon permit?”
Concealed carry permits were very hard to obtain in their county. She knew that because an old neighbor of hers was a survivor of domestic violence, and even with her ex-husband stalking her, Clara hadn’t been able to obtain a concealed carry permit. She’d eventually moved out of state.
“He doesn’t.”
“So why would he bring a loaded firearm to a gym?”
“Perhaps he was fearful. It’s possible he brought it for his own protection. At the end of the day, the only crime actually committed was Mr. McCabe having a concealed weapon.”
“So that’s it?” What was the detective getting at? Was Justin McCabe accusing her, Megan, or Toni of attacking him unprovoked? “He was going to kill people. I know it.”
Detective Bisset frowned. “Understand, Professor Bassi, I have no doubt that you’re telling the truth and Mr. McCabe was planning violence. I’m trying to collect as much information as possible because we need to give a solid case to the district attorney. What we have currently are three citizens who stopped a crime in progress. But we don’t know what that crime was going to be. Mr.
