run over by one of the rear wheels, which squirted out his innards like a popped zit. Thankfully one of the guy’s arms was mostly intact because that’s what Payne needed to make his identification.
Grabbing the lifeless hand, Payne made a perfect thumb print on one of the clean lenses, then repeated the process with the index finger on the
With any luck, he would know the shooter’s background by the end of the night.
13
Jones answered the same questions, over and over, for nearly forty minutes. First it was the campus cops, then the Pittsburgh police came rolling in. One officer after another, each slightly higher up the food chain than the previous one, all of them asking the same things. Not that Jones complained. He had spent too much time in the military to get upset over the chain of command.
The only request that bothered Jones was their final one of the evening. Since he was covered in blood splatter, they asked him to undress inside the chapel and give his tuxedo to a forensics expert for further analysis. Jones wasn’t sure why they needed his clothes — the shooter was dead, which meant this case would never go to court — but he complied. He figured, the sooner he got out of the police’s spotlight, the better. Because there were things he needed to do.
Unfortunately, he would be forced to do them
With very few options in the lost and found, the police scrambled to find an alternative. The best they could come up with was a khaki jumpsuit that was a few sizes too small, but all things considered, it was acceptable to Jones. He wondered where they had found it on such short notice until he read the name on the front pocket. The tiny patch said:
‘Thank you, karma,’ Jones mumbled as he got dressed in the basement.
Upstairs, Sam was waiting for him. He stared at Jones for several seconds, checking him out in his new outfit, then burst into laughter. ‘Not as gay as your monkey suit.’
He took it in his stride. ‘Thanks for the loan.’
‘Loan, my ass. Report to work at 6 a.m. sharp. I’ll be damned if I’m cleaning up the blood myself. That shit ain’t in my job description.’
Jones bit his tongue and left before the janitor
Only a couple letters different from
No way in hell he was giving it back. Not unless they returned his tux.
Ironically, the coat was going to do more than keep him warm. It was going to help him break the law, which was why he had asked for it in the first place. If he had been concerned with warmth or style, he would have walked over to the Cathedral and retrieved his jacket from the coat-check girl. Instead, he wanted to use the SWAT coat to gather intelligence.
During the question and answer period, Jones had kept a few titbits to himself. The first was the existence of the mysterious letter. Since it was in his possession when Ashley was killed, he didn’t see the need to tell them about it. And neither did Payne. So Jones stuck with the basic story
The second item was a little more dishonest. Not a bold-faced lie, just a simple omission that would slow down the police investigation by an hour or so. It was the time Jones needed to get some information for himself.
Very early on, Jones realized Ashley wasn’t carrying any identification. He had figured that out when cop after cop kept asking if he knew her full name. The truth was he didn’t. She had introduced herself as Ashley and had never provided a surname during their conversation. If she had, he would have told the police immediately, so they could notify her next of kin.
However, he had failed to mention the location of her car. He knew he should have since it probably contained her purse, or insurance papers, or something with her name and address, but he decided against it because he wasn’t sure what else might be there.
Maybe information about the letter. Or possibly the
Whatever the case, he wanted to see it first.
Wearing his SWAT jacket, Jones ducked under the crime-scene tape and turned left on Varsity
Everywhere Jones looked he saw bright, flashing lights. The entire left-hand lane was filled with police cars and satellite trucks from the evening news. People scurried to and fro, half of them buzzing from adrenaline, the other half from caffeine. Compared with earlier, this seemed like a different place — as though Pittsburgh had been magically transformed into Las Vegas. Only with fewer strippers and a lot more snow.
Glancing across the street, he saw Ashley’s Ford Taurus. It was parked fifty feet to the right, buried under an inch of fresh powder. In his mind, that was good news because it would help conceal what he was about to do. He needed to break into her car, right under the cops’ noses.
With a smile on his face, Jones walked down the steps like he owned the place. After waving to some detectives, he said hello to a group of paramedics, acting like he belonged, like he was one of them. And because of that, no one questioned his presence. Although the jacket helped, his attitude
Reaching into his pocket, Jones pulled out his wallet. Hidden in the crease of the leather was a small set of lock picks he had carried with him for years. The type that could get him inside a car or building in a matter of seconds. He had learned how to use them in the military and had continued to use them during his career as a private detective — a career that began several years sooner than Jones had ever imagined it would.
Originally he had planned on staying in the service for another decade or so, but when Grandpa Payne died and left his company to his grandson, everything changed. At the time, Payne wasn’t ready to retire, but out of love and respect for the man who had raised him, he left the military and moved back to Pittsburgh to fulfil his familial duties. To help his adjustment to civilian life, Payne had convinced Jones to retire as well. In fact, he had bribed him to do it. He gave Jones office space in the Payne Industries complex and loaned him enough start-up capital to open his own business. It had always been Jones’s dream to run a detective agency, and Payne had the means to help. So Payne figured, why not?
Not surprisingly, the pace of their lives had slowed considerably in recent years. Other than the rare occasions when Payne helped Jones with one of his cases, the only time they got to carry guns and have some fun was when they had their own adventures. The last time had been their trip to Greece. And it had been a life changer.
Thanks to their historic discovery, Jones suddenly had more money than he could possibly spend in his lifetime. Growing up in a lowermiddle-class family, he had lived his life frugally, always saving money for a rainy day. The military had paid for his education at the Air Force Academy and had taken care of his basic living expenses for nearly two decades which had allowed Jones to build a nice nest egg. Now he had more nest eggs than a chicken farmer.
The first thing he did was pay back all the cash he had borrowed from Payne. Not only the start-up capital, but also the money that Payne should have been charging for rent, plus interest. Payne had been reluctant to take it — he certainly didn’t need the funds — but Jones pestered him so much that he eventually agreed.
Unfortunately, there were some drawbacks to
Not that he was complaining.
As someone who loved mysteries, he was enjoying his second career. Still, compared to his days with the MANIACs, his current life was painfully boring.
Of course, all that changed with the shooting at the chapel.
His adrenaline was flowing, and he was craving more.
