But Ted’s charge that Showalter had said or implied that somehow the assassination was ‘fake’ had startled me. What the hell could Showalter be talking about?
‘We looked at where the shooter was firing from. The trajectory. Then we studied where the bullets hit the building behind Congresswoman Bradshaw. They all hit well above her head.’
‘So he was a lousy shot. I don’t know why that’s so important.’ Ted’s anger had now been replaced by whining.
‘Do you see what I’m talking about, Mr Conrad?’
I shrugged. ‘Either he was a total amateur or he panicked.’
‘We’re not ruling either of those possibilities out.’ He tried to enlist my support again. ‘I think you’ll agree, Mr Conrad, that I’m just trying to do my job.’
‘I can see that, Chief Showalter.’
‘You’re siding with him, Dev? Great. You’re on my payroll, remember?’
‘This is all speculation, Ted. The shots went wild. My personal feeling is that the shooter panicked. He wanted to kill Jess but he got scared.’
Showalter kept his face cop-blank as I spoke. Not even his eyes revealed any opinion.
‘There. There’s your answer. What Dev said. The bastard got scared at the last minute and his shots went wild. We’re just lucky it happened that way or my poor wife would be dead.’
Showalter spoke quietly. ‘Mr Bradshaw, you called me last night just before midnight. My wife and I happened to be sleeping. Our oldest daughter has strep and Becca was worn out. But I took your call and we talked for what, nearly twenty minutes? You said you wanted to be in the loop. You must have used that expression ten times. So I thought that as a courtesy I’d drive out here and let you know what we were thinking. All the scenarios we’ve considered so far,’ he nodded to me, ‘including what Mr Conrad said — that our shooter got scared and his shots went wild. We’re obviously dealing with a disturbed personality here so who the hell knows what he was thinking. All we know is that he’s dangerous and that we need to find him ASAP because we can’t be sure he won’t try it again. Which is why we’ve got the congresswoman protected seven ways from sundown.’
A couple of things were going on here. Number one was that Ted was getting the kind of treatment police officers reserve for the wealthy. If Ted had been middle class or, God forbid, working class or poor, Showalter would have said what was really on his mind. And he would have said it bluntly. As an accusation.
Number two was that Ted, for all his paranoia, did not seem to understand the real implication of Showalter’s theorizing.
But as he stood and shot me a look, I saw — and I was not imagining it — the intent of Showalter’s appearance in his eyes.
‘Mr Bradshaw, I’ll be in touch later today.’ A good-neighbor smile. ‘Sorry I got you all excited. I didn’t mean to.’
A nod to me. ‘See you again, I’m sure, Mr Conrad.’
When he was gone, Ted said, ‘Can you believe that son of a bitch?’
I was in a hurry. ‘Damn. I forgot to ask him about the ballistics.’
‘Ballistics?’
‘The kind of rifle and if they found the bullets.’
‘Oh, yeah, right. The ballistics. I should’ve thought of that, too.’
‘Let me see if I can catch him. I’ll be right back.’
‘Maybe I should go with you.’
‘No, that’s all right. You just sit here and relax now.’
I reached the hall in time to hear the massive front door click shut. I double-timed it to the front of the house. Showalter was moving at least as fast as I was. He was already standing next to his black Mercury. From the front porch, I said, ‘Chief, I’d like to talk to you a minute.’
‘Oh?’
I wanted to drown in the day. The scent of autumn in the hills, the soft soothing breezes, the burning colors of orange and gold and cocoa on the leaves, Churchill barking at birds. I did not want to approach Showalter and hear what I knew he would say. Not because I would believe it; the dread was that he already believed it.
I started out by telling him about the second call from the woman claiming to know about the shooting, and how I’d waited for her and her husband last night at the boat dock.
The smile was in no way convincing. ‘You’re a grown-up, Mr Conrad. You realize that you could be being played. That this is just some kind of prank.’
‘I realize that.’
‘If you feel guilty about not letting me know about your trip to the dock beforehand, don’t. I appreciate that you didn’t waste my time or the time of my officers.’
‘Now let’s talk about the real thing.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr Conrad.’
‘Oh, I think you are. You danced all around it, but I picked up on what you were really saying.’
‘And what was that?’
‘That you don’t think the attempted assassination was real.’
He paused; he was uncomfortable. ‘Well, I don’t think it was a serious attempt to kill the congresswoman.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘You can’t afford to agree, Mr Conrad.’
So there we had it. He had just confirmed his real feelings.
‘What you’re really suggesting here is that we were behind the shooting.’
‘One of the men on the task force brought it up this morning. Congresswoman Bradshaw was starting to lose in the polls — a one-point lead isn’t much considering that she was several points ahead not long ago — and needed to turn things around.’
‘You really think the congresswoman would have anything to do with staging an assassination attempt?’
‘No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that somebody associated with her didn’t stage it without her knowing.’
‘So you’re formally accusing us of staging the shooting?’
‘No,’ he said, opening his door. ‘As I said inside, I’m just doing my job.’ He slid behind the wheel. Just before he closed the door, he said, ‘But it’s a possibility.’
Then he was pulling abruptly away. Brisk, brusque, military.
Bastard.
Part Two
Fifteen
‘You’re brooding,’ Abby said.
This was much later in the afternoon.
‘I have a damned good reason to brood.’
‘Donna out front tells me that you’ve been brooding ever since you got back from Jess’s this afternoon. She’s very maternal toward me, Donna is, even though she’s three years younger. She said, “Abby, I’m afraid if you go in there you’ll start brooding, too. Whatever it is, it’s serious.” So how could I not come in here?’
‘How’d the campaigning go the last couple of hours?’
‘When we were at Wilson High School there were fourteen cops because there are so many ways into that place.’
I pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk. She was wearing a matching green sweater and skirt. She must have needed a computer to keep track of the hearts she’d broken in high school and college. She had a prim way of sitting. She told me once that her mother had insisted that she take modeling classes even though full-grown Abby was five foot four. The modeling-class nonsense had stayed with her.
‘Chief Showalter thinks that the assassination attempt was staged, Abby.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘That the shooter wasn’t really aiming at her.’
‘So his shots went wild. That happens all the time. That doesn’t mean it was “staged.” And why would anybody “stage” it?’ But she was bright, very bright, and realized the implication.