"Bob," Jeffrey said, his tone sharp. "Come on, man. What happened?"
"I don't know," Robert said, practically grinding his shirt into the wound. "He just…"
Jessie interrupted, "He shot Bobby."
"He shot you?" Jeffrey repeated, obviously trying to get the story from Robert. There was a surprising underlayer of anger to his tone as he looked around the room, probably trying to reconstruct the scene in his head.
Jeffrey pointed to a bullet hole in the wall on the far side of the bed. "Is this from his gun or yours?"
"His," Jessie said in a high-pitched voice. From the way she was acting, Sara guessed the other woman was talking loudly to try to hide the fact that she was stoned out of her mind. She swayed back and forth like a pendulum, her pupils wide enough to blind her in direct sunlight.
Jeffrey hushed Jessie with a look. "Robert, tell me what happened."
Robert shook his head, holding his hand tightly to his wounded side.
Jeffrey demanded, "Goddammit, Robert, let's get your story straight before somebody puts it on paper."
Sara tried to help, saying, "Just tell us what happened."
"Bob?" Jeffrey prodded, his anger still palpable.
Sara tried to be gentle, telling Robert, "This would be easier if you sat down."
"It'd be easier if he fucking talked," Jeffrey yelled.
Robert looked at his wife, his mouth a straight line. He shook his head, and Sara thought she saw tears in his eyes. For her part, Jessie just stood there, slightly swaying, her robe pulled around her as if to stop a chill. She probably would not even realize how close they had both come to death until the morning.
"He came in through the window," Robert finally told them. "He put a gun on Jess. A gun to her head."
Jessie's expression as he said this was unreadable. Even from this distance, Sara could see that the other woman was having difficulty following the story. At Jessie's feet were several opened prescription bottles that had probably fallen from the bedside table. Blood splotched the triangular-shaped white pills. Sara could see where her footprints had smeared into the thick pile of the carpet. Jessie had run past the body on the way to the window. Sara wondered what she had been thinking. Was she trying to escape while her husband fought for his life?
Jeffrey asked, "What happened next?"
"Jessie screamed, and I pushed…" Robert glanced at the dead man on the floor. "I pushed him back and he fell…and then he shot at me – shot me – and I…" He stopped, trying to control the emotion that obviously wanted to come.
"There were three shots," Sara remembered. She looked around the room, trying to reconcile what she had heard in the street with the story he told.
Robert stared at the dead man. "Are you sure he's gone?"
"Yes," she told him, knowing that lying would serve no purpose.
"Here?" Jeffrey said, obviously trying to distract Robert from the grim truth. He pointed to the bullet hole by the bed. "He missed the first time?"
Robert made a visible swallow. Sara could see a bead of sweat roll down his neck when he answered, "Yeah."
"He came in through the window," Jeffrey began. "He put a gun to Jessie's head." He looked at Jessie for confirmation, and she nodded quickly. "You pushed him off the bed and he shot at you. You got your gun then. Right?" Robert gave a curt nod, but Jeffrey was not finished. "You keep your piece where? The closet? In the drawer?" He waited, but again Robert was reluctant. "Where do you keep your piece?"
Jessie opened her mouth, but closed it when Robert pointed to the closed armoire opposite the bed, saying, "There," before Jeffrey could repeat himself.
"You got your gun," Jeffrey said, opening the armoire door. A shirt fell out and he replaced it on the pile. Over his shoulder, Sara could see there was a plastic-molded gun safe on the top shelf. "You keep your backup in here, too?"
He shook his head. "The living room."
"All right." Jeffrey rested his hand on the open door. "You went for your gun. He shot you then?"
"Yes," Robert nodded, though he did not sound convinced. His voice was stronger when he added, "And then I shot him."
Jeffrey turned back to the scene, nodding his head as if he was having a conversation with himself, working everything out. He walked over to the window again and looked out. Sara watched him do all of this, shocked. Not only had Jeffrey changed the crime scene, now he was helping Robert concoct a plausible story for how this had all happened.
Jessie cleared her throat, and her voice shook when she asked Sara, "Is he going to be okay?"
Sara took a moment to realize Jessie was talking to her. She was still focused on Jeffrey, wondering what he would do next. He'd had a few minutes alone with Robert and Jessie before he called Sara into the house. What had he done during that time? What had they worked out?
"Sara?" Jessie prompted.
Sara made herself concentrate on what she could control, asking Robert, "Can I look?"
He moved his hand away from the bullet wound and Sara resumed the examination. His shirt had smeared the blood, but she thought she could make out a V-shaped sear pattern just below the opening.
She tried to wipe away the blood, but Robert put his hand back over the wound, saying, "I'm all right."
"I should check -"
He interrupted her. "I'm fine."
Sara tried to hold his gaze, but he looked away. She said, "Maybe you should sit down until the ambulance gets here."
Jeffrey asked, "Is it bad?"
"It's okay," Robert answered for her, leaning back against the wall again. He told Sara, "Thank you."
"Sara?" Jeffrey asked.
She shrugged, not knowing what to say. In the distance, she heard the wail of a siren. Jessie crossed her arms over her chest with a shudder. Sara wanted to see that shirt, wanted to see if the material was burned in the same pattern as Robert's skin, but he held it tightly in his fist, pressing it into the wound.
Sara had been a coroner for only two years, but the type of marking she thought she had seen was textbook quality. Even a rookie cop two days on the job would know what it meant.
The gun had been fired at contact range.
Chapter Seven
11:45 A.M.
Lena stood in the front of Burgess's Cleaners, looking across Main Street at the police station. The tinted glass door was too dark to see anything inside, but still she stared as if she could see into the building, knew exactly what was happening. Another shot had been fired thirty minutes ago. Of the two cops missing at the start of this, only Mike Dugdale had checked in. Marilyn Edwards was still missing and Frank said he thought the attractive young police officer had been in the squad room at the start of the attack. Everyone from the Grant force was walking around like the living dead. All Lena could think was that if she had gone into work a few minutes earlier, she might have been able to do something. She might have been able to save Jeffrey. Right now, she wanted to be in that building so bad that she could taste it.
She turned around, watching Nick and Frank talking by the map table. The GBI agents were milling around the coffee machine, voices low as they waited for orders. Pat Morris talked with Molly Stoddard, and Lena wondered if Pat had been one of Sara's patients. He was young enough.
"The hell you say," Frank told Nick, his voice loud enough to be heard over the activity. Everyone in the room looked up.
Nick indicated old man Burgess's office. "In here."
They both went into the small, windowless room, shutting the door behind them. The tension they stirred up was still in the room, and a few people went to the back of the cleaners, probably to go outside to smoke and talk about the outburst.