No One Left to Tell

“Holy shit, Paige,” Grayson hissed. “What the hell is that?”

  He pointed to the shotgun propped against the closet wall. She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to shoot them, for God’s sake.” She grabbed the next tool in the closet.

  “Okay,” he said more calmly. “I repeat. What the hell is that?”

  She brandished her weapon of choice, a mop to which she’d bungeed a heavy book. She jumped on the bed, grasped the handle in both hands, and banged the book against the ceiling. “Shut up!” she yelled. “Just shut the hell up!”

  Grayson watched, astonished. “I take it they make noise often.”

  “Five times a week. The mom has this boyfriend who only comes over at night. They’re either having really rough sex or doing the polka. Unfortunately she also has a kid, who’s only fourteen. I’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a damn creep.” She gave the ceiling another pounding for good measure. “That’s for taking video of me and sending it to that rat bastard Radcliffe.”

  “The kid upstairs took the video? You knew all along?”

  “Sure. Logan’s taken video of me before. Kid’s a stalker. I told him if he didn’t stop, I’d sic Peabody on his ass. I didn’t see him taping me again, but obviously he did.”

  “Why don’t you complain to the building manager?”

  “I have. Many times. He just says boys will be boys. One of these days…” Another crash from above shook the walls. “What are they doing up—”

  A gunshot cracked the air, followed by a terrified scream.

  Paige stared at Grayson for a split second before jumping off the bed and grabbing the shotgun. She ran to the front door, Grayson right behind her.

  She flipped the three dead bolts, freezing when Grayson’s hand came down hard on the door. “Wait,” he said. “Let’s see what’s out there before we go off all half-cocked.”

  He bent to look through the peephole. Then took her shotgun from her, saying, “Call 911. The kid upstairs is being dragged down the stairs by a guy in a ski mask.”

  He opened the door and slid through before she could utter another word. She ran back to her bedroom to get her cell phone and the .357 from her nightstand drawer.

  She described the situation to the 911 operator as she ran to the front door. “Tell the cops it’s the same building where the woman was shot by a sniper this morning.”

  She headed down the stairs to Grayson but stopped at the sound of a tormented cry. Logan’s mother was on the landing above, covered in blood, clawing her way across the floor.

  Paige pressed the phone to her ear. “Are you still there?” she asked the operator.

  “Yes. Emergency responders are about two minutes from your location.”

  “My neighbor’s been shot. She needs an ambulance. Fast.”

  “Stop!” Grayson shouted. “Let the boy go or I’ll shoot your damn head off.”

  The man abruptly halted on the sidewalk, holding Logan in front of him, a gun pointed at the boy’s head. Logan was bleeding from his leg.

  “Drop the shotgun,” the man snarled. “Put it on the ground and step away.”

  Grayson weighed the options, wondering where Paige was, hoping she’d stayed inside where it was safe. “If I drop the gun, you’ll kill us both. I like a little leverage.”

  The boy started to whimper. Grayson tried to ignore him. Focus or he’ll die.

  The man in the mask jerked the boy to his toes, jamming the gun hard against his skull. “I don’t have anything to lose here. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

  “Then why did you?” Grayson demanded. “You shot him.”

  “No, I didn’t. His mother did by accident when she shot at me. Look, I just want to get outa here. Unload the shotgun, then drop it and I’ll let him go.”

  “Please,” Logan whimpered. Tears ran down his face. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I don’t want to kill him,” the man said fiercely. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Grayson drew a breath. Desperate men did unpredictable things. Carefully he unloaded the shotgun, hoping to defuse the situation until the cops arrived.

  “Throw me the cartridges and drop the shotgun,” the man said. “Now.”

  Keeping eye contact with the man, Grayson complied. He bent his knees and laid the shotgun on the ground. “I put it down. Now let him go.”

  “Go over to that lamppost. The broken one.”

  Grayson didn’t move. “Let him go.” Sirens were faint in the distance.

  “I will shoot him in the head. Do you want that on your conscience, Counselor?”

  Grayson started. He knows who I am. “No. I don’t.” Slowly he backed away and the man drew an unsteady breath.

  “Fine, take him.” The man shoved the boy forward and on a howl of pain, Logan’s leg collapsed beneath him.

  Grayson caught the boy and eased him to the ground, then took off after the man, crouching behind a car, flinching when the man fired a shot that deliberately went wide.

  “Dammit, Grayson, stay back,” the man shouted. Then he ran, disappearing into the darkness of the business complex in the next block.

  Gone. He was gone. “Dammit.”

  Logan was groaning pitifully. Grayson knelt, inspecting the wound. It was bleeding sullenly, and he could see leg bone protruding from the skin. Afraid of making it worse, he didn’t touch the boy’s leg. Instead he took his hand, wincing when Logan squeezed.

  “Logan, my name is Grayson. We called for help. Why did that man grab you?”

  Logan’s face was deathly pale. “He wanted my computer. But I didn’t have it.”

  “Why? Why did he want your computer?”

  “For the video.” Logan was rocking in agony, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It’s worth money. TV stations wanted to buy it off me. But I sold it already. I sold the exclusive and I gave the guy my computer.”

  “Who? Radcliffe?”

  “Yes, that sonofabitch. He promised to give it back in a day, when he’d gotten a twenty-four-hour scoop. He didn’t want me sending the video to anyone else.” He gritted his teeth and moaned. “My mom. He shot her. Where is she? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know.” For the third time in twenty-four hours Grayson watched the flashing lights of emergency vehicles approach. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Paige, but she wasn’t there. “We’ll find out. For now, stay still. Help is coming.”

  As Logan crushed his hand, Grayson stared in the direction the man had gone. That someone would break into the kid’s apartment in the middle of the night to steal the video at gunpoint for money wasn’t completely impossible, but he didn’t believe it. Logan believed it, clearly, and that was probably best for now.

  Because Grayson had the very bad feeling that he’d just looked into the eyes of the sniper who’d killed Elena. Who might have attacked Paige and even killed Delgado.

  Worse yet, the man’s voice was familiar. He knew me. He called me by name.

  And I let him go.

  Wednesday, April 6, 4:15 a.m.

  Stevie sat on the sofa as Paige wearily twisted three dead bolts. Grayson was pacing the floor, uncharacteristically disheveled. His feet were bare and dirty and the shirt he wore was untucked and buttoned only halfway.

  Paige didn’t look much better. Her nightshirt was smeared with blood and she looked even paler than she had after finding Delgado’s body.

  Stevie knew the two of them had already given statements to Morton and Bashears, who’d been called to the scene, but she couldn’t ask the other detectives for details—not without generating questions she didn’t want to answer. “Take it from the top.”

  Paige looked at her bloody nightshirt. “I’m going to change. You can tell her, Grayson. I’ll be back.” She disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Grayson staring after her.

  “Anytime would be good,” Stevie said.

  The look Grayson shot her was miserable. “The kid’s in surgery. He might lose his leg. His mother died on the way to the hos
pital.”

  “Shit.”

  “The kid said he and his mother were asleep when they heard Paige scream. He said they ignored it, because she screams most nights.”

  “She has nightmares,” Stevie said. “Understandable.”

  “And terrifying. I had to wake her up out of one. Logan said he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he got up to get a snack and found the guy with the mask looking through his things. The intruder tried to run, knocked over a table. Paige and I heard the crash.”

  “Okay.”

  “Logan said his mother came out of her room, half-drunk and waving a gun. The intruder grabbed Logan and the mother fired. She hit Logan’s leg. The intruder shot the mom in the chest. We heard Logan’s scream, but only one shot.”

  “So one of them had a silencer.”

  “The intruder did. We gave Morton and Bashears a statement. Except…” He met her eyes, his haunted. “He knew me, Stevie. And I knew him.”

  “The shooter?” Stevie sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you tell them that?”

  “Because I don’t remember where I knew him from. I recognized his voice. I know lawyers and cops. I don’t have many friends outside.”

  “So do you think this guy was a lawyer or a cop?” Stevie asked carefully.

  “I don’t know. He called me ‘Counselor.’ Cops call me that.”

  Cops. Stevie needed a moment to consider how she wanted to probe this. That he hadn’t told Morton and Bashears was significant. “Paige has blood on her nightshirt,” she said, changing the subject.

  “Logan’s mother’s. I stopped her from running after the intruder. Paige stayed with the mother, tried to stop her bleeding before the EMTs came, but it was too late.”

  “Plucky thing, isn’t she?” Stevie asked and he closed his eyes.

  “She’s going to get herself killed,” he said hoarsely.

  And that would kill Grayson, Stevie thought. She’d met a few of the women with whom he’d had relationships over the years. Knew he’d held back a part of himself with each one and had no idea why. But he wasn’t holding back with this one and Stevie wondered if he knew it.

  “Does she know you think you know the shooter?” she asked.

  “Yes. I told her after Morton and Bashears left.”

  “Do you think you’d recognize the guy if you heard him again?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. His voice was pretty thin and desperate.”

  “Then how did you recognize him?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, frustration in his voice. “I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to remember. It wasn’t ‘Hey, that’s Joe Blow.’ It was more like a feeling.”

  “Then we’ll leave it for now.” This was a Grayson she didn’t know. Rarely did he show so much emotion. He felt it, she knew. He just didn’t show it very often. Only with his family. And now with Paige Holden.

  “Did the shooter say anything to Logan? Before the shooting started?”

  “He wanted Logan’s computer. He wanted the video, the one of the minivan crash.”

  “And of Paige,” Stevie said. “Hell. So what do you want from me?”

  “I want to ID the shooter.”

  “Duh.” Stevie rolled her eyes again. “Specifics, Grayson.”

  “He wants video and audio clips,” Paige said from behind him. Grayson stepped back, his eyes searching Paige’s face. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m more worried about you.” She ran a hand down his arm. “Sit down. Please.”

  He dragged a chair from the dining room as Paige settled in the easy chair, her dog at her side. She was scared, but she was otherwise sharp, her eyes alert.

  “Grayson gave the other detectives a physical description of the shooter,” Paige said. “Is it possible to get video or audio on file of the officers that match the height and weight? He can see if any of the voices match the one he heard tonight.”

  Stevie grimaced. “I honestly don’t know. IA has their ways, but…”

  “But it violates a whole hell of a lot of civil rights,” Grayson finished.

  “So? He’s shooting people for fun and profit. He should have no civil rights.”

  “I agree with you,” Stevie said. “Unfortunately, cop or not, he does have rights. I don’t want some judge throwing out evidence because we overstepped the line. When I catch this guy, cop or no cop, I want it to stick.”

  “We have more than one man to catch,” Grayson said. “Tonight’s shooter probably killed Elena, but he wasn’t the man paying off Sandoval in the photo. If Sandoval was five ten, the man in the photo was six feet, but slim. This intruder was my height.”

  “You’re six two?” Stevie asked.

  “Yes. But the guy who attacked Paige was taller than me. Six four at least.”

  “So we have three, maybe four men,” Stevie said. “This intruder, Paige’s garage attacker, and the guy who made the payoff to Sandoval. If tonight’s intruder didn’t kill Elena, her killer would be the fourth.”

  “This intruder took a big risk, breaking into a fourth-floor apartment,” Grayson said. “Why would he want the video that much? It was all over Radcliffe’s station Web site.”

  “Not all of it,” Paige said. “I watched it several times this morning. There’s a portion cut out. I tried to stop Elena’s bleeding for two minutes, but that wasn’t in the video. It was cut and spliced. There were missing minutes of tape on the version on the news.”

  “Oh great,” Stevie muttered. “Shades of Watergate.”

  “Logan said Radcliffe took his computer for a day so that he couldn’t send the file anywhere else,” Grayson said. “Radcliffe wanted to keep it exclusive for twenty-four hours. Radcliffe would know what was on the tape. We need to talk to him.”

  Stevie pointed to the window. “You don’t have to go far to find him. He’s outside.”

  Grayson jumped up and peered through the blinds. “When did he get here?”

  “He was setting up when I got here,” Stevie said.

  Paige didn’t move from her chair, but the hand that rested on the dog began stroking his neck. She’d done the same thing in the car.

  “Radcliffe seems to have an uncanny ability to show up at opportune moments,” she said mildly, but there was strain beneath her words.

  “This one is a little different from his filming your attack this afternoon,” Stevie said. “It went out over the police radio. If he has a scanner, he’d know.”

  Grayson turned from the window. “I want to know why he was in that garage. And why he thought it was okay to not call 911. I’d like to charge his ass.”

  “He was at the courthouse, filming you after the verdict today,” Stevie said. “It was on the news at five. I assumed he followed you both to the garage and just got lucky, but I’ll double-check. I’d like to know what the connection is between Radcliffe and Logan. How did the kid know to call him in the first place?”

  “Logan’s done some citizen journalism,” Paige said. “He started working for his school newspaper and one day filmed a fight at school. It went viral. Radcliffe contacted him, said if he got more stories like that, he’d get him legit time on the news.”

  “How do you know this?” Stevie asked.

  “Logan told me so when I first moved in. He wanted to do a story on me. He’d Googled me and knew what happened last summer. I told him no, but he filmed me anyway, without my permission. I caught him doing it and I lost it.”

  “How was he filming you?” Stevie frowned. “Through your window?”

  “No. I was walking Peabody, who caught him hiding in the bushes.” She patted the dog’s neck. “Logan nearly wet himself.”

  “Good dog,” Stevie murmured.

  “He was waiting for me on the front stoop a few days later. He said that if he had a story like mine, he’d be able to impress this reporter, Radcliffe. That Radcliffe was always looking for stories. I told him I didn’t care, that he should find another story or I’d tell his mom. I thought it worked. I didn’t catch him f
ilming again, until yesterday morning.”

  Paige closed her eyes. “I was banging on the ceiling when he was being attacked. I probably woke them with my screaming every night and he never said a word. He’s hurt and his mom’s dead because he had a fixation on me.”

  Grayson brushed the hair from Paige’s face in a gesture so tender it had Stevie feeling like a voyeur. “He was filming you yesterday morning without your permission,” he murmured. “That was stalking, honey. None of it was your fault.”

  “I know,” she said miserably. “So why do I feel so damn bad?”

  “Because you’re human,” Stevie said. “Look, the kid didn’t deserve what happened to him, but he’s not an innocent bystander in all this.”

  “Thanks,” Paige said, her smile strained. “We need the uncut version of that video.”

  “That’s not going to be easy,” Grayson said. “I can’t see Radcliffe giving it up without a court order.”

  “Morton and Bashears were trying to get a warrant today, but then they found Sandoval’s body and the suicide-confession note and let it slide.” Stevie stood up. “Grayson, I recommend you sleep before the meeting with the commander in a few hours. You might remember more about the shooter once your brain’s had a chance to rest. We’ll talk with IA and figure out what can be done. If we’ve got a bad cop, we need all hands on deck to stop him. I’ll ask Radcliffe on my way out about the tape. The worst he can do is say no.”

  “Thanks, Stevie. I really appreciate this.”

  “I guess I owe you for all the warrants over the years,” she said with a tired smile.

  Stevie had her hand on the doorknob when Paige spoke again. “Detective, what about Delgado? Have you found his wife and daughter?”

  “No. We’ve got a BOLO out. If I was her and had a child to protect, I’d be hiding.” Stevie hesitated, then decided Paige needed to know. “We found the gun that killed Delgado. It was in a Dumpster behind the Muñoz house. We rounded up the Muñoz brothers and took them in to interview.”

  Paige pursed her lips hard. “Somebody wanted it to look like the brothers did it.”

  “My partner and I knew we were supposed to think it was amateurish the minute we saw the scene, even before I’d heard your story. I had to pull strings to keep the case and I didn’t want anyone to accuse me of not following every lead.”