“Look familiar?” She shows me photographs on the video display.
The fragments of spent rounds look almost identical to what was removed from the Thor scientists’ bodies.
“Yes,” I reply.
“What are you thinking about the caliber?”
“Nine-millimeter.”
“If it was a pistol as opposed to a revolver,” she says, “it would have auto-ejected the spent cartridge cases.”
“I’m going to venture a guess that the perpetrator would have collected anything like that before leaving the scene.” I imagine them floating around inside the orbiter.
Jared Horton would have looked until he found them. He would have left with them and the gun. But I don’t need the cartridge cases or the weapon to know what I saw.
“Number six lead shot, copper jacketed with a silver-tipped polymer nose,” I tell Faye.
The ammunition’s prefragmented lead projectile is designed to begin separating on impact. There’s little risk of the pellets exiting the target, and perhaps hitting someone else or causing other catastrophic damage.
“The silver ball tip is the dead giveaway.” Faye doesn’t realize the pun. “Glasers come in blue tip and silver, and the silver has more penetrating power because it’s six shot instead of twelve, exactly what you’re describing.”
A winter round of sorts, it’s what you’d use if you needed to penetrate heavy clothing, and that could include a spacesuit. Jared Horton knew what he was doing in advance, I’m think ing. He may not have planned to murder his crewmates but he was prepared for that eventuality.
“How much longer are you going to be here?” I ask Faye, and Marino has let me know he’s waiting in the parking lot.
“I don’t know, for a while. This case will keep me burning the midnight oil.” She’s in no hurry to go home.
Not to see her fish or get back to her baking, and I might know the reason why, and it’s not merely because of her caseload. Fabian is working the evening shift this week, and I’m betting that may have something to do with the long hours Faye’s keeping.
I don’t see him moments later as I walk through the intake area. No sign of Wyatt either, his office empty, and no one is inside the bay when I walk through. Probably they’re hanging out in our comfortable, clean breakroom, watching me on the security cameras, and I can’t help but smile.
Outside, Marino’s truck rumbles loudly in a thick mist settling over the dark parking lot. There’s not a breath of wind, the Virginia and U.S. flags wilted on their poles.
“I can see you’re ready for anything, and frankly that’s a good thing under the circumstances,” I announce as I climb into the passenger seat, shutting the door.
CHAPTER 30
HE’S SUITED UP IN tactical clothes similar to mine, but under his jacket is a bulletproof vest.
A knit cap covers his bald head, his pistol where I saw it last on the console between us. When I placed my scene case in back, I noticed the extra weapons and ammunition from the night before.
“I’ve got nothing more than a hunch to go on, and I apologize again if it turns out to be a wild goose chase.” Holding my briefcase in my lap, I’m reminded my gun is locked up at home, and this would have been a good time to have it. “Chances are we won’t find anything but that’s not going to change what I’m concluding.”
“You and me both, and I’m surprised that when you were at the scene with August Friday night, he didn’t mention the Ramada case. You were just acres away from where she died.” Marino chews gum like mad. “I realize at a glance the two cases don’t look similar but that’s not why he’s keeping his mouth shut.”
August is afraid for his job, Marino says, and he’s seen this before, especially when it’s the Feds.
“You’re trying to do the right thing, and politicians interfere,” he adds.
“It’s a shame when people are more territorial about a park than a human being,” I reply as he stares out his side window.
“What the hell?” He scowls as my secretary’s old silver Volvo backs out of its parking space, getting way too close to his truck.
“I think she’s letting us know she’s watching.” I catch a glimpse of her staring coldly at us in the glare of headlights as she drives off in a swirl of exhaust. “She told me she was headed home, and that was forty minutes ago. Where has she been? Who’s she been talking to?”
“Since I got here, she’s been sitting in her car where nobody can hear what she’s saying on the phone,” Marino replies, and I remember the look on Maggie’s face when she realized I’d overheard her conversation in the corridor.