The Right Call (13 page)

Chapter 15

Brill
sat at the conference table in her office, next to Detective Captain Trent Norris and across from Sheriff Sam Parker and Detectives Beau Jack Rousseaux and Spence Marcum.

“I appreciate each of you taking the time to read the case files and meet with me. I want to be sure we’re all on the same page. Before we begin, I would like to thank Sam for agreeing to help us investigate these shootings. We always appreciate what he brings to the table.”

Sam smiled. His gold tooth was almost as obvious as his utter glee that she had found it necessary to enlist his help
again
. “I assure you, Chief Jessup, the pleasure is mine. I’m always happy to step in when your department gets inundated.”

Brill could almost feel Trent bristling. But Sam’s condescending attitude was a small price to pay for the extra manpower. Could anyone dispute that the sheriff was as efficient as he was obnoxious?

“We don’t have enough officers to investigate four shooting deaths,” she said. “We don’t want to leave any stone unturned and will gladly accept your help.”

Sam’s mustache moved slightly, and she figured he was smirking.

“I’ve asked Trent to summarize what we know so far,” Brill said. “I promised not to keep you too long, so I’ll turn it over to him.”

Trent opened his folder and looked down at his notes.

“Victim number one: Tal Davison. Caucasian male. Age twenty-one. Junior at Stanton College. Shot in the chest on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building at 504 Stoneleigh, at approximately ten forty-five last Thursday night. No witnesses. Davison went inside the apartment after being shot and was found unconscious by his roommate, Drew Langley, who tried unsuccessfully to revive him and called 9-1-1.

“Victim number two: Skyler Roberts. Caucasian female. Age twenty. Sophomore at Stanton. Body discovered on the balcony of her apartment building at 480 Essex by her roommate, Olivia Jones, around eleven a.m. on Friday, when Jones returned after spending the night with relatives in Knoxville. The victim died of a bullet wound to the head. Medical examiner puts the TOD between ten p.m. and midnight the night before.

“Victim number three: Natalie Benchfield. Caucasian female. Age thirteen. Student at Sophie Trace Middle School. Body was discovered next to a vacant house at 507 Fifth Street at approximately six p.m. Saturday by the next-door neighbor. Blood spatter suggests the victim had been shot in the neck while sitting on the front steps. Died in the side yard where she collapsed. The ME determined the victim had been dead between forty and forty-eight hours, which puts the TOD in the time frame of Thursday night’s shooting.”

Trent turned the page. “Victim number four: Drew Langley. Caucasian male. Age twenty-one. Junior at Stanton. Shot in the neck at his parents’ home at 720 Spring Creek Boulevard, at approximately eleven thirty yesterday morning. A friend, Vanessa Jessup, was standing on the front porch with the victim at the time of the shooting and was not injured. Jessup did not see the shooter or the vehicle.”

Trent paused for a moment and then continued. “Also, our third victim, Natalie Benchfield, may have been the victim of an additional crime. Evidence suggests that she planned to meet a man she met on the Internet, known at this time only as Vincent. We’re working with state police to trace his email address in an effort to locate him. The medical examiner has not released results of the girl’s autopsy, but we could be looking at a child molestation case, too.”

Trent scanned the page, turned it, and continued. “Regarding the vehicle, various witnesses have described the truck used in both shootings as a late-model red Ford F-150.

“We’ve narrowed down the gun. Ballistics determined that the rifling profile of the nine-millimeter Luger-type bullets recovered from each of our victims is unique to Smith and Wesson’s second and third generation semiautomatic pistols, which includes all four-digit model numbers.

“That about covers it. Any questions?”

Sheriff Parker leaned forward on his elbows, peering over the top of his glasses, his steely gaze resting on Brill. “Your family does have a way of bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time. How’d your daughter happen to be at the scene at the time of the shooting?”

“Vanessa is dating the victim’s cousin,” Brill said. “She took her baby for a stroll and stopped by the victim’s house to deliver some brownies she had baked. It’s all in the report, Sam.”
You’re not going to make me defensive. Move on.

Sam rubbed his chin. “Yes, I read the report. I have a few questions. Thursday night’s shooting took place within an area of five square blocks near the college. Was there anything significant about that?”

“We don’t think so,” Trent said. “And after this second shooting occurred along Spring Creek Boulevard, it seems unlikely that either shooting was intended to establish any sort of pattern. It appears the shooter fired randomly in both cases.”

“Then you’ve concluded that Drew Langley was not specifically targeted in yesterday’s shooting?”

“We haven’t reached a conclusion.” Trent glanced over at Brill and then at the sheriff. “But the shooter fired at least a dozen shots along Spring Creek Boulevard after the victim was hit. If Drew Langley was the intended target, it seems unlikely the shooter would have continued to fire and draw attention to himself.”

“What do you know about Langley?”

“He was a junior at Stanton on a full scholarship,” Brill said. “Dean’s list. Good family. No known enemies. No drug use. Squeaky clean.”

Sam moved his gaze from her to Trent and back to her. “What about the roommate—Davison?”

“His father is an alumnus and big financial contributor. And the CEO of Davison Technologies. Parents divorced. Liked to hang out with his college buddies. Known to drink too much, but no drugs. No known enemies. We haven’t found a reason why either of these young men would be targets.”

Brill’s temples started to throb. Did she really need Sam Parker second-guessing everything she did?

“You would have me believe that college roommates got shot with the same gun, days apart and at different locations, and it was just coincidence?”

“We haven’t finished our investigation, Sam. All we’re saying is that we don’t have anything yet to suggest otherwise.”

“I beg to differ.” The sheriff arched his eyebrows. “Davison went inside the apartment after he was shot. Maybe the shooter was afraid he told his roommate who did it.”

Brill shook her head. “It’s unlikely the shooter would come to that conclusion when the press reported from day one that there were no eyewitnesses.”

“The only eyewitness I’m talkin’ about is the victim.” Sam’s eyes turned to slits. “It’s not implausible that Davison could’ve seen who it was who shot him and told his roommate before he died.”

“But Davison never regained consciousness after Langley discovered him in the apartment. The media made that clear.”

“Maybe the shooter’s not takin’ any chances.”

“Maybe,” Brill said. “It just seems unlikely.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, an annoying smirk pasted on his face. “There’s somethin’ about that pesky word
unlikely
that drives me up the wall. Of course, there is another possibility that I’m sure has crossed your mind.” His face was suddenly somber. “The shooter might’ve been aiming for someone else.”

Brill felt a cold chill crawl up her spine. “Meaning Vanessa?”

“Think about it, Chief Jessup. Is there anything you’re not telling us?”

Tessa Masino stood at the door to Nick’s Grill. The green and white striped awning of the Toffee Emporium next door seemed to glow in the noonday sun.

“Will you hold your horses?” Antonio said as he hurried to catch up.

Tessa opened the door to the Grill and was hit with the delicious aroma of Nick’s spicy red sauce.

Antonio followed her inside. “Mmm. Today’s special doesn’t smell low fat.”

Nick came over to them, put his hand on Tessa’s shoulder, and shook hands with Antonio.

“Today’s special is a low-fat veggie ravioli smothered in red sauce that’ll knock your socks off. Comes with a green salad and sourdough garlic bread.”

“Oh my, that’s what I’m having,” Tessa said. “What could be better than guilt-free ravioli?”

Antonio smiled. “Seems like an oxymoron.”

Tessa went over to the counter, where Gus and Maggie Williams were already seated. “Hello, hello.”

“Hey,” the Williamses said in unison.

Antonio straddled the bar stool between Tessa and Gus and slapped Gus on the back. “How’s it going, friend?”

“Really can’t complain, but I always do.”

“So what do you know?”

“I’d rather you tell us what
you
know,” Gus said. “Has to be a lot goin’ on at the police chief’s house.”

Antonio took Tessa’s hand. “There is. They’re all relieved Vanessa and that little baby are all right. And devastated that her boyfriend’s cousin was killed.”

“All Vanessa was doing was bringing brownies to a friend, for heaven’s sake.” Tessa shook her head. “I spoke with her, and she’s beyond shocked. I’m not sure it’s sunk in yet.”

“God help her when it does,” Maggie said.

Tessa sighed. “I don’t understand how the shooter could strike in broad daylight without
someone
seeing his face.”

Gus leaned forward on the counter. “Ah, that’s right. The truck windows were tinted, and no one saw the driver—if there even
was
a driver.”

“Don’t start with the red-shadows nonsense.” Tessa held up her hand.

“All right. But it’s not like the spirits of the Cherokee haven’t tried to warn us time after time that we stole their land.”

Jo Beth stood behind the counter, her green pad in hand. “Y’all ready to order?”

“Specials for us,” Gus said.

Antonio nodded. “Same here.”

“Coffee all around and a Coke for Gus?”

Everyone nodded.

“Okeydokey. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Jo Beth started to leave but stopped when Maggie called her name.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Maggie said, “how do you manage to get your hair in a braid? It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. My husband does it for me. He loves to brush it. I’m fixin’ to get it trimmed. I’ve never had it cut short.”

“Where did you get such gorgeous, thick dark hair?” Tessa asked. “It’s quite enviable.”

Jo Beth smiled. “Thanks. My father’s Cherokee.”

Tessa looked at Gus, noticing that his face had gone almost as white as his mustache. She wondered if he was taking inventory of all the times he had made reference to the red shadows in Jo Beth’s presence.

“You should be in one of those Herbal Essences commercials,” Tessa added.

“Thanks. But I don’t think I’m glamorous enough for that. Y’all sit tight. I’ll place your orders and be right back with your drinks.”

Jo Beth went through the double doors, and Gus sat quietly, his hands folded on the counter.

Antonio nudged Gus with his elbow. “Cat got your tongue?”

“How was I supposed to know Jo Beth was half Cherokee?” Gus’s face was bright pink.

“Why don’t you ask her if her dead ancestors are riding around in a red Ford F-150, shooting Anglos?” Antonio chuckled. “Maybe she’ll give you the inside scoop.”

Maggie linked arms with Gus and looked embarrassed for him.

Tessa started to say something and then didn’t. Why make him feel worse than he already did? If this didn’t make him think twice about that silly legend, what would?

Clint Ames slid onto the stool next to Tessa. “Hey, friends. What’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing worth repeating,” Antonio said. “What do you know?”

“Not a thing. And if you don’t believe
me,
just ask my wife.” Clint laughed and set his sunglasses on the counter. “Have you ordered?”

Nick suddenly appeared at the end of the counter. “A customer just heard on the radio that the police think they found the truck used in the shootings.”

“Where?” Tessa said.

“It was parked at Woodall’s Grocery overnight. It’s stolen. Registered to a man in Pigeon Forge.”

Chapter 16

Ethan
sat in his car and looked out across the milky layers of blue gray foothills to the silhouette of the Great Smoky Mountains that faded in and out of the afternoon sky. Overhead, a hawk soared effortlessly, its wings outstretched, its red tail catching glints of sunlight.

A squirrel crawled up on the hood of his car and stared at him through the windshield, then scurried away.

He slowly drew in a breath and let the tightness in his throat begin to relax. Hadn’t he shed enough tears today? Shown enough emotion? Felt enough empathy?

He waited a few minutes more, then got out of the car and trudged over to the construction site where his uncle Ralph was talking with Stedman Reeves. Another man on the crew was hosing off a driveway of freshly poured cement.

Ralph looked up. He hurried over to Ethan and spoke softly. “How’d it go?”

“It was tough. Uncle Richard and Aunt Becca are devastated. They can’t think straight. I wouldn’t trust either one of them to drive right now. I’m glad they’re staying with my folks.”

“Did you take them by their
house, the way you planned?”

Ethan blinked away the stinging in his eyes. “Yeah, the front porch is still roped off with yellow crime scene tape, but the police allowed us in the back door.”

“How long were you there?”

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes. They went in Drew’s room and sat on the bed for a long time. Uncle Richard insisted on seeing the crime scene, so Detective Rousseaux showed it to us.” Ethan paused and gathered his composure. “Drew’s blood was still there—on the front of the house, and on the porch. Vanessa’s bloody footprints, too.”

“Did it upset him?”

“Yeah, we all lost it. But in a strange way it helped to see it and understand exactly what happened.”

Ralph gently rubbed Ethan’s back. “I’m glad Vanessa’s all right. And her little boy.”

“Me too …” Ethan’s voice cracked. “I just want Brill to get whoever did it.”

“So you already dropped Richard and Becca off in Maryville?”

“Yeah. When I left, Mom was trying to get them to take a nap. They looked like zombies. I think they were exhausted before they added jet lag to it.”

“It’s a crying shame they have to go through this.”

“Why don’t you tell them that?”

Ralph’s face turned expressionless. “Don’t get on my case about it, okay? It’s complicated.”

“But isn’t this the perfect opportunity to put your differences aside?”

“I don’t see that happening.”

Ethan sighed. “What if it had been Uncle Richard who was shot and killed instead of Drew—and you never got another chance to make peace?”

“It’s not that simple, Ethan.”

“Well maybe it’s time you stopped making it so complicated!”

Ralph seemed to study him. “I know you’re upset, but don’t try to psychoanalyze me. You’ve never had to deal with brother issues.”

“I’d gladly trade you. Drew was the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. And it really gripes me that you and Uncle Richard are letting whatever differences you have rule your life.”

“It’s not your problem, Ethan. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“And losing a son isn’t?” Ethan’s eyes watered, and his uncle’s face grew blurry. “Are you just going to ignore the situation—let your twin brother bury his only child without any acknowledgment?”

“I’m not the only brother he’s got. My presence won’t do anything to ease Richard’s grief. And this is not the time to dredge up our personal history. He has enough to deal with.”

“That’s a cop-out and you know it! You’re letting your stubborn pride ruin the chance to put it behind you.” Ethan exhaled loudly enough to show his utter disgust and then waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t want to embarrass his uncle in front of the work crew.

“Look,” Ralph said, “I’m sick about what happened to Drew. I really am. But his death doesn’t undo anything.”

And you’re not about to let it.
Ethan bit his lip and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I got my things from Drew’s house. I just came by to see if it’s okay if I go ahead and move in with you and Aunt Gwen.”

Ralph patted him on the back. “It’s more than okay. We’ve looked forward to it for months. Why don’t you plan to take a week off until you’re sure your head’s on straight?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather come back to work. I’ll cope with Drew’s death better if I stay busy.”

Brill stood at the window in her office and stared at nothing. Unless they got fingerprints or trace evidence from the stolen truck, she had nothing. Zilch. But how dare Sam Parker imply that she was hiding something!

She was vaguely aware of footsteps and then a knock at the door. She turned around and saw Trent Norris in the doorway.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got the autopsy report on Natalie Benchfield.” Trent walked across the room and handed it to her. “No big surprise on the cause of death. She bled out from the gunshot wound to the neck.”

“What about sexual assault?”

“The ME said the results were inconclusive. So even if we find this Vincent she was corresponding with, we’re not going to nail him for this one.”

”Maybe not, but if he’s a registered sex offender whose parole prohibits contact with a minor, we can get him for that. And if he was there when the poor child was shot and just left her to die, I want his head on a stick.”

Trent arched his eyebrows. “We’re still waiting on trace. But unless we find his DNA or fingerprints on the girl or her belongings, he’ll deny he was ever there.”

“Then we’ll let him think we have his DNA and get him to confess.” Brill sighed. “How close are we to tracing his email to his home address?”

“The state police thought they’d know something by today—tomorrow at the latest. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Trent.”

“You look beat up. How’s Vanessa holding up?”

“Better than I expected. I think she’s trying to be strong for Ethan. He’s really taking it hard.”

“I’m sure he is. But I can’t even imagine how Vanessa felt when she heard the shots and saw Drew Langley get hit. Imagine standing there with a helpless baby, wondering if you’re next.”

Brill tucked her hair behind her ear. “I
have
thought about it—off and on all day. Kurt and I could be planning a double funeral. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Why don’t you cut out early and go be with your family? It’s going to be a rough week, especially if we’re going to attend the funerals. Tal Davison’s should be huge. His father is actually shutting down the plant on Friday so workers can pay their respects. Pigeon Forge and Sevierville have already volunteered to send officers to help with traffic and crowd control.”

“Good.”

“I’m nervous that the shooter hasn’t been caught. I wonder if that will deter people from coming out.”

Brill turned and looked down at the grounds around city hall. “They may not line up along the route to the cemetery. But people always turn out in droves when someone dies a tragic death, especially young people. I imagine we’ll have our hands full on Thursday for Natalie Benchfield’s funeral. Every middle-school kid in town will probably be there.”

“Let’s hope the critics stay home. There’s no shortage of people who are outraged that Natalie’s parents only got a slap on the wrist.”

“Let’s just hope the Benchfields’ poor judgment was a result of being exasperated by a rebellious adolescent and not a serious character flaw.”

“Skyler Roberts’s funeral is Thursday afternoon in Atlanta. Any idea what Drew Langley’s parents are planning?”

“Drew’s funeral will be Saturday at two o’clock at my church, Cross Way Bible Fellowship. I’m dreading it. I know Vanessa will be emotional, which will make it hard for me to maintain a professional demeanor.”

“You’re allowed to be human, Chief.”

“You say that, but people expect a show of strength. No one feels safe with the shooter still out there. They want a leader, not a parent with the same fears they have.”

“Can’t you be both?” Trent arched his eyebrows. “During the disappearances, you addressed the community as our police chief
and
as a wife and mother. People appreciated that.”

“True. But this time I’ll have to work hard to keep my emotions in check.”

“Can’t be any more emotional than Sean O’Toole’s funeral last year, and you got through that.” Trent nodded toward the door. “Why don’t you go home? I can handle things here.”

“Thanks, Trent. I think I will.”

Ethan sat in his car across the street from his cousin’s house and watched investigators cleaning up the crime scene. Who was it that had gunned down his cousin like a wild animal and defiled this place that held such happy, innocent memories? How many times had he slept over in the attic room? Camped out in the backyard? Come to birthday parties? Barbecues? Thanksgiving dinners? How many Christmas Eves had they all sang around the piano—everyone except Uncle Ralph and Aunt Gwen, who declined each invitation?

How could Uncle Ralph hold on to his stubborn pride when his twin brother was suffering so?

Ethan rested his forehead on the steering wheel and thought of Vanessa standing at the front door, Carter in the stroller, as the bullets whizzed past her and penetrated Drew’s neck. He blinked away the image of the dried red pool on the stoop—the very lifeblood of his closest friend, who was more like a brother than a cousin. With just six months difference in their ages, he couldn’t remember a time when Drew wasn’t part of his life. Now he felt as if his heart had a hole in it, and he couldn’t understand how his uncles had withstood their estrangement all these years. Had it been like a death for
them?
Did they grieve the loss and go on, pride and indifference filling the void?

Warm tears rolled down Ethan’s cheeks. The inescapable fact that he would not see Drew again in this life was bearable only because he had no doubt he would see him in the next. But the pain of missing him was only one day old and already seemed oppressive.

Lord, I can’t do this.

A lifetime of memories ran through his mind, his dreams turning to vapor. How was he going to find the strength to cope with the gaping hole Drew left behind? Drew was supposed to be there to see him graduate. Cheer him on through grad school. Stand up as best man at his wedding.

Ethan wiped his tears with the bottom of his shirt. He had to pull himself together. How could he function if he gave in to the sorrow that seemed to consume him? Drew’s parents needed him to be strong. Vanessa needed him to hold her up through the drama of Drew’s funeral and burial. He needed to work for Uncle Ralph to help pay his tuition. Would he be able to do any of that if he allowed his grief to become debilitating?

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you.

The words from Isaiah seemed almost audible. He breathed in slowly and let it out and then did it again. He would have to save his tears for when he was alone. He needed to go see Vanessa and make sure she was coping.

Ethan sat on the glider on the screened-in porch at the Jessups’, holding tightly to Vanessa’s hand. Where had she found the presence of mind to make such a delicious dinner when she had a final to study for, a baby to care for, and trauma to cope with? Just being with her was comforting.