Bree and Muller pushed in foam ear protectors and donned sunglasses. Acting like spectators, they worked forward through the crowd to where they could see the competitors attack the course.
A shooter with a fancy custom pistol had just finished, and the score was going up on a digital readout by a judges’ table. Polite applause indicated it was only a so-so effort despite his tricked-out gun.
Next up was a Pennsylvania state trooper; he used his service pistol and shot well, knocking down two metal silhouettes at thirty yards and avoiding shooting a civilian target. When the course demanded the trooper move laterally while shooting, however, his weakness was revealed, and he turned in a score lower than the previous man’s.
Bree watched the competition with interest. She’d had combat-pistol training and scored reasonably well on yearly exams, but this course was set at an entirely different level. She saw several strong runs during the next forty minutes, but nothing spectacular, nothing close to perfection.
Then out stepped a tall, lanky guy wearing a Shooter’s Connection ball cap, black earmuffs, and rose-lensed sunglasses. Bree had been talking to Muller and missed the shooter’s name, but heard that he was using a CK Arms Hardcore pistol in .45 caliber with a holo sight.
When the buzzer went off, the shooter drew the pistol, leaped forward to the first line, and touched off two rounds. Two metal silhouettes tipped over at thirty yards. He killed the bad guy at the window of the next building. He held off on two civilian pop-up targets and hit everything else put in front of him clean and tight. When his pistol action locked open after the last target, the sign flashed a near-perfect score.
The crowd went wild, and even the shooter seemed amazed at his skill.
He walked back, smiling, his entire body balanced and fluid. Bree barely listened to the announcer’s remarks, just watched him and marveled at the shooting ability he’d just displayed.
“Best I’ve ever seen,” Muller said.
Bree said, “I think congratulations are in order.”
They angled through the spectators toward the tall shooter. He stopped at the judges’ desk, took off his sunglasses, and handed his weapon over for a brief inspection. Then he shook hands with one of the judges, joked with another, retrieved his gun, and left the area.
Bree and Muller followed, seeing him go to a pretty sandy-blond woman in the crowd. She patted him on the arm and smiled. They turned and walked away, heading toward the exit.
Bree and Muller waited until the couple had gotten to where the food and merchandise vendors were set up.
When they were in range, Bree called out, “Mrs. McGrath? I thought that was you.”
CHAPTER
94
TOMMY MCGRATH’S WIDOW looked startled. “Detective Stone? Kurt? What are you doing here?”
“It’s Chief Stone now, Vivian,” Muller said.
Vivian smiled at Bree. “I heard you’d gotten Tommy’s job. He would have been proud.”
“Thank you for saying so,” Bree said.
“Are you both competing?” Vivian said.
“Just here supporting some friends on the force,” Bree said. “You?”
“I was here to watch Mr. Gordon. My attorney.”
“You’re a hell of a shot,” Bree said to Gordon. “Where’s that come from?”
He gave her an aw-shucks shrug and said, “My dad taught pistol at Ranger School, Fort Benning. I guess you could say I was a range rat.”
“That explains it,” Bree said before turning to Vivian. “Tommy’s insurance company notified us that you were claiming his life insurance policy.”
Vivian sighed, said, “I didn’t even know Tommy had that policy, Chief Stone, honestly. Not until Mr. Gordon called to say I was named as beneficiary.”
“Four million dollars,” Bree said.
“I had no intention of claiming the money at first,” she said, her chin raised. “Then Mr. Gordon had the idea I could use it to start a charitable foundation, something in Tommy’s honor.”
“Is there a foundation at the moment?” Muller asked.
Gordon said, “I have associates working on it as we speak.”
“Well, then,” Bree said, and she smiled. “That helps. But just to tie up another loose end, how much are you worth these days, Mrs. McGrath?”
Gordon said, “You don’t have to answer that, Vivian. That’s really none of their business.”
“It is if the answer is germane to a murder investigation,” Bree said.
“You’re asking if I need four million dollars?” Vivian said. “The answer is unequivocally no.”
“Perfect—asked and answered,” Muller said. “I’m sorry we had to ask.”
Bree said, “Mr. Gordon, you walked by me the day of our initial interview with Mrs. McGrath. You were just leaving as we were coming in.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“I caught this strangely familiar scent trailing after you.” Gordon looked confused and said, “What?”
“I couldn’t name the smell until yesterday,” Bree said. “It was Hoppe’s Number Nine. Gun-cleaning solvent. It has a peculiar smell.”