‘Care to share?’ Trip asked sarcastically.
‘No, but I’m gonna,’ Jim said with a scowl. ‘Because I’m not letting him take me down with him for this. Dale has a half-brother. Mike. Always good for nothin’.’
‘Can you describe Mike?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Yeah. About five-ten, used to be skinny. Haven’t seen him in years. Dark hair, but it was thinning even then.’
‘What about a last name?’ Trip asked.
Jim shook his head. ‘Never knew. Never wanted to know. Kid was bad news.’
‘His size matches with Kate’s description of last night’s shooter,’ Deacon said. ‘I wonder if your father knows Bruiser.’
Adam had just been wondering the same thing.
So had Isenberg, apparently, because she put the Kiesler University surveillance photo of Bruiser in front of Jim Kimble. ‘Who is this?’
‘I dunno,’ Jim said. ‘I’ve never seen him. That’s the truth. Can I go now?’
‘Sure,’ Isenberg said. ‘But be careful. Whoever’s running this show is tying off loose ends. Wouldn’t want you to be one of them.’
‘Right,’ Jim said curtly. ‘I told you what you wanted to know. I got no need to worry about IA, do I?’
‘I dunno,’ Isenberg shot back sarcastically. ‘I might ask Detective Kimble what he thinks. After all, he’s the only one targeted by this killer who’s survived.’
He glared at Isenberg. ‘I bet he’s sniveling about that too. Son of mine’s a disgrace. Goddamn pussy, takin’ crazy leave. Cops these days are all gone soft. In my day, we just sucked it up.’
Adam winced, because even though he’d heard it before, it still hurt.
Trip stood, squaring his shoulders in a way that seemed to fill the room. ‘That son of yours is a damn good cop,’ he said with cold disdain. ‘Which I can’t say for you.’
That felt good to hear, Adam had to admit. More than balanced out the bad.
Isenberg drew another deep breath and let it out. ‘You know, Mr Kimble, my team and I just saw a video of the event that prompted Detective Kimble to take mental health leave. I’d show it to you, just to see if there’s any scrap of human decency in you, but I won’t use that poor child’s death as a weapon. So . . . you’re free to go. Watch out for bullets, because there’s another rifle out there somewhere. Killed a retired cop just this morning.’
Jim went still. ‘I heard about that on the news. John Kasper in the churchyard, right? I was sorry to hear that. He was a good cop.’
‘Oh my fucking God,’ Deacon growled. ‘I want to kill that fucker.’
Adam put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder. ‘Easy. He knows I’m back here. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.’
‘Yes,’ Isenberg was saying bitterly. ‘John Kasper was such a good cop that he sold Detective Kimble out. Told the sniper that my detective was going to be there, in that churchyard. That bullet was not meant for Kasper. It was meant for your son. So by all means, go. And hope that whoever’s after Detective Kimble doesn’t start worrying about what you’ve just told us.’
‘Wait.’ Jim stood up unsteadily. ‘You can’t just let me go out there unprotected.’
Trip smiled coldly as he stored the rifle and zipped the case. ‘If you’re scared, you can snivel about it to the front desk. I’m sure they can help you put in a formal request for police protection. Or you can just suck it up. Have a nice day.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 10.05 A.M.
The door to the observation room had no sooner closed than Isenberg huffed in irritation. ‘Adam, I swear to God,’ she said. ‘Your father is a—’
‘Total dickwad,’ Trip interrupted, breathing hard.
Adam chuckled. ‘I did try to tell you on Saturday when we were talking about Voss.’
Trip shook his head. ‘Man, you said he was an asshole. You didn’t say I’d want to punch him in his fucking mouth.’ He turned to Isenberg, looking sheepish. ‘I’m sorry that I just interrupted you, Lieutenant.’
Isenberg snorted a laugh. ‘That’s okay. “Dickwad” is a better word than I’d chosen.’
Adam’s smile faded. ‘Seriously, thank you both. I know I could not have gotten that information from him. And I do remember the time he was suspended. It was not a good time in our house. I remember my mother crying a lot and asking if he cared more about what happened to Mrs Hanson than to us. I didn’t understand then.’
‘You were a kid,’ Isenberg said. ‘I guess I understand his reasons, but his behavior was and is not acceptable. God only knows how many people have been killed with that rifle over the years.’ She tilted her head. ‘Do you remember Dale’s half-brother Mike?’
Adam closed his eyes and tried to think back. ‘There was one guy that came with us to the target range a few times. His name was Mike, but I don’t remember a whole lot about him. Just that he seemed . . . too cool. Like the teacher that wants to be cool for his students. Except Mike was . . . I don’t know. I didn’t like him. I remember that.’
‘When was this?’ Deacon asked. ‘I don’t remember him.’
‘Because you were off at college. Wyatt was in the police academy and I was living at home, going to UC.’ He bit at his lip. ‘It was strange, though, as I recall.’
‘Strange how?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Well, Mike and Wyatt knew each other. Really well. Like they’d spent a lot of time together in the past. I went with the two of them to the shooting range a few times. Mike was good. He gave us pointers. I learned a lot from him.’
‘And became a sharpshooter,’ Deacon said.
Adam almost smiled at the brotherly pride in Deacon’s voice. ‘Yeah. So did Wyatt. And then, you know, life happened. He finished the academy and got a job with CPD. Made new friends. I went to school, then the academy. We were partners at the beginning. I learned a lot from him.’
‘Whatever he has or has not done has nothing to do with you,’ Isenberg said, once again reading his mind.
‘I know. But I can’t process this. He doesn’t live large. Doesn’t spend money he shouldn’t have. Lives in a normal house, normal neighborhood. He’s a husband and father.’
‘And a friend,’ Isenberg said softly. ‘Hopefully he’s still all of those things and there is another explanation for all of this.’
‘But you don’t think so.’ Adam’s heart physically hurt. ‘And neither do I.’
Scarlett made an unhappy sound and looked up from her phone. ‘Guys, the owner of Barber Motors is Michael Barber. I mean Michael is a popular enough name, but . . .’
‘Goddammit,’ Adam whispered. ‘If Dale’s involved . . . God. I don’t know what I’ll do. That man was more a father to me than my own for more years than I can count.’
Deacon’s hand came up to clamp Adam’s neck again. ‘Come on. Let’s talk to Mr Hanson. See what’s what.’
Isenberg was considering him. ‘You want to be in there with us?’
Adam sighed, then nodded. ‘Yeah. I would. Thanks.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 10.10 A.M.
He got into his SUV, winded after jogging the half mile from Nash Currie’s home in the middle of fucking nowhere. I need to ramp up my workouts. Because a half mile shouldn’t have winded him. Of course he was running on very little sleep. Hopefully, that would change soon and everything would be back to normal.
He’d stashed the rifle he’d used that morning and the gun he’d used on Mike last night in the shed behind Currie’s farmhouse. Emboldened by the fact that the house was a full mile from the nearest neighbor, he’d even set up a ‘target range’ in the woods behind the shed before hiding the rifle. He’d fired at a tree half a mile away, leaving his casings behind so it would appear that Currie was a respectable shot – one who could have shot at Kimble that morning.
Waiting for his heater to warm up, he checked his phone, frowning at the barrage of new messages and voicemail. A few were from Isenberg, probably because he hadn’t shown up at her summons. Bitch. A few were from his boss in Narcotics, which made him frown. His boss didn’t usually call his cell phone. He normally texted or emailed.