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SEVERAL POLICE CARS, an ambulance, and a fire truck swarmed near the entrance to the Star Mall. Combs had needed a breather but now rejoined Gonzales in the food court. The little man didn’t seem fazed by the lateness of the hour, and stood with his cell phone glued to one ear. They’d called Doty from the road and beat her to the scene. The victim was already dead, so they’d secured the area and waited. So far, she’d ignored him either by accident or design. That worked just fine.
“Damn. We’re hamsters running wheelies today.” Doty stared at the mix of blood, ketchup and fries swirled with mud, and whistled through the gap in her front teeth. “What’s the latest on body count—I can’t keep up?” She aimed the sarcasm at Gonzales, as if he should have anticipated and prevented the bloodbath.
“You know more than I do.” Gonzales ignored her tone as he disconnected the call. “Same shooter for all of them?”
“God, I hope not. But too early to know details. Ballistic tests take forever, but you can see the caliber from the shell casings, so it’s at least two different guns. Maybe three.” Doty gave a nod, acknowledging Combs. “We found shell casings under a table at April’s, .45 caliber consistent with a semi-automatic. Our prelim says the FBI’s GRC database suggests it’s from a Remington Rand.”
Gonzales scratched his head. “That’s a World War Two surplus pistol. Lots of them floating around.”
Doty grunted. “Either the same one or similar shot the vic at the park. Shell casings look like a match. Want you to take a look, though, and do your gun voodoo, Gonzales. The lab takes forever.” She watched impassively as the EMTs zippered the dead woman into a bag.
“This one’s different. Looks more like a .380.” Gonzales sounded surprised.
Combs couldn’t stop himself. “That’s two guns. Makes no sense it would be the same shooter.”
“Actually, it’s three guns. Number three is a bullet we dug out of the ceiling at April’s. Don’t think it had anything to do with your mom, but it does cloud the situation.” Doty spoke directly to Combs for the first time. “Type of old bullet hasn’t been made in years, a .32 caliber S&W short. Hell, the bullet’s so old, it’s oxidized.”
“Yes they do. Still make the bullets, that is.” Gonzales explained when Combs raised his eyebrows. “Guns are my passion. I grew up in my dad’s gun shop, spent more time at gun shows over the years than my wife cares to remember. I can tell you anything about make, model, and ballistics.” Gonzales smoothed his tie. “Comes in handy when ballistics is delayed.”
Doty popped her gum. “He’s been right, ten for ten. So far,” she added as if the compliment pained her. “Lots of bets in the department riding on him getting something wrong. Including mine.”
“Childress collects antique guns.” The man hadn’t been forthcoming about that little tidbit, and that bothered Combs. A lot.
“But thousands of those pocket guns were made from 1880 to the 1930s.” Gonzales smoothed his mustache. “Still, there’s a distinctive shaved slice on the bullet, characteristic of wear on the bolt action. Makes it freakin’ easy to match to the gun. If we ever find it.”
Doty took a breath and offered a bit of what-the-hell speculation. “My guess is the same antique gun killed the guy we found in the car over at Childress’s place. One of the bullets was a through-and-through, and fell out of the carpet when they unwrapped the carpet around his body. Gonzales says it’s a match to the ceiling bullet at April’s house.”
Gonzales continued the argument. “Too much of a coincidence for unrelated shooters to use the same kind of antique gun and hard-to-find bullet. I don’t believe in coincidence. And if Pottinger was killed at April’s, it ties all four together. But what was he doing there?”
Doty unwrapped another stick of gum and stuffed it in her mouth, talking past the wad. “Maybe your mom walked in on something she shouldn’t have, and Pottinger shot her, so April shot him with that funny gun.”
“Nothing came up when we checked gun registry in April’s name.” Gonzales clapped Combs on the shoulder. “Unless she’s carrying unlicensed. Not unheard of in Texas, but surprising since she’s got the kid.”
“Childress left it behind when he got divorced?” Combs guessed.
Gonzales made a note on his ever present pad. “My wife was into guns when we first got married. All that went away when we had the first kid. My guns stay locked up now in a padlocked room, and as soon as I hit the door my service weapon goes nighty-night out of kid reach. And Mercedes hasn’t been at the shooting range in six years.”
Combs agreed. His wife—ex-wife, he silently corrected—felt the same about guns around kids. Hell, so did anyone with half a brain. His phone vibrated. Uncle Stanley again. He let voicemail take the call. He couldn’t deal with family right now. Not until he knew more and had answers.
“Lots of old guns aren’t in the system. If April had to defend herself, and there’s at least one more shooter out there, that’d be reason enough to run.” Doty consulted her own notepad.
“Best explanation we’ve got so far. September protects her sister, and they both run from whoever shot Pottinger. They must have split up.” Combs rubbed his eyes. “September went to Gentry Park with her dog tracking friend to look for Steven. Meanwhile the shooter must have followed September, and maybe the dog lady got in the way?”
“Your mom. Pottinger. Dog lady. And now a bus driver at Star Mall. Four murders in less than ten hours.” Doty began pacing, her frustration clear, as she watched EMTs trudge to the ambulance with the latest victim. “Who is she anyway? Do we know if there’s a connection, or is this just our day for bodies?”
“HART-Line bus driver.” Gonzales read from his notes. “The bus is parked outside, and that little VW belonged to the victim. Dispatcher said they shut down HART-Line service because of weather right after her shift ended.”
“September called and pointed us here. There’s a definite connection.” Combs waited for Doty to connect the dots.
She whistled tunelessly through the gap in her teeth and then motioned Combs closer. “Your mom was killed at April’s house. Childress says his ex-wife and September are close, and she came there to find April. We found Pottinger at Childress’s place right after September was there. And her supposed friend, the dog lady, met her at Gentry Park and got shot. Then she calls you and directs us here, where we find yet another body. Maybe it’s not some mysterious stranger chasing after the sisters. Maybe we already know who’s shooting up the city.” Doty’s eyes narrowed. “You took the call. What’s your gut on this?”
Combs considered the question with suspicion. Doty kept score. Whatever he said would be remembered to use against him later. He shrugged.
“Talk to me, Officer Combs. Sure, I told you to stay out of this, but you’re up to your holsters in it, clearly against policy, and I’m not taking the blame for you messing with my show.” Combs heard her teeth grinding. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve run out of hands. And clove gum. That chaps my hide.” She glared. “This weather has traffic snarled; we’ve got multiple crime scenes, Dallas PD cain’t git here from there.” Her broadened accent mocked his rural upbringing compared to her own big-city credentials. “We’ve more than enough work to go around, and I’ll try to look the other way as long as you play fair with me. So spit it out.”
“Part of the team?” He ignored Gonzales’s smothered smile. Combs wanted in, but the info-sharing had to flow in both directions.
“No way, this stays unofficial. You’re still poison, Combs. I won’t burn my own butt so’s you can play. It’s still my sandbox.” She paused, held up a hand when he would’ve argued. “Since September pulled you into the investigation, it’s my duty to debrief you.” Her expression remained deadpan, reminding Combs of how well she’d always covered her ass while cutting corners. He both admired and despised the talent. “Play ball, Combs. And maybe we’ll talk to you.” The hint of a promise in her tone was real. “Has September gone serial killer on us?”
He snorted. “Hardly. She’s calling us, reaching out for help. Sure, September’s involved, no question, but only indirectly. Probably covering for her sister.” He looked around the chaos. “If she was in control, I think she’d come in. I get the feeling she’s being coerced about something. Maybe threatened?”
“April’s motivated to protect her son. That has to involve Childress.” Gonzales spoke with conviction. “You think Childress holds something over April’s head?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Combs said. “April and Steven are in some kind of trouble, maybe on the run from Childress. I don’t like the guy. I think September tried to dig them out of a hole, and fell in over her head. That’s my gut.” He stifled a yawn, and wished he had a drink. Hell, he needed a drink. But coffee would have to suffice.
Doty’s nose scrunched up like a rabbit after carrots. “We got problems at April’s. Need more than the antique bullets to prove Pottinger died there.”
Gonzales pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the coroner again; get them to check for GSR. If Pottinger’s a shooter there’ll be trace on his hands or clothes. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Means he must have been inside the house where it was warm before any gunplay.” He shook his head. “We need the connection between April and this Dr. Pottinger. Who is this guy? That should answer lots of questions.”
Doty’s glare raked the big room. “How’d September know to come to Star Mall? It’s not Black Friday for two weeks.” She considered the food court floor, and glowered. “Can’t tell the blood from the ketchup.”
Combs looked closer at the mess. There were distinct tracks of three or more individuals in the debris. And a dog. A good size dog by the paw prints. “Fish from the radio played the recording of April’s call. She was hysterical about her missing son, and she mentioned a dog.” He pointed at a paw print.
Gonzales sniffed. “September knew about the bus driver, so she was here. That’s why she called you.” He yawned, clearly feeling the same fatigue they were all fighting. “But I don’t buy that she shot the bus driver. What reason would she have?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Doty painted a possible version. “September managed to track down her nephew and the dog to the mall, and shot the bus driver when she got in the way.”
“No. Steven’s not with her. You can’t fake that kind of panic. September’s still running solo.” Or maybe not. Combs recalled that soft male voice in the background when she’d called. “I count two...no, three cups. There’s one under the table.” He pointed. “So that’s the bus driver, the boy and September. Or somebody else.”
Gonzales crouched to examine the shoe and boot prints at each of the chairs. “Remember those prints outside Pottinger’s car, the ones we figured for September’s? None of these match. Whoever was here sat long enough for the mud to dry. See, there’s a kid’s tennis shoe, and this is the bus driver’s print. That third set, it’s a man’s size. Dry, too, so he was with them.” He stood, and followed the prints back toward the entry until they disappeared.
Combs pointed at another. “Could be September’s. But it’s over top of the kid’s print.” He rubbed his jaw. “So she came after they’d been here a while. Or even after they’d left.”
Gonzales tiptoed around the telltale prints. “Here’s another man’s shoe print, that’s got to be a size fourteen at least. That’s a big guy. Dress shoes, slick soles. In ice?” His phone buzzed and he listened and quickly ended the call. “That was Pike.”
Doty looked up sharply. “Fast work. What’s he got?”
“I thought Pike went home.” Combs yawned again.
She shrugged. “Everyone’s on duty until further notice. Pike lives near a witness—that kid manager of the coffee shop at the mall—so he handled the call.” She frowned at Gonzales. “What’s the kid say?”
“He served a boy, an old man, and the woman bus driver before he closed shop and left. The dog was with them.”
“Any names?” Doty’s nostrils flared when Gonzales shrugged.
“Pike says the manager didn’t recognize them. But they mentioned the kid’s father was on his way to collect him.”
“Really.” Doty popped her gum. “Mr. Childress just put his foot in it, literally. That asshole has more questions to answer.”
