I took my seat and watched as Commander Randall pulled Sergeant Everly aside and spoke to him under his breath. I was sure the message was grim—SWAT had reported in about the EMTs.
With everyone back at their seats and two carafes of coffee on the table, Len Andrews began again.
“I’ve reviewed the footage and have read the witness accounts, although there wasn’t much on that end. As far as a personality profile, I’d agree with what was already given to the press. I would add that the suspect weighs the odds, so to speak, as far as his chances of being caught. He’s a professional, not some out-of-work lowlife with an axe to grind. I’d say he works from home and has a military background because of his expertise with guns and because the watch he wears is popular with military people. He was sighted on two different days wearing long sleeves in seventy-five-degree temperatures. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything since long sleeves are still comfortable in that weather, but maybe he’s covering the type of tattoos that military people often have.”
Len sipped his coffee then paused as we took notes. “I’d put him between thirty-five and forty-five simply because if he is reliving his own experiences, he may have had an infant child that died. Triggers that cause people to commit crimes are often anniversaries of a traumatic event, other people encouraging them to be resentful for said trauma or tragedy, recent news of somebody taking action against law enforcement and so on, but usually it’s an anniversary of something that changed their life, and not in a good way. No vehicles speeding away from the scenes have been noted, so I’d look into how close each occurrence was to public transportation like the L. That could be a common factor. What you detectives need to do is check your records for 911 calls that came in needing both a police and ambulance presence. It may have been a home invasion involving a gun where somebody was seriously injured or killed. That’s a good place to start.”
“How far back do we go?” a detective from the Eighteenth District asked.
Andrews nodded. “A good question. Let’s start at a year from the first shooting and work our way forward. Usually, the first anniversary of an event is the most memorable.”
Tommy said he’d check on how close public transportation was to the shooting locations. He pulled out a chair at one of the many computers and dug in.
Everyone else began the lengthy task of going through documented police records, searching for calls of home invasions with injury to the homeowner. Terry Lasko’s case instantly came to mind simply because it was so recent. His wife had been shot during a home invasion, killing her and their unborn daughter. It had happened a month to the day before the first police shooting, but there was no way mild-mannered Terry was responsible. He couldn’t be, and he didn’t fit the profile of the risk-taking crazed person I had envisioned.
I just ate pizza with him last night, for God’s sake. Wouldn’t I have noticed something off with him? He seemed as normal as could be expected.
I thought about the man in the video and pictured the sketch.
It could be him. The height and weight are right. The face could be anyone. There wasn’t enough of it showing to identify him as anybody in particular. Dimple in chin? I couldn’t tell. He had several days of beard growth when I saw him last night.
I looked through the notes I had jotted down when Len Andrews described his assessment of the shooter. Military background or a gun owner—I didn’t know. The age seemed right, although I’d never asked Terry how old he was. Height and weight checked off. He had mentioned that he was an actuary the first time I’d sat down with him over a beer, but I had no idea if he worked for a company or if he was self-employed and worked from home. That occupation made me picture a pocket-protector-and-thick-glasses geek, not someone with military training and the capability and desire to gun down police officers and emergency medical technicians. My gut told me I was way off base, but the profile told me it was a possibility. I needed to know more about Terry Lasko.
I began checking off the list of things I did know. His age, height, and weight fit the profile, the one-month anniversary of his wife’s death was on the day of the first shooting—possibly a trigger—and that was all I had. It was a weak theory at best, but something the profiler said had stuck with me. Since Terry wasn’t home during the break-in, nobody had a description of the intruder, and so far he hadn’t been brought to justice. All the police had when they arrived on scene was a woman who had been shot twice and a house that had been broken into.
So could Terry have taken his anger out on the police and EMTs because he couldn’t find the shooter? And did his wife die simply because the scene wasn’t deemed safe for an ambulance to move in and rush her to the hospital in time to save her life?
Those were questions I had and a possible motive for revenge—if the killings were at his hand, which I still couldn’t bring myself to believe. I had nothing to substantiate my thoughts and no proof whatsoever that he had done anything wrong.
I needed a sounding board, off the record, before I would accuse a grieving husband of killing eleven people. I slipped out of the room and called Mills. He answered right away.
“Hey, buddy, I just heard the latest. This city is dealing with some crazy shit, and now that nutjob is going after EMTs? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either, Frank, and I’m at the headquarters as we speak. An FBI profiler was brought in, and he does agree with much of what we put together ourselves.”
“Good to know that we were pretty accurate.”
“Right. Dude, my mind is going a million miles an hour. I have somebody in mind that could possibly fit the profile, but so does every Tom, Dick, and Harry that calls in on the tip line.”
“But you’re a cop and have better instincts than the average Joe. You need to tell the task force about the person so they can haul him in for questioning.”
“He isn’t a suspect, he isn’t on anybody’s radar, and he hasn’t done anything to provoke curiosity from the police. It would be accusing an innocent person because a few items were checked off the profile list. That’s not enough.”
Frank groaned in my ear but agreed. “What were the items?”
“Age, height and weight, and the fact that his wife was gunned down a month before the first shooting, killing her and their unborn child.”
“Are you talking about that sad sack guy, Terry Lasko?”
“Yep.”
Frank sighed into the phone. “There’s no way, plus he’s going to grief counseling to heal, not to a gun range to practice his sniper moves. That guy is too nerdy, and he’s a broken man. Isn’t that why you took him under your wing in the first place? You had empathy for him, especially since it was less than a year ago that Jenna died. Sorry, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
I let out a breath of relief. “Do you really think so?”
“Abso-friggin-lutely. Don’t ruin that guy’s life any more than it already is. He’s too vulnerable and has a fragile personality right now.”
“Okay, thanks for the input. I guess it’s back to the drawing board. Talk to you later.” I clicked off, pocketed my phone, and returned to the war room, but the mention of Terry being fragile stuck in my craw. That was the last thing I wanted to hear.
I knew I couldn’t dig into Terry’s background out of idle curiosity—that was against policy. The NCIC database was the way to go, but that would involve the FBI, and I didn’t have a valid reason to connect Terry to our case yet, if at all. I needed more, and I’d have to get it on my own time.
Taking a seat, I looked around the room at every detective and watched as they worked, tirelessly tapping away at the keyboards and pulling up possible case files. Guilt took over my mind. Did I have the killer in the palm of my hand? Could we make an arrest and restore peace to our city just on my say-so, and was I being selfish for not sharing my thoughts with the rest of the group?
I couldn’t keep it to myself, and I’d never get over it if more innocent lives were taken when I could have prevented that.
Rising from my seat, I approached the commanders, the profiler, and Sergeant Everly. “I need a word with all of you in private.”
Lutz furrowed his brows. “Is everything okay, Jesse?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it, Boss.”