Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Another day passed, and Jane wondered how much trouble she’d get into if she happened to hang around the Seattle office and accidentally bump into her friends to pump them for information.
Joe and Hal were out doing a favor for somebody. The fewer questions she asked the better, because the conversation before they’d left had been hushed, the legality of the matter no doubt up for debate.
Flipping through channels on the TV, she noted that the police had caught the shooter who’d taken out that poor couple before the holiday.
Not a Mazzuca killing, apparently, but some random tweaker on a rant.
A second later, in the same tone, the newscaster informed her that shopping had been better than expected over the holiday season, pleasing economists hoping for a better fourth quarter.
To top it all off, the Seahawks had won by twelve points, and the stormfront everyone had been expecting moved north instead, giving those poor Canadians more snow to deal with.
And none of that made Jane’s life any less boring.
Annoyed with life, Jane turned off the television and grabbed her car keys.
Two hours later, she left one of her favorite downtown Seattle lunch stops with a full belly, stuffed on an English cheese, tomato, and pesto crumpet.
Her phone rang, and she jumped on it, despite seeing the caller ID. “Hey, Uncle Chris. A day late, but Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, to you too. Look, I need a favor.”
Trust her uncle to get straight to the point. “Hit me. Unfortunately, I’m swimming in circles. I’ve got nothing on anyone in the office who might have set me up. I’m twiddling my thumbs while life goes on.” And I’m no closer to finding out who killed Dan Simmons.
“Exactly. You need to get your butt back in the field. I know you’re benched until OPR clears you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do some investigative services for a friend of mine.”
“Say again?”
“A friend of mine needs help with something that’s looking like it’s a lot more involved than it should be.
I’ll let him read you in. Throw on something super casual.
Don’t look like a federal agent and meet him at the address I just texted you.
” He disconnected the call, then an address popped up via text.
She glanced down at her jeans and hoodie sweatshirt under a dark jacket. Super casual, check. Though most agents she worked with wore “outdoor casual” on the daily. Comfort, practicality, and maybe a nice sweater to go with the cargo pants and boots.
After plugging the address into her phone, she entered her car and blasted the heat, pleased she’d taken the initiative to head into the city in the first place. If she’d been in Bainbridge and had to wait on a ferry, she might not have been able to get to the place for another few hours.
As it was, she had to maneuver around Seattle traffic before finding the street cordoned off by police cars, barricades, and yellow barricade tape. She’d happened upon a fresh scene, apparently. After parking several blocks away, she returned to survey the area.
Lights flashed, and an ambulance sat sideways in the middle of the street with parked cars lining the roadway in front of several small businesses and residential buildings. Shattered glass covered the area around one of the ambulances. Two bloodied and unmoving bodies lay close by as well.
The tires on one ambulance appeared to be flat, likely from a gunshot, which would also explain the shattered windshield. She didn’t notice bullet holes anywhere else, not in the cars parked along the sides of the street or the doors and walls of the nearby businesses.
Not a drive-by then.
She read her text again. Under the directions, her uncle had provided a description of the person to contact.
Glancing up, she looked for a man in a long, navy trench coat and gold scarf.
Not exactly nondescript. Interesting fashion choice.
But he pulled it off, appearing elegant in a standoffish way.
He stood away from the central action near a police car, in deep discussion with two officers. An older guy with short silver hair, a pale complexion, and dark eyes that didn’t look surprised at the sight of death so near.
He glanced up as she rounded the barricade to get to him. He said something to the officer next to him, and the woman turned and headed for Jane with brisk strides.
“Come with me,” she ordered, and Jane followed her, ducking under the barricade tape until they rejoined the man she’d been sent to assist.
The officers standing nearby melted away, leaving Jane alone with her contact.
“Jane Cannon?” the man asked, his voice deep and raspy.
This close, she saw the fine lines around his eyes.
He had to be years older than her uncle, but he looked as if he knew how to laugh.
She sensed his authority up close, his military bearing evident in the way he held himself.
She’d have pegged him as the man in charge without knowing anything about anyone present, despite him standing apart.
“Yes. I’m Jane. Pleased to meet you.” She held out a hand. His firm and dry shake, just long enough to convey trust and authority, said as much about him as his appearance.
“I’m Lionel Gambol. Not affiliated with the police department or FBI.”
Jane raised a brow but said nothing. Nearby, she noted the lead CSI, his dark jacket lettered POLICE on the back, giving orders that everyone else seemed to follow as they rushed around.
“You came highly recommended,” he added.
“For…?”
“Investigative services.” Exactly what her uncle had said. “The murders of these two EMTs make six dead in the past two months. EMTs, doctors, and two nurses. Someone is targeting medical personnel in the city, and I want to know who and why.”
“But you’re not the police or the FBI.”
“Consider me FBI adjacent.”
That sounded like something her uncle would say.
“You should know I’m on administrative leave from the Seattle office pending an investigation.” Just in case her uncle had failed to mention that. Uncle Chris often left out the parts he didn’t feel necessary when it came to doing the job. Pesky little details like legality.
“I understand that. Working this case won’t be a problem with your boss or the Agency. You don’t need a weapon. This is strictly investigatory. I know you often have insights others miss. And we need that right now.”
She watched with him as forensics did their job photographing the scene and cataloguing everything.
She frowned. “Were the bodies found like that?” Both EMTs lay supine, one with an arm over his chest, the other with his arm flung aside, reaching along the street.
“Yes.” Gambol studied her. “So you’re in?”
She saw no point in making him wait, since she practically frothed at the mouth for something to do while she waited on any information pertaining to who killed Simmons. “Yes.”
“Follow me.” He walked to the lead CSI, had a few words, then everyone backed away. “What do you think?” Gambol asked Jane.
She crouched by the bodies, aware each had been shot and killed by a bullet to the chest as well as a bullet to the head. Two rounds, placed to kill. No lingering death by internal bleeding. The headshots would have ended them right away.
“Not a random drive-by.” She rose and looked around.
“There’s no damage to the surrounding businesses or cars parked along the street.
Looks like the shooter took out the windshield first to stop the bus.
The EMTs left the vehicle. But instead of hiding behind it, they rounded the ambulance and headed for the middle of the street.
” Jane shook her head. “That makes no sense. Any witnesses?”
“In broad daylight, yet shockingly, no.” Gambol looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “But we’ve got the surveillance camera from two businesses to check into. Hopefully, we’ll find something we can use there.”
Jane had a thought. She checked the front of the ambulance, noticed the empty space in front of it, and looked closer at the smudge of blue paint on the front bumper.
She turned to Gambol, the heat of the hunt building in her, fanning the need to find the guilty. “This took planning. I need to see pictures of the other shootings.”
“The others weren’t shot, but we have crime scene photos of two of them, at least.” Gambol nodded. “Let’s get you set up. Time to meet the man in charge.”
“Not you?” she asked as he led her to his vehicle. She got in, planning to pick up her car afterward.
“Not me. I’m just the connections man. It’s time for you to meet Rapp.”
“I have to tell you I’m not looking forward to working for anyone like the boss I just left.”
“No, no. You’ll be working with him. Not for him. Think of yourself as contracting your services to the government through me.” Gambol shot her a quick grin as they drove away. “Give Rapp a chance. He’s not as bad as he might seem.”