Chapter Two #2
Nope, that didn’t feel right. He worked with all kinds of different people in this industry—I couldn’t see how reticence would get him ahead quickly. Or make him lots of friends.
Donovan pointed to a comfortable couch. He plopped into a chair, clearly leaving the couch for me and Tyson.
Perhaps I should’ve thought of him as Detective McGillvary.
Except we felt like comrades in arms rather than some kind of oppositional relationship.
And he’d caught my notice. His soft brown eyes spoke of depth to me.
And the hair…had he gone prematurely gray?
Because he didn’t have the lines on his face that normally accompanied gray hair.
Finally, although he carried himself like other police officers I’d met, he also had a combination of openness and wariness at the same time—much like myself.
Grateful for Donovan’s time…and wishing we were alone.
Both men called to me in unique ways. Shoving those thoughts aside, I placed my notepad on my lap and waited for someone else to speak.
Donovan’s gaze moved back and forth between us. And he squinted. “Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best idea—”
“I can go,” I volunteered, beginning to rise.
He waved me off. “Nah. Your time is valuable. So is Detective McGillvary’s. I’ll make this brief. Meggibeth Smythe shot me. I’m fine. I understand Cole is going to recover, although he’s in for a rough road ahead. As to why she did it…I still have no idea.” He turned to Tyson.
Tyson held up his hands. “I haven’t spoken to her. She’s…being evaluated.”
Whatever that meant. Likely by a psychiatrist. Obviously, concern surrounded her mental health. One didn’t simply pick up a gun and shoot someone like this without some kind of reason.
“Right, okay.” Donovan winced. “Just as long as they don’t let her back onto the streets—”
“That’s unlikely—” Tyson began.
“But not impossible. Bail is a thing.”
The detective nodded slowly. “Violent criminals tend to not get bail. I can’t speak to the specifics of her case, but I think you’re okay. I was going to ask…might you consider going to the crime scene with me? So you can take me through what happened?”
Donovan pivoted his gaze to me.
“If it’s necessary and you feel up to it. I was hoping to have a bit more discussion—” I had to try.
“Great, we can have the discussion at the crime scene. You okay to come?”
A stunned feeling overwhelmed me, but I nodded. “I can spend the time with you. My team here has everything under control.”
Donovan rose.
Tyson and I did the same.
The victim—or client, as I saw him—yanked out his keys. “So you both know where you’re going?”
We nodded.
“Great.” He turned to Tyson. “I can’t drive. Can you give me a lift?”
Tyson hesitated, and I was about to speak up when he nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Great.” He turned to me. “You okay?”
“Of course.” The crime scene was located close to my home, so I was familiar with the area.
“Great, let’s go.” He strode from the room.
I glanced at Tyson who met my stare. “This is…” I fumbled for the words.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Drive carefully.”
He gave me one more appraising look before leaving the room, clearly hurrying to catch up with Donovan.
Would love to be a fly on the window of that car.
I could’ve said I needed a lift and then doubled back, but I had to trust Donovan knew what he was doing in choosing to go with Tyson.
He could’ve easily asked me for a lift—but he hadn’t.
I headed into the main room where Val caught my gaze.
“I’m going with Mr. Riggs and Detective McGillvary.
You can text or call me if you need something. Or you can contact my boss.”
His blue eyes flickered compassion. “We’ll be okay. Your team appears competent. Go take care of Donovan.”
“I will.” I made my way to my electric car and headed out. The drive back to Vancouver was uneventful except the narrow lanes on the bridge always got to me—despite the fact I was an excellent driver.
Locating a parking spot wasn’t difficult, and soon I stood next to Tyson as we watched Donovan.
The crime scene tape had been removed this morning by the police, apparently, but a little piece fluttered against a lamppost. The brisk wind cut through my corduroy pants, and I regretted not having worn my parka.
I’d lived in Winnipeg—also known as Winterpeg—in the middle of winter during my childhood, but I was still a west coast boy at heart.
We rarely had more than a few days go below freezing in January.
Today was the coldest so far, and snow was predicted.
Donovan stood and met our gazes. “Cole and Julie were here. I was here.”
A mere foot away, if not closer—so the three were clustered together.
He pointed. “Elouise and Kelci were over there…” He gestured to a spot around the corner. “And Seamus and Tanya were…” He flapped his hand in the opposite direction. “But none of them had a direct line of sight.”
Which matched what Seamus, Elouise, and the others had reported.
“And…” He pointed. “Cole raised his coffee mug. He’s such a gracious guy, and he’s always thanking catering, even though he prefers the coffee our production assistant, Thomas, makes.”
I’d read about Thomas in the report Alessandra sent me. He’d also been on-site but farther away and therefore slower to respond.
“Anyway, I turned…” Donovan did so again.
As I watched his face, I read pain. He hadn’t said anything about his arm this morning, so this anguish was likely emotional. Although it could be both. I wanted to ask, but something so personal in front of the police officer didn’t feel right.
“She stood there.” He pointed to a spot about three or four feet away.
“And she pulled the gun from the pocket of her trench coat and raised it. I…” He rubbed his forehead.
His hand was ungloved, and it must be so cold.
“I didn’t even have time to react…she just shot.
It happened so fast. I knew Cole’d been hit, but I lunged for her.
She got off two more shots…” He shifted his right arm.
“The other bullet hit the wall over there.” Tyson pointed.
I could barely see the disturbance.
Donovan nodded. “I’m lucky she didn’t hit me again.
Anyway, I tackled her. And she went down.
Hard. I know her head hit the ground, and I remember thinking good, maybe she’ll die.
I was…” He drew in a deep breath, and when he let it out, a puff of air appeared.
“Angry.” He looked up, meeting my gaze. “I don’t ever remember being so angry in my life.
And I’ve had shit happen. Had people hurt me.
Endured some bad stuff…but…yeah. In that moment, I wanted her dead.
” He rubbed his forehead. “Or maybe I thought that later. It’s a jumbled mess. ”
“Understandable that you wanted her dead.” Tyson nodded. “I’d still say it’s probably a good thing you didn’t kill her. Might’ve been an accident, but you would’ve had to live with that.”
“I’d have been totally fine with that.”
A cavalier thing to say—and I believed he believed it. Those thoughts might wind up being fleeting, though, and the guilt might’ve eventually set in.
At least that wasn’t the reality.
Donovan indicated the ground. “Larry, our security guard, came and held her down while I backed away. The gun…I guess she dropped it. And it lay a few feet away, and I thought I should secure it, but then Julie called out, and I realized Cole needed me.” He pivoted over to another spot.
Then he waved his hand back in the previous direction.
“Tanya took care of the gun. And I…” He frowned.
“Julie wriggled out from underneath Cole—he’s a big guy—I knelt down.
His shirt…” He gulped. “So much blood. And then Seamus was there with the first aid kit. Did I tell him to get it, or did he just do it?”
I started to provide an answer.
He continued on, and I decided he didn’t need me interrupting.
“And then I was pressing against the wound. With the gauze. And it’d be soaked within moments, but then Seamus would hand me more. And I kept thinking where are the sirens, right? Because someone’s had to have called. And I found out Elouise did…”
Suddenly, he looked up and met my gaze. “Is she going to be okay? I mean…and Julie?” He rubbed his face. “And Seamus and Tanya and…” He began to pace back and forth. He would take three steps, pivot, and then come back three steps. “I suppose I should be asking if I’ll be okay.”
“You all will.” I said the words with a surety I likely didn’t have the right to use.
But in this moment, he needed to hear it.
The truth was most people eventually moved on.
The sooner they sought counseling after the trauma, often the lesser the ongoing symptoms. On the other hand, we could do everything right and a victim might still develop post-traumatic stress disorder.
“That’s it.” He waved his left hand in the air. “The paramedics came and took over. Some firefighters were on the scene—for reasons I don’t understand—”
“They were closer. They often have advanced lifesaving training.” Tyson said the words quietly.
I also knew them to be true. We also often had a paramedic shortage in Vancouver. They would have prioritized the shooting victim, but an ambulatory patient would’ve been less of a priority.
“Yeah, so this firefighter…Ford…” Donovan rubbed his forehead again. Almost like he was trying to massage the memories from his mind. “Like, he took care of me, and…that’s it. I went to the hospital, they stitched me up, and I had to wait to see how Cole was.”
“Do you remember anything else? Did Meggibeth say anything, either before or when you tackled her or after…”
Donovan shook his head. “Not that I remember—and I’m pretty sure that’s something I would remember.” He shivered. “I’m cold. Can we go to a coffee shop or something?”
I had no problem getting out of the wind that’d picked up in the half hour we’d spent out here, but I wasn’t completely clear why we were going somewhere else. Somewhere public.