“You’re probably right. Considering the importance of the time factor. Okay. I’ll have a car at your house tomorrow morning at seven sharp.”
The conversation confirmed for Gurney that the man was uneasy enough with Beckert, or someone else in the department, to keep the phone out of their hands until there was an objective record of whatever information could be extracted from it.
He turned his attention to the manila envelope, pulled out the case file, and spread out its contents on the den desk. He saw the standard items—the incident report, witness statements, site photos and sketches, early progress reports, various updates and addenda—none of which at first glance were especially helpful or surprising. There was also a DVD. It was labeled RAM-CAM VIDEO, WILLARD PARK, STEELE HOMICIDE. He pushed aside the other items and inserted it in his laptop’s external drive.
The video was as he remembered it from the big-screen TV at the Gelters’ party and again at the first CSMT meeting. Presumably excerpted from a longer recording, the segment began about three minutes prior to the shot and continued for about two minutes after it. During this viewing, Gurney timed the appearance of the red laser dot on the back of Steele’s head, confirming his initial estimate that it preceded the fatal shot by just over two minutes. The precision with which the dot followed Steele’s movements confirmed his impression that the rifle that fired the shot was mounted on a tripod, possibly one with a motion-dampening mechanism of the kind used in filmmaking.
He watched the video three times. On the third viewing he noted an oddity that hadn’t struck him before. When Steele was shot he was moving to a new position on the sidewalk. But for nearly twenty seconds leading up to that he’d been standing still. Why had the shooter bypassed that easy opportunity in favor of a riskier moving target?
He continued going through the file until he came to a computer printout labeled “Potential Shooter Sites Defined by Bullet Trajectory Parameters.” The printout displayed a narrow, triangular outline overlaid on a map of White River. The tip of the triangle touched the spot at the edge of the park where Steele was shot. The outline extended out from that point approximately a quarter of a mile across the center of the city—enclosing the likely area from which the shot had come, based on the calculated trajectory.
Although there was no indication in the file what was being done with this diagram, it was obvious to Gurney that the next step would be to narrow the possibilities by going to the spot where Steele was standing at the moment of impact and with binoculars survey the area contained within the triangle to find the clear lines of sight to windows, rooftops, and open areas not obscured by other structures. Since the target had to be visible to the sniper, the sniper’s location would have to be visible from the target’s location. Taking this simple step would dramatically limit the areas that needed to be searched.
He was tempted to call Mark Torres and make sure this was happening. But something told him not to interfere. The sniper’s location would soon be identified and turned over to the crime-scene team with their cameras, vacuums, evidence bags, and fingerprint kits. In the interim there was plenty for him to do that didn’t involve stepping on other people’s toes.
Another face-to-face conversation with Kim Steele, for example, might be a more productive use of his time. During her visit earlier that day Kim had given Madeleine her address, email, and phone number.
He picked up his phone and entered Kim’s number.
“Yes?” Her voice was leaden.
“Kim, this is Dave Gurney.”
“Yes?”
“I have a meeting in White River tomorrow. I was wondering if I could stop by on my way and talk to you.”
“Tomorrow?”
“It would be sometime in the morning. Is that all right?”
“It’s all right. I’m here.”
He wondered whether her monotone responses were coming from the exhaustion of grief or an emotion-deadening medication. “Thank you, Kim. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
That night, for the first time in more than a year, he had
On their way to the playground on a sunny day.
Danny walking in front of him.
Following a pigeon on the sidewalk.
He himself only partly present.
Pondering a twist in a murder case he was working on.
Distracted by a bright idea, a possible solution.
The pigeon stepping off the curb into the street.
Danny following the pigeon.
The sickening, heart-stopping thump.
Danny’s body tossed through the air, hitting the pavement, rolling.
Rolling.
The red BMW racing away.
Screeching around a corner.
Gone.
Gurney awoke in an agony of grief. In the gray light of dawn. Madeleine holding his hand. She knew about the dream. He’d been having it, on and off, for nearly twenty years.
