Page 39 of Disarming Caine

What did I want out of this meeting? What were they going to glean from this video that the police hadn’t been able to? Maybe I was hoping they’d tell me I did the right thing, because no one else in my life would.

“Brave,” said Harry. “Foolish, but brave.”

“You want to talk it out?” Quinn sat, turning off the compassion and shifting into business mode.Thatwas what I needed. “Let’s watch it. Fast, slow, sound on or off, whatever you want.”

I played it again in slow motion. We turned the volume up but couldn’t hear much beyond the gunshots and yelling.

A separate exterior video gave us a closer view of the shooter and better sound.

“You got the license plate?” Harry scribbled on the notepad in front of him when Quinn read the details from the claim file. He pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Quinn stood and approached the television. “Zoom in on the shooter.”

The face was concealed, other than a slit for vision. The video feed was black and white, but it was clearly someone with light skin and dark eyes.

Harry finished typing and looked at the screen. “Not much to see, is there?”

I switched back to the interior security feed, pausing on a zoomed-in view of the shooter, gun muzzle lit up.

I joined Quinn at the display, tapping the gun. “We can see he was alone—I’m going withhebased on size and shape. The gun came out after he was in front of the gallery and disappeared before he sped up. This was an intentional shooting at the gallery. There was literally nothing else he could have been aiming at. Regardless of that first bullet almost hitting us, I saw the bullet pattern inside, and I’m not sure Rhonda was the target. It definitely wasn’t me—I was halfway across the room.”

Harry hit play, on slow motion.

“First shot hits the painting,” I said. “I tackle Rhonda to the floor. Two, three, four, fi—Harry, stop!”

I hurried to my seat and dragged the video back to where the gun first appeared. “Count the muzzle flares.”

We all focused on the screen, counting.

“I got six,” said Quinn.

“I got seven,” said Harry.

I reset the video and played again with the sound off before we had a consensus. “Definitely seven.”

Quinn sat at her computer, pouring through details. “Preliminary police report is attached to the claim. It said six bullet holes inside the gallery.”

“Yeah. One through the painting and five clustered together.” I tapped my screen. “What does this mean?”

Harry and Quinn’s eyes met, and he said, “I need to go talk to Rhonda, anyway. Let’s take a look in person.”

WhileIdrovethethree of us to Mason’s Gallery, Harry received a call from a friend of his at the Brenton PD.

“No big surprise,” he said as he hung up. “Stolen vehicle.”

Quinn nodded from the back seat. “And I checked before we left—it’s not covered by Foster.”

I pulled into a parking spot down the road from the gallery. “What do we do with that information?”

“Nothing.” Harry hauled on a thick pair of gloves, tucking them under his parka sleeves. “Given the shooting at the Brenton Arms last night, I expect the police will make both shootings their top priority.”

My stomach dropped and my hands froze on the steering wheel. Last night was an accident. It had to be an accident.Calm down, Sam.

“Sam?” Quinn touched my arm.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got white as a sheet, hun.”

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