Page 25 of One Final Target

Fenton took the photo and studied it. He handed it to Logan. The deputy’s face was swathed in bandages. All Sam could see was the man’s right cheek and eye. The 9mm bullet had entered his face just below his left cheekbone and then took a downward trajectory and exited through his jaw. Luckily it missed all major arteries. Consequently, his most serious injury was a badly broken jaw. Doctors were likely going to do more surgery, but for now Chad could write answers to questions even though he couldn’t speak.

Chad studied the photo with his good eye and nodded. Handing the picture back to Fenton, he picked up a writing pad and began to write. After a few minutes and about a paragraph, he handed the pad to Fenton.

“He says this could be the guy. The shooter was small, maybe five-five, 120 to 130. Short, light-brown hair. He got out of the car shooting. He was white, wearing gloves, a red Angels baseball cap, and sunglasses.” He stopped. “There isn’t much else. The kid took him by surprise, coming out of the car shooting.”

Smiley rubbed his chin. “I’ll have our artist draw a composite with the description. What kind of gloves did he have on?”

“Disposable gloves.”

Sam hated hearing about gloves. “So we’re not likely to get any prints off the car?” he asked.

Smiley shrugged. “Let’s think positive. The lab is going over that car with a fine-tooth comb. We can hope the suspect wasn’t careful every minute.”

“If you say so,” Sam said, trying not to sound too disappointed. He turned his attention to Chad. “The guy didn’t say anything to you?”

Chad gave an almost-imperceptible shake of his head and winced.

“Do you really think this is connected to the IED explosion?” Fenton asked.

Sam saw Smiley’s eyes widen in surprise. “We do. The shooting occurred at the IED scene, and the target happens to be the only surviving officer of the IED. What other conclusion would you draw?”

“The guy in the photo isn’t Norman Hayes.”

“No, he’s not. But there is a connection somewhere and we will find it.”

CHAPTER14

MIDMORNING TUESDAYfound Jodie staring at the photo Tara sent her. She also had the composite the San Bernardino sheriff’s office had developed. Both were so generic it could be anyone. She wondered how much help composites really were. She remembered a sketch of D.B. Cooper, a hijacker from 1971. The sketch circulated everywhere, yet Cooper was never apprehended.

Frustrated, Jodie tossed the picture on her desk. Sketches weren’t always 100percent helpful. She found nothing familiar to her in the photo. She had mug shots of all the guys she’d arrested. She had mug shots of Hayes and all his known associates. This man driving a stolen car was not any of them. It made no sense, and it was crazy making.

She picked up one of her whiteboard pens, the red one, thecolor she used for her questions. She no longer thought the attack was anything but personal. She had always been the target. Her being shot at proved that. The first question she scrawled:

Who hates me so much they’d go through all of this, a hate so strong it’s lasted months after my team was killed?

1.Someone I arrested.

She had copies of all her arrest reports. She’d been threatened often in her career, but none of the arrestees who’d been vocal were viable suspects. There were two IA complaints in her file, both filed by mothers who insisted their sons didn’t deserve to be arrested. Internal affairs had investigated both complaints and determined them to be unfounded.

2.Someone I offended.

How do you make a list of offenses? I’ve probably offended a lot of people in my career. What would it take to rachet up to mass murder?She tried to think of any personal conflicts—she’d had few—but nothing in her memory rose to a code red status in her mind. There were two cops working in her department she thought were lazy, and she’d told them as much in their performance reviews when she was a patrol sergeant. One had approached her, angry, but then two months later he was terminated for filing a false police report. He never could have put together the IED.

3.Just a random nutjob?

Random nutjobs rarely had focused anger, so focused they’d hit a target and then hit the same one three months later.

She looked over the list, restlessness and frustration growing. She thought the shooting would blow things wide-open. But they were still running in circles. She grabbed her car keys and decided to visit Hayes’s stomping grounds. She’d run out of energy Sunday after encountering Finn. The funk had lasted all through Monday as well. Knowing that Juke was likely dead somewhere had sapped her strength. Today was as good a day as any to pick up where she left off.

Her doorbell rang and she groaned. Every fiber of her soul wanted to ignore the intrusion and stay still, hoping the person would just leave. She glanced at the phone and saw Jonah. She couldn’t hide from him.

Setting her keys down, she went to the door. “Uncle Jonah,” she said. Though he wasn’t a blood uncle, she’d always considered him one.

“Jodie.” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes, then hugged her tight. Jonah always wore a cologne Jodie loved, a scent that made her feel safe.

Her throat thickened, not so much because of Jonah, but because of the memories surrounding him. Much like the scent of his cologne, they were good memories. Mike, Gus, and Jonah had been friends since high school. Though from time to time, there were fights and bumps, as in any relationship, they called themselves the three amigos. They went through the police academy together thirty years ago, and even though Jonah left the job while Gus and Mike continued in law enforcement, they stayed lifelong friends. Jodie had known Jonah practically her whole life, but always as part of Mike-Gus-Jonah. Having him here alonebrought home the point that Gus was dead and the three amigos were no more.

Jodie pushed free of his grasp. “You didn’t have to cut your trip short because of me.” She backed into her apartment, and he followed.

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