Page 11 of Splintered Memories
Theyhadalotof questions. After the first few, there wasn’t much for me to gain from listening in. Emersyn was safe, now. The police officer still remained, as well as Brandon and Agent Hoffner.
Silently, I drifted toward the door, gripping the handle and opening it with barely a sound.
I felt her eyes on me before I slipped out. Glancing over my shoulder, I met her eyes. She hadn’t halted her conversation with the men questioning her, but her attention was focused on me.
I hesitated. I wouldn’t be any more help here, but if she wanted me to stay, I would.
As if she sensed my thoughts, her chin jerked slightly to the left, then to the right, shaking her head before tearing her eyes away. Shecontinued speaking, answering another question without missing a beat.
A smile tugged at my mouth, though I wasn’t sure why.
I slipped out of the apartment and hurried back down to Center Street.
The space where Emersyn had been standing before the shots sounded was tied off with yellow crime scene tape. Cops surrounded the area, keeping the curious crowd of locals gathered around the edge at bay. Someone was inspecting the brick wall of the building, probably a crime scene tech, and I squinted at where she gently probed the wall with gloved fingertips.
Four holes marred the brick, burrowed deep.
My stomach lurched at the memory—the gunshots. A prickle of anxiety crackled over my skin but I fought it.
If Emersyn hadn’t moved at that exact moment…a shiver jolted through me. I forced myself not to think about what could’ve happened.
Instead, I studied the holes. I stepped nearer, getting as close as possible in the small crowd. The holes seemed to be slanted slightly upward, as if the bullets had entered at a downward angle.
My gaze shifted to the tall buildings on the opposite side of the street. The tops of the buildings were all flat, most of them three stories tall and as old as the town itself.
I shifted, glancing back and forth from the holes in that wall, deducing to the best of my ability where those shots might’ve come from. Two of the buildings across the street seemed to fit the best, but one of them had a tall tree blocking the line of sight for the shot, leaving only one choice.
The bakery.
I’d been there only moments before the shooting, the donuts still laid crumbled in that pink box on the ground within the boundary of the crime scene tape. I crossed the street without another thought, all my senses on alert for anything out of place, any hint of a threat.
The bakery was on the bottom floor of the building I suspected the shots had come from. The second floor held office spaces; I wasn’t sure whether anything existed on the third, or whether it was only used for storage. The windows up there were dark and dingy, like they hadn’t been washed in years.
I rounded to the back of the building, eyes skimming the very top, looking for any signs of movement on the roof. There was none, but somethingwasout of place. My steps slowed as I approached the rear of the building. There was an old, rickety fire escape clinging there. The bottom ladder was pulled down to the ground.
My lips thinned. Flecks of dark rust littered the ground around the ladder like iron snowflakes. It had been recently pulled down after years of unuse. My pulse ratcheted up as I decided to climb the fire escape, mindful not to touch the railing in case there was any chance of getting fingerprints off the rusted, rough surface. The way the thing swayed and vibrated under my weight made it difficult, though.
I went as fast as I could, pausing before I came up to the roof. I reached for the concealed Glock in the holster at the small of my back. Racking the slide to chamber a round, I held the pistol at the ready. The muzzle of my gun made the first appearance over the lip of the roof before I climbed the last few steps up and peered onto the rooftop.
It was empty.
Even so, I didn’t lower my gun as I lifted myself up from the fire escape. My bad shoulder screamed in protest with the movement as Iclimbed onto the top of the building. My boots thumped over the roof as I walked, eyes scanning the space for anything out of place.
When I made it all the way over to the front side of the building, I stopped. The front facade extended up past the roof edge, rising up to my waist. Lowering my pistol at my side, I stared down at Center Street, everything smaller from way up here.
I lingered on the sight of the crime scene tape, and that place where the four little bullet holes were. My jaw hardened, and I tilted my head. This angle wasn’t quite right, but it was close.
I walked down toward the east corner of the building, staying close to the extended facade.
Here.
I stopped, turning back toward the street, toward the crime scene tape. Slowly, I lowered myself onto a knee, one eye closing as I zeroed in on where those shots had landed.
A perfect shot. Right here.
My back teeth ground together. Someone had been waiting here. Ready.
I glanced up, eyes locking onto a set of windows on the second floor of the building on the opposite side of the street, the windows of Emersyn’s brother’s apartment. Those windows had been open when I first entered. Whoever was here had a clear shot inside.
