Page 5 of Night Prey
The shooter coming back the other way?
Malone grabbed the gun and pointed it at the door, her hands shaking.
“Drop it, Malone.” Ian stood in the doorway, his own weapon drawn and pointed at her.
“He…” She looked down at Junior and lowered her hand. “I think he’s dead.”
The sound of two gunshots, as crisp and clear as could be, had Ian calling for backup and running for the room down the dark hallway. Finding Malone leaning over Junior with what was likely the murder weapon in her hand. No. He’d never imagined he’d find that. Never.
He crossed the room, gun still trained on her, and eased the gun from her hand. He kept his gaze on her in case she decided to run and holstered his firearm. He put on gloves he always carried in his jacket pocket, and popped out the clip on the gun he’d recovered from her, surprised not to find any bullets. He shoved the magazine back into the gun and tucked it in his belt.
She stood, eyes trained on Junior, shock creating a tight mask on her face. He couldn’t tell what she was really feeling as he kept his focus on her but squatted down and checked Junior’s pulse to be sure he was dead.
“I didn’t shoot him,” she said.
“No?” He tried not to sound disbelieving, but it sure looked like she was the shooter.
She shook her head. “I didn’t even bring my gun tonight. I left it at home. It took up too much room in my evening bag.” She pointed at a sparkly little purse lying on the carpeted floor a few feet from Junior’s body.
Ian stood, evaluating the size of the bag which could hold a gun, but not along with other essentials. “Then where did the gun come from?”
“The shooter had it.” She lifted her trembling hand to point at the side door, her focus following along. “He came in that way. Shot Junior twice and then crossed the room to steal Junior’s phone. Then, he put the gun in my hand.”
Ian didn’t think the Malone he knew would lie about such an important thing, but if she did kill Junior, she might. Nor did he think she would commit murder, but her story of a shooter handing over his gun stretched credibility. “You don’t think the guy was worried you might shoot him?”
“He didn’t seem to be.” She finally looked at Ian, and her haunted eyes were like a physical punch to his gut.
“I thought about it,” she said. “But I couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Maybe couldn’t shoot a man at all. He must’ve been counting on that.”
“Maybe that’s why there were only two bullets in the gun.”
“Right, yeah. That makes sense.” Her eyes cleared. “Either way, you have to go after him. He’s getting away.”
“I called for backup on the way, and officers will seal off the hotel, but I suspect we might already be too late. I need to stay here to preserve the murder scene and keep an eye on you.” He took a breath. “Describe the man so I can tell the officers who they’re looking for.”
“He was wearing a black ski mask so I couldn’t see his face. He was six feet tall or so. Slender. Dressed all in black.”
“That describes half the guys in our class, but I’ll still put out an alert.” Ian took out his phone and shared the description, but he sounded skeptical.
“You know I didn’t do this, right?” she asked when he ended his call.
He didn’t answer.
“Seriously, Ian. I might not have liked Junior, but I’m not a killer.”
He wanted to assure her, but he had to consider the evidence in front of him, not how he felt about the person. “Look at the incident from my point of view. The point of view of a police officer. Two gunshots are fired, and I enter the room where they were fired to find one person deceased from gunshot wounds and one living person with a gun in hand, the living person having recently argued with the deceased. What conclusion would you draw?”
“Not the one you’re drawing.” She crossed her arms. “I’d take into account the character of the people in the room. In this case, it would be clear to me that someone is trying to set me up for murder.”
2
Malone watched. Listened. The rasping sound of the body bag zipper razored into her brain and stayed there while the medical examiner and her assistant loaded the body onto a gurney. The body of a man who’d been murdered right in front of Malone. Unbelievable. Could she have done something differently? Saved him?
She gritted her teeth to keep from crying and willed the sound from her mind to focus on Ian. He’d taken charge, escorting her to a chair on the side of the room and telling her to stay put. As soon as patrol officers arrived, he’d assigned a young guy, Officer Yeager, to search her and cuff her, then stand watch over her.
Ian had called in the ME and forensics staff and made copious notes in his small notebook. He’d also dispatched officers to the other ballroom to take witness statements from classmates who’d heard her arguing with Junior. That didn’t look good for her at all, but it didn’t really matter. Shehadargued with him and wouldn’t dispute it.
Ian occasionally glanced at her, his expression blank when she wanted him to empathize with her. To show her he believed her. To help her deal with seeing a man gunned down. But all she received was a blank, professional stare. She’d asked to call her brother, Reed, an FBI agent, for support, but Ian said no phone calls. Not yet, he’d said.
