Page 14 of High Treason
Middle Eastern? He didn’t want to put words into the boy’s mouth.
Monica spoke up. “Were his jeans torn?”
“I don’t know,” the boy said.
Kord recalled the fibers in his pocket. “How old was he?”
“My dad’s age maybe. Or yours.”
Kord had officially climbed over the hill. “Can you describe the toolbox?”
The kid did an assessment with his hands, approximately two feet long. “Black. Metal.”
Kord made his way to the boy and shook his hand. “Thanks. We appreciate it.” He nodded at Monica. “Other than determining where the sniper entered the school, do you have any more questions?”
“Just one more.” She waved at the group of players and coaches and reverted her attention to the boy. “Which way did he go?”
The boy dragged his tongue across his lips. “Outside and down the hall to the left.”
Kord and Monica followed the boy’s directions and entered the office. An older man sat at a desk filling out some kind of paperwork. Kord explained why they were there. “We know you’ve been asked the same questions, but repetition often sparks our memories.”
“Sure. I don’t mind. I came back on my own after the kids and teachers were evacuated. Police said it was okay for us to use this building. Work goes on. Didn’t see nary a thing.”
“We’re interested in a man dressed in jeans and carrying a toolbox,” Kord said.
The man tightened his brow. “Didn’t see any strangers.”
“Are all of your fellow workers accounted for?”
“All but Chip. He must have gone home.” He paused. “I know he missed an interview from HPD, and an officer requested his number.”
“Can you call him?” Kord said.
“Sure.” The man pressed in a number on his cell phone. After several long moments, the man offered Kord eye contact. “Chip,would you give me a call? You left without signing out.” He laid his phone on the desk. “He must be busy.”
“Sir—” Monica leaned in closer—“I’m sure there are areas of the school where only janitors are permitted. Can we take a look?”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you? Me too. Not like Chip to disappear.” He stood, his metal chair scraping across the tile floor. “I’ll show you.”
“We’re interested in supply and storage closets too.”
“The largest closet is really a room on down from my office. Got to keep chemicals and things away from the kids. Some of ’em would be snorting and making drugs if we didn’t.” He unclipped a ring of keys from his belt and led the way. “Are you thinking the killer could be hiding in there?”
That wasn’t what Kord feared, but his mind usually took the worst chain of events.
They approached a door labeled Keep Locked at All Times. The older man handed Kord the key. But the door was unlocked. He stepped inside and flipped on a light. Monica followed behind him.
Navy knit shirts withParamount High Schoolstitched on the left front pocket hung on hangers from pegs. Industrial-size cleaning products lined metal shelving. Five-gallon buckets with an assortment of mops and wet and dry vacs looked like statues. The pungent odor of the afternoon cleaning, a mix of orange and something he couldn’t identify, assaulted his nostrils. But he’d smelled much worse.
“Chip?” the older man said. “You back here, buddy?”
Kord walked deeper into the storage room.
A man lay flat on his back next to the wall, his neck slashed. Blood covered the floor near his head, and he wasn’t wearing the navy shirt for janitors.
Kord touched his fingers to the side of the man’s neck. No pulse.
THE SNIPERcould have passed for Chip. Hispanic. Similar height. The dead janitor had been targeted long before today.
