Elle withered. “What?”
“Since the fairground isn’t within a city limit, the investigation falls to the county sheriff’s office. Detectives want to talk to you, but they’re extending you the courtesy of coming here rather than having you go to them. If you hadn’t woken up when you did, I would have had to wake you. They’re due here soon.”
“The culprit killed himself,” Elle said. “What is there to investigate?”
“I guess you’ll find out.”
Just then a phone rang, and Glenda said, “That’s yours. Want me to get it?”
“Please.”
She answered Elle’s cell phone, which was sitting beside hers on the coffee table. After identifying herself, she listened, then said, “She’s unavailable, especially to the media, and how did you get her number, anyway?”
More listening, then she covered the mouthpiece. “Shauna Calloway. Channel seven. She said to tell you that she’s a close personal friend of Calder Hudson.”
“Who’s that?”
“The name doesn’t mean anything to you?”
Elle shook her head.
“Me, either.” Glenda went back to the phone, through which Elle could hear a woman still talking in clipped, imperative tones. “I don’t care who you’re friends with. Ms. Portman is unavailable for comment. Don’t call again.” Glenda clicked off and huffed, “Honestly. Pushy bitch.”
“It will be all over the news, won’t it?”
“It already is, Elle.” She motioned toward the television. “Do you want to—”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so, which is why I haven’t watched, either.”
The doorbell rang. Swearing under her breath, Glenda said, “It’s Grand Damn Central Station in here.” She went to the front window and peered out.
“A man and a woman who I would bet are the expected detectives. They’re right on time.” She turned back to Elle. “Are you up to this? Say the word and I’ll barricade the door.”
“It won’t be any easier later.”
“Talking to cops is never easy. I have a lot of high-profile celebrity clients, remember. Occasionally one gets into a scrape. Police provide a much-needed public service, but keep in mind that they have their own agenda.”
Elle looked down at her ragged jeans and one of her T-shirts that needed an upgrade. “Am I at least presentable?”
“Who gives a shit?”
Elle blurted a humorless laugh. “Let them in.”
Glenda left her, went into the foyer, and answered the door. Introductions were murmured. Glenda said, “I’m Elle’s friend Glenda Foster. Is this absolutely necessary right now?”
More murmuring, then the shuffle of feet as the two detectives came inside. They preceded Glenda into the living room. She introduced them as Detectives Perkins and Compton. “This is Elle Portman.” She motioned them into a pair of armchairs.
Compton dragged hers several inches closer to the easy chair in which Elle sat. She tipped her head toward the compression sleeve on Elle’s arm. “How is it?”
“Nothing bad. I landed hard on my elbow and caused temporary numbness. Like when you hit your funny bone, except about a hundred times worse. It’ll be all right.”
She’d been told all that by the intern in the ER after her arm was x-rayed. Her elbow hadn’t been dislocated. No bones were broken. Her arm had been wrapped in the cold pack and put in a sling. She’d been given prescription-strength ibuprofen to take for inflammation and then released… to reunite with Charlie in the morgue.
Her attention was brought back to Compton, who was speaking softly. “On behalf of everyone in the sheriff’s department, I want to extend our deepest sympathy, Ms. Portman.”
“Thank you.”
“Detective Perkins and I realize what an intrusion our visit is and apologize for the necessity of it.”
“Why is it a necessity? Word filtered down while I was still in the emergency room that the shooter had taken his own life at the scene.”
“We’re trying to establish his motive.”
“Then I’ll help you any way I can,” Elle stated. “Because I want to know why. Why did my son die that way? Why?” Her voice cracked. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry into them.
In an instant Glenda was beside her with a box of tissues. “Do you want some water? Anything?”
Elle pulled a tissue from the box and blotted her eyes. “Nothing, thanks.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Portman. You’ve suffered a terrible loss. Words are inadequate.”
She met Compton’s gaze and nodded a thank-you. “You are exactly right. Words are inadequate, so don’t waste them. What I want, need—demand—is an explanation beyond the banal. Since you’re investigating, I charge you with finding out why he did it.”
Chapter 5
Compton remained calm, no doubt having heard similar mandates from victims of violent crime. “We have personnel working day and night, in conjunction with state authorities, to provide you with answers as to why this individual did what he did. We can’t bring your son back, but, I assure you, Ms. Portman, that we wish to give you whatever closure we’re able.”
She reached into the pocket of her blazer. “The suspect.” She passed Elle a photograph.
It was a mug shot. The young man staring back at her embodied hostility and insolence. He was smirking with contempt. “His name?”
“It’s being withheld because he was only sixteen, and we’ve yet to locate a parent or guardian. He’d been in trouble since puberty and had a police record.” She gave Elle a rundown of the teen’s criminal history.
Glenda muttered a profanity under her breath and said, “And this miscreant was walking among us?”
“He didn’t have any outstanding warrants,” Perkins said. “His fingerprints were linked only to his previous arrests.”
“That’s a huge comfort,” Glenda said, glaring at him. “I feel much better now.”
The detective remained unmoved by her sarcasm.
Compton continued. “He skipped out on his probation officer in Houston over a year ago and definitely worked the system.”
“Dysfunctional system,” Glenda said.
“He was crafty enough to get himself employed at the fairground. But they didn’t check the information on his application form very well, if at all. His name was authentic, but the New Mexico driver’s license he used for his ID was fake. He filled in a Dallas zip code, but the street address doesn’t exist, which makes it extremely difficult to track his recent actions, including those of yesterday afternoon.
“We’re trying to learn where he went and who he saw prior to the shooting. Had he posted rants or grievances on social media? He didn’t have activity like that on his phone, but it could have been a burner that he used only to make calls. He could have had a computer tucked away somewhere. We’re investigating all that because there may be others involved that we don’t know about.”
“You mean accomplices?” Elle asked.