Mean Streak

Looking at Emory, he continued. “His moving to the mountain wilderness wasn’t coincidental. He tracked Norman and Will Floyd here. He was out to wreak havoc on them and was only biding his time. Did he tell you that?”

“I inferred it, and when I asked, he didn’t deny it, but he also didn’t explain what he held against them.”

“We’ll get to that, too. First I want to ask you about his cache of firearms. Knight told me Bannock shot at the Floyds.”

“He didn’t,” she said. “He had a pistol, but he never used it. He never even took it out.”

In his own defense, Knight spoke up. “Norman Floyd told our deputy that Bannock fired both barrels of a shotgun at them.”

“That’s a lie,” Emory said with emphasis. “It was their shotgun, not his, and he used it to shoot out their TV.” The three men registered astonishment, prompting her to relate the circumstances.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Knight said. “He wanted to keep them from collecting the reward, but he didn’t collect it himself.”

“He’s not about money either,” Connell said.

“Wouldn’t it be far more enlightening if you told us what he is into rather than what he isn’t?”

Connell looked at Jeff, but didn’t acknowledge his catty remark. Coming back to Emory, he began asking her all the questions the detectives had already covered, but she answered them patiently. She apologized for not knowing the make and model of his truck.

“Don’t feel too bad,” the agent told her with a wry smile. “He would have ditched it by now anyway. Did he mention leaving?”

“Leaving town?” she asked.

“Leaving the area. Moving on, relocating.”

She shook her head.

“Did he mention a soccer coach in Salt Lake?”

“No.”

“A priest in Kentucky who resigned his parish and the priesthood, some believe under threat of death?”

“No.”

“A hairdresser in Wichita Falls, Texas?”

Emory shook her head in bafflement. “Why are you asking? What do these people have in common?”

The agent sat forward and propped his forearms on his thighs, speaking to her directly, as though they were the only ones in the room. “They have two things in common. Hayes Bannock.” He paused, took a breath. “And a mass shooting in Virginia that left eight people dead.”

You only thought you missed all the excitement of Virginia. His words to Norman Floyd.

Emory’s stomach lurched. Without even excusing herself, she shot off the sofa and took the stairs in record time. Upon reaching the bedroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it as though to keep out the horrific thoughts assailing her.

Mass shooting. Eight people. Dead.

Feeling faint and needing air, she staggered to the sliding glass door that opened onto a narrow balcony. She went to the railing and gripped it, impervious to the biting cold of the metal.

Eight people. Dead.

She breathed deeply of the icy air. The vapor of her exhales blended into the fog swirling around her.

Suddenly sensing a presence, she turned her head.

Only a few feet away from her, standing on the neighboring suite’s balcony, was…

Hayes Bannock.