Acoustic Shadows by Patrick Kendrick Page A

shootings. One of the perps used to attend the school years ago. Not sure about the other one, yet. I don’t see anything that would lead me to believe this was a terrorist act, domestic or foreign. I heard the explosives they found were just pipe bombs and homemade crap.’
    ‘So were the pressure cooker bombs in Boston.’
    ‘Understood. I just don’t think you’ll find much that demands you or your department’s time.’
    Logan shrugged. ‘So, I hang out and assist as needed. Maybe liaison with ATF, take one monkey off your back. Okay? I’m not trying to interfere.’
    Thiery knew this to be true. She might be a horny woman with a questionable moral compass, but she was a damn good investigator, too. She was insightful, and she had helped him on several huge and legally tricky cases in the past.
    ‘One of the teachers reportedly shot the intruders,’ Thiery continued. ‘Her name is Erica Weisz. Maybe you could look into why she had a gun in a public school. Did she have a permit to carry and, if so, why? I’ll let you know if I need anything else,’ he ended, knowing full well how she would interpret those words.
    ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, lowering her chin but raising those cat eyes back up at him.
    He hesitated before telling her but figured she probably knew already. She’d once told him that she’d looked up his credit rating, knew which Internet sites he visited most often, and what grades his kids made in school. She was a Fed, so what was alarming about that? It was creepy, but not surprising to him.
    ‘I’m at a little cheesy joint up the road, The Sun Beam Motel. There’s nothing else nearby unless you want to go up to Lake Wales or Orlando.’
    ‘I’m in Orlando, at the Gaylord Palms. You know I couldn’t stay somewhere I had to worry about my feet sticking to the carpet.’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Thiery.
    Her Blackberry rang, and she put up a finger as if asking him to wait, then put the phone to her ear and turned away. He watched her walk to her car and felt his heart sink. Her blue FBI windbreaker failed to cover the ass that filled out her tactical pants. It taunted him like a schoolyard bully.
    ‘Ah, shit,’ he said to no one.

SIX
    Erica couldn’t sleep. They offered her pain medication, but she refused it. She wanted to be alert. The news covering the shooting was on; she tried not to watch it, but almost every channel had coverage of it. She was pleased none of the children had been killed, and terrified when they kept flashing a picture of her on the screen as they played up her role as a hero. They must’ve obtained it from the Calusa County School Board from her identification badge. It wasn’t a great picture, but it was good enough for someone looking for her to recognize.
    The photo popped up again, this time in response to one of the mothers of a student being interviewed. The reporter asked what she’d like to say to Erica Weisz, the hero of Travis Hanks Elementary. With a microphone in her face, her deep southern drawl making it difficult to understand, the woman said, ‘Yeah, I s’pose she is a hero.’ Her emphasis on HEE-row mortified Erica and she wished the reporters would just stop. ‘I mean, she saved the kids’ lives, right?’ the mother continued, ‘but, what would I like to say to her? I guess I should say thank you. But, to be truthful, I’d like to ask why she had a gun in a public school.’ The footage stopped with the woman’s face framed on screen mid-sentence, her mouth twisted, and her hair driven back by the wind making her look severe and angry.
    The reporter for a THN affiliate, a woman whose hair didn’t move when the wind blew, returned her attention to the camera and said, ‘there you have it, a thankful parent. But, as we’ve begun to hear, there are questions about where the gun came from that Erica Weisz used to slay the shooters. Initial reports came in saying she had wrestled the gun away from intruders, but