Read Online Acoustic Shadows by Patrick Kendrick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Kendrick
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requested reports from all in attendance, then asked Chief Dunham to head the interviews with the families of survivors and victims. Though he didn’t say it aloud, he felt Dunham had a natural compassion that made people more comfortable talking to him. Dunham nodded his head graciously and accepted the assignment.
Thiery asked Sheriff Conroy to have his department do the most extensive reports, the scene diagrams and initial entry reports, and to follow up with the county dispatch system to get an accurate account of any calls they received, the times they came in, were dispatched, units arrived,
et cetera
.
Conroy almost sneered as he said, ‘that’s what I was going to do anyway.’
Thiery was in no mood for his callousness. ‘Good, Sheriff Conroy, then you’re probably as concerned as I am about the reports I’m hearing on the response to the school.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Conroy, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against.
Thiery’s jaw muscles flexed as he pondered the quandary of calling out the local sheriff in front of his peers, or swallowing his own pride and looking weak in front of the same group. He was about to say something not very nice when Logan stepped in.
‘I think what Agent Thiery was saying is, it’s very late, and we all know what we have to do.’
All eyes turned toward her. She’d come into the meeting later than the others and had stayed hidden in the back of the room until now.
‘Hi, I’m Agent Sara Logan, with the FBI. Agent Thiery asked me to follow up on the guns used in this morning’s incident, and I’ve accepted that assignment. So, if any of you have questions or comments regarding the subject, please don’t hesitate to contact me.’
Thiery nodded. ‘Thanks, Agent Logan. Which reminds me, I need to ask you all to get with your administrative staff and, when your officers have completed their reports with whatever system you use, have them send them to me in a PDF format, okay? And, before we leave tonight, I need to get everyone’s contact information on a piece of paper we can duplicate and share with each other.’
‘I, uh, already have that, sir,’ said Dunham. He stood up, no taller than anyone’s shoulders in the room, walked to the front, handed a copy to Thiery, then began handing them to other officers.
‘Thanks, Chief,’ said Thiery, nodding his gratitude.
Fatigue permeated the room like a Port-O-Potty air freshener. The combined scents of gun oil, leather, Kevlar, and sweaty bodies covered in polyester uniforms wafted about. Thiery could hear stomachs growling and watched officers rubbing tired, red eyes. Most of them had been there for fifteen hours, or more.
‘Okay, people,’ said Thiery, ‘let’s wrap it up for tonight. You have my number. Please call if you think of anything pertinent. I’ll touch base with all of you tomorrow. Try to have a good night, and get some rest.’
Everyone filed out of the room and headed to their cars. Thiery saw Logan talking to Conroy off to the side and paused, then decided to keep moving. At that point, he didn’t want to talk to either one of them.
It was three o’clock in the morning at the tiny Sun Beam Motel, a clean but dated motor court that offered HBO, free Wi-Fi, a swimming pool, and close proximity to Legoland. After settling in, Thiery called his sons. Both lived in California: one in the Navy, twenty-one-year-old Leif, stationed in San Diego; the other, Owen, a twenty-three-year-old firefighter in San Francisco. After seeing the devastation at the school, Thiery ached to tell them he loved them.
Neither answered their phone. He tried not to take it personally. He wondered if they’d heard about the shooting, wherever they were. It would be midnight in California. They were both young and probably partying. Maybe they were both on shift at work.
He had felt a distance develop as they had grown up with him, their only parent. It was difficult to be
Thiery asked Sheriff Conroy to have his department do the most extensive reports, the scene diagrams and initial entry reports, and to follow up with the county dispatch system to get an accurate account of any calls they received, the times they came in, were dispatched, units arrived,
et cetera
.
Conroy almost sneered as he said, ‘that’s what I was going to do anyway.’
Thiery was in no mood for his callousness. ‘Good, Sheriff Conroy, then you’re probably as concerned as I am about the reports I’m hearing on the response to the school.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Conroy, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against.
Thiery’s jaw muscles flexed as he pondered the quandary of calling out the local sheriff in front of his peers, or swallowing his own pride and looking weak in front of the same group. He was about to say something not very nice when Logan stepped in.
‘I think what Agent Thiery was saying is, it’s very late, and we all know what we have to do.’
All eyes turned toward her. She’d come into the meeting later than the others and had stayed hidden in the back of the room until now.
‘Hi, I’m Agent Sara Logan, with the FBI. Agent Thiery asked me to follow up on the guns used in this morning’s incident, and I’ve accepted that assignment. So, if any of you have questions or comments regarding the subject, please don’t hesitate to contact me.’
Thiery nodded. ‘Thanks, Agent Logan. Which reminds me, I need to ask you all to get with your administrative staff and, when your officers have completed their reports with whatever system you use, have them send them to me in a PDF format, okay? And, before we leave tonight, I need to get everyone’s contact information on a piece of paper we can duplicate and share with each other.’
‘I, uh, already have that, sir,’ said Dunham. He stood up, no taller than anyone’s shoulders in the room, walked to the front, handed a copy to Thiery, then began handing them to other officers.
‘Thanks, Chief,’ said Thiery, nodding his gratitude.
Fatigue permeated the room like a Port-O-Potty air freshener. The combined scents of gun oil, leather, Kevlar, and sweaty bodies covered in polyester uniforms wafted about. Thiery could hear stomachs growling and watched officers rubbing tired, red eyes. Most of them had been there for fifteen hours, or more.
‘Okay, people,’ said Thiery, ‘let’s wrap it up for tonight. You have my number. Please call if you think of anything pertinent. I’ll touch base with all of you tomorrow. Try to have a good night, and get some rest.’
Everyone filed out of the room and headed to their cars. Thiery saw Logan talking to Conroy off to the side and paused, then decided to keep moving. At that point, he didn’t want to talk to either one of them.
It was three o’clock in the morning at the tiny Sun Beam Motel, a clean but dated motor court that offered HBO, free Wi-Fi, a swimming pool, and close proximity to Legoland. After settling in, Thiery called his sons. Both lived in California: one in the Navy, twenty-one-year-old Leif, stationed in San Diego; the other, Owen, a twenty-three-year-old firefighter in San Francisco. After seeing the devastation at the school, Thiery ached to tell them he loved them.
Neither answered their phone. He tried not to take it personally. He wondered if they’d heard about the shooting, wherever they were. It would be midnight in California. They were both young and probably partying. Maybe they were both on shift at work.
He had felt a distance develop as they had grown up with him, their only parent. It was difficult to be
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