She looked away. “I just, like, I don’t understand what happened today. Why would someone want to hurt my mom and me? Over some dumb news story?”
“That’s a very good question,” Peter said. “I’d like to know the answer myself.”
KT nodded. “Me, too.”
The girl opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Go ahead,” Peter said. “Ask your question. You’ve earned the right.”
Ellie looked at her mom, then back to Peter. “What’s it like to be in a war?”
“It sucks,” Peter said.
Although that wasn’t the whole truth.
Because the sun never shone more brightly than when somebody was trying to kill you. You felt alive. That was war’s dirty little secret, the reason young men had fought since the dawn of time. War could be fun as hell.
Peter hated to admit that he missed it. But sometimes he did.
Which is one reason why, when June had called about the death threat, Peter had dropped what he was doing and climbed in his truck to help.
God help him.
—
A man appeared out of the night. Maybe sixty with a broad silver mustache, he was bulky and imposing in a long black slicker and a black cowboy hat, rain streaming from its broad brim. “Mr. Ash, I’m Captain Durant. May I have a word?” He pointed toward a tent a dozen yards away.
Peter climbed to his feet and took a few steps into the rain, which pattered on the silver blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Here’s good.” He didn’t want to get too far from KT and Ellie, sitting in the brightly lit ambulance. “What’s a police captain doing at the scene of an attempted murder?”
Durant had the hooded eyes and expressionless face of a man who’d seen everything and couldn’t unsee it. His blue-stubbled jowls lifted in a faint polite smile. “Detectives Kitzinger and O’Donnell work for me. I run our special investigations squad, among other things. I’m curious why you showed up on Western Avenue to begin with.”
“I already told Kitzinger and O’Donnell,” Peter said. “I was doing a project at my girlfriend’s property in Klickitat County when she called and said KT needed help. So I got in the truck and headed for Seattle.”
“That’s not an answer,” Durant said. “I want to know what kind of man drives four hours to put himself between a bullet and a woman he’s never met?”
Peter shrugged. It wasn’t complicated. “I like to be useful.”
“You were useful overseas, too,” Durant said. “I just got off the phone with someone I know at the Pentagon. He shared some details from your file. Silver Star, Bronze Star for valor, couple of Purple Hearts.”
Peter didn’t like talking about this. “None of that means anything. It’s just politics.”
“Riiiight.” Durant looked at him, a butterfly pinned to acorkboard.“And that’s why the rest of your file is almost completely redacted. Listen, I know you’re a serious guy. So I want to be straight with you, make sure you understand something. You saved lives today. We appreciate that, believe me. But your involvement is now over. This is a police matter.”
Peter felt the muscles bunch and flex in his shoulders. His neck was tight as a bridge cable. But he kept his voice casual, reasonable. “You understand why we might be curious.” He tipped his head toward KT, who’d been listening to their conversation. “Somebody tried to kill us today, and we have no idea why. We don’t even know his name.”
“That’s why I’m here, to share what I can. The guy’s name was Geoffrey Reed. He had no criminal convictions that we can find. He did have a number of arrests, however, and a history of serious mental illness, including one period of involuntary commitment in a psychiatric institution.”
“But what’s his connection to the stories KT was working? How did he get her home address? What about that stuff he said before he killed himself? He said he’d gotten a message. He was supposed to kill KT. Who sent the message? Why try to kill a journalist?”
“Mr. Ash—”
Peter’s voice rose. “The letter saidWe are Legion. Plural. I’m concerned that there might be somebody else involved. Did you get into his phone?”
Durant’s mustache twitched with irritation. “This isn’t our first investigation,” he said dryly. “We’re inside Geoffrey Reed’s phone, we looked at every app. We can’t find any messages telling him to kill anyone. We can’t find any messages at all, except a few texts from his sister. With his medical history, any message was more likely to come from the voices in his head. There’s no conspiracy. It’s easy to get somebody’s home address unless they spend a whole lot of time and money keeping it out of the system.”
He looked past Peter and raised his voice, aware that KT had been listening to their conversation. “Ms. Thorsen, was that a priority for you?”
“It was,” she said. “Obviously, it will be a much bigger priority after today.”
