“There are so many freaky variations these days, but it looks that
way.”
Reynolds was very familiar with the Berdan primer. It differed from
the American version principally in that it had no integral anvil. The
anvil was constructed right into the cartridge case, forming a
miniature T-shaped projection in the primer pocket with two flash holes
to allow the exploded primer to get to the powder. It was a clever,
efficient design, Reynolds thought.
When you pulled the trigger of a weapon, Brooke had learned when she
joined the Bureau, the firing pin hit the primer cup, compressing the
primer between the cup and anvil and causing the primer to explode.
This mini-explosion, in turn, shot through the flash holes and ignited
the powder to temperatures in excess of five thousand degrees. A
millisecond later the bullet went roaring down the gun barrel, and
before you could blink, a human being was probably dead. Guns were by
far the weapon of choice for murder in America, and Brooke knew that
homicides happened at the rate of fifty-five times a day in the United
States. Consequently, Reynolds and her colleagues would never lack for
work.
“European-manufactured shells might tie in to the foreign interest
angle Lockhart was telling us about,” Reynolds said almost to herself.
“So Adams and the shooter were going at it and Adams gets the better of
it.” Reynolds stared thoughtfully at her partner. “Any connection
between Adams and Lockhart?”
“None that we can see right now, but we’ve just started digging.”
“Here’s another theory, Connie: Adams came out of the woods, killed Ken
and then went back through the woods. He could’ve fallen on something
and cut himself. That would account for the blood. I know that
doesn’t explain the rifle slug, but it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.
For all we know, he was carrying a rifle as well. Or it could have
been from a hunter’s gun. They hunt in those woods, I bet.”
“Come on, Brooke. The guy can’t have a gun battle with himself.
Remember the two separate piles of different shell casings. And no
hunter I know is going to stand there and pump shot after shot at
something. they’ll kill their buddy or maybe themselves. Most states
require plugs in a rifle’s magazine to limit shots for that very
reason. And those shell casings hadn’t been there very long.”
“Okay, okay, but I’m just not willing to trust Adams at this point.”
“And you think I am? I don’t trust my own mother, God rest her soul.
But I can’t ignore facts either. Lockhart drives away in Ken’s car?
And Adams just leaves his boots behind before he takes his jaunt
through the woods? Come on, you don’t believe that.”
“Look, Connie, I’m just pointing out the possibilities. I’m not saying
I’m sold on any of them. The thing that keeps bugging me is, what
spooked Ken? If the shooter’s in the woods, it wasn’t him.”
Connie rubbed his jaw. “Now, that’s true.”
Reynolds suddenly snapped her fingers. “Dammit, the door. How could I
have been so blind? When we got to the cottage the screen door was
wide open. I remember it clearly. It opens out, so Ken would have
seen it when he turned that way. What would he have done? Pull his
gun.”
“And he might have seen the boots too. It was dark, but the cottage’s
back porch isn’t that big.” Connie took another swallow of Coke and
rubbed his left temple. “Come on, Advil, do your magic. Well, we’ll
know for certain if Adams was even there when the lab guys unscramble
the video.”
“If they unscramble it. But why would Adams have been at the cottage
in the first place?”
“Maybe someone hired him to shadow Lockhart.”
“Buchanan?”
“Probably first on my list.”
“But if Buchanan hired the shooter to take out Lockhart, why have Adams
there to witness it?”
Connie bunched up his thick shoulders and then let them collapse, like
a bear scratching itself against a tree. “That for sure doesn’t make a
helluva lot of sense.”
“Well, let me complicate things further for you. Two tickets were
purchased by Lockhart for a trip to Norfolk. But only one in her real