A Silent Fury. Lynette Eason
My husband, Alan Dillard, is the baseball coach at Esterman High School.” She placed a loving hand on the child’s head.
“This is Alan Jr.”
“I’m six,” the little guy piped in. “My mom hurt her hand.”
Catelyn smiled at him and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Alan Jr.”
Stacy gave a self-conscious laugh and held up her hand. “Carpal tunnel. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I should bring him or not, but my mother couldn’t babysit today and I didn’t want to miss…” Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back. Taking a deep breath, she blew it out. “Tracy’s brother, Zachary, is our catcher.”
Joseph spoke up. “Then you know Dylan Carlisle.”
The woman’s green eyes brightened, the tears fading. “Oh, sure, he used to hang around Zachary quite a lot. We have the team over for cookouts and such about once a month.” Her brows drew together in a slight frown. “I haven’t seen much of Dylan lately, though. How’s he doing? Is he here?”
“He’s upset about Tracy, of course, but other than that, he seems to be doing all right. And no, he’s not here.”
“I know you consider him a suspect, don’t you?” When neither Catelyn nor Joseph responded, she frowned. “Alan said you did. Dylan told him about being questioned by the police.” She let out a sigh. “I can’t see Dylan as having anything to do with Tracy’s death. If the police need a suspect, they need to be looking at Zachary, if you ask me.” She herded the child in front of her toward the door. “Well, I was waiting for Alan. He told me he’d meet me in the line, but he’s probably talking to someone and got held up. I guess I’d better see if I can find him. It’s good to meet you.”
She started to hurry off, but stopped when Catelyn laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. Why do you say that? About Zachary, I mean.”
The woman shrugged. “He and Tracy fought constantly. I even saw him shove her into the fence one day after a game. I don’t know what she said to him, but he didn’t like it. Tracy and Dylan argued some, too, but Dylan never put his hands on her like Zachary did. I don’t have anything other than just my feelings when I say Zachary should be a suspect.” She sighed. “And I probably shouldn’t have even said anything. Excuse me.” This time Catelyn didn’t stop her as she hurried off.
Catelyn looked at Joseph. “So Zachary plays on the baseball team and has a temper. And Dylan is known to hang out with him. Teammates and friends?”
“No crime in that. She also said she hadn’t seen Dylan in a while.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe the boys are former friends. I’ll have to ask Alonso and see what he says. Maybe it’s as simple as Dylan and Zachary had a falling out and he was avoiding being around him. That would explain why she hadn’t seen Dylan around—because he was doing his best to stay out of trouble.”
“Maybe.”
“I still want to know if Zachary’s a part of this gang. And who he was with earlier while his family was at home grieving.”
“As soon as we can get to him, we’ll find out.”
She spotted Stacy Dillard coming back her way. The poor thing looked harried. “I guess I’ll just wait here. I can’t find Alan anywhere.” Still clutching Alan Jr.’s hand, she slipped back into the line in front of Catelyn and Joseph. “Do you mind if I take my spot back?”
“Of course not. Go ahead.”
Stacy did and started talking to the person in front of her.
Catelyn stepped to the side to peer around the shifting line of bodies and into the visitation room. “I think I see him,” she told Joseph. “Standing next to his mother and younger brother.”
“Yep, that’s him.”
“Just a little closer. Oh, look, everyone’s standing.”
Zachary shook the next person’s hand, looking uncomfortable in his black suit and red tie. Tall, with the build of a natural athlete, he shifted, his eyes moving to and fro. He didn’t even bother to try and smile to the people offering condolences; in fact, he looked ready to bolt.
Catelyn leaned in a little closer to Joseph. “You got your running shoes on?”
“I was just thinking the same thing. Why would he run, though? We just want to talk to him?”
“Maybe he thinks that we think he knows something.”
“Yeah, and he’s scared he’ll tell us if we catch him.”
“Then let’s catch him.”
Two more steps forward. Zachary’s eyes raised, caught on Catelyn’s, flitted to the man beside her and widened. The fear in his face couldn’t be missed, not even with the distance still between them.
Sweat turned his face shiny and he shifted, glanced at his mother’s back, his sister in the now-closed coffin—and the door on the other side of the room.
“He’s gonna make a run for it,” Joseph predicted.
“I’m going to cover the other door. You get him from this side.”
“Right.”
Catelyn slipped out of line and headed down the short hall to the door that opened to the hallway around the corner. The open balcony above her now stood empty, occupied only moments before by friends and family who were now greeting the bereaved. If Zachary made it outside to his car, she’d lose him. Or he would have plenty of hiding places in the cemetery with the huge markers.
Rounding the corner, she was just in time to see a figure dart from the visitation room and head in the opposite direction.
“Zachary, stop! We just want to talk!”
The teen looked back once and kept going, picking up the pace to a fast jog.
Joseph came out of the room. He must have cut through in pursuit. No one else followed, so it must have been done discreetly.
“That way,” she pointed.
Together, they took off after the teen, then heard a door slam.
At the sound of a loud crack, Catelyn stopped, turned shocked eyes to Joseph who looked back at her with the same expression she knew her face wore.
“Gunshot?”
Catelyn pulled her weapon, shouting into her radio, “Shots fired,” as she raced to the door, yelling at everyone to get down. Joseph was two steps behind her, his gun drawn and ready. Shoving it open, she pulled to a stop, the sight before her sending horror up her spine.
Zachary lay in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving, blood pooling under his head.
FOUR
Five minutes later, the ambulance screamed into the parking lot across the street. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, they’d wait for the all-clear from the officers before they’d approach the scene. No matter who was hurt or how bad it was, for their own safety, medical personal could not enter the scene until it was deemed safe by officers.
Was the boy dead? Where were his parents? Were they still shaking hands with visitors, unaware their oldest son possibly lay dying—or was already dead?
Joseph gripped the tie he’d yanked from his neck, wishing he had the shooter by the throat instead. After the gunshot, Catelyn had secured the area, then bolted toward the fallen boy, placing her own life in danger, doing what she could for him while keeping an eye on the area around her.
Joseph had raced to the balcony after the shooter, knowing he was probably too late.
He found nothing but a spent cartridge. The shooter had disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared. Joseph radioed to let EMS know they could approach.
He