One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 52
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Hunter accepted it with a head gesture.
‘So one way to get closer to him is to know all we can about how he does what he does, and Michelle and Harry are the only people who can help us understand how he does it.’ He took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘I’ll pick Anna up straight after I leave here, but right now this is me doing the best I can do to protect her.’ Garcia started walking toward the building.
Sixty-Eight
Harry Mills had come up from the Cybercrime Division’s underground floor to greet Hunter and Garcia at the entrance lobby of the FBI building. He guided them past the reception desk, through the security doors, down the hallway and finally into the elevator, but this time he pressed the button to sublevel three instead of sublevel one.
‘Michelle is at the underground shooting range on the third sublevel,’ Harry explained. ‘It’s how she lets off steam – Metal music and shooting the hell out of a paper target.’ The elevator doors seemed to take forever to close, and Harry repeatedly stabbed his finger at the button.
‘Everything OK?’ Hunter asked.
Harry shrugged. ‘We just got some bad news. A victim in one of the pedophile cases we’re investigating committed suicide about an hour ago. She was twelve.’
The silence that followed was only broken by the mechanical female voice announcing they’d arrived at underground level three.
The elevator doors slid open, and Harry escorted them down another concrete corridor. Light came from fluorescent tubes that ran down the center of the ceiling. They turned left, then right, and arrived at a set of thick, dark glass double doors. Harry swiped his FBI ID card through the electronic keypad on the wall, typed in a six-digit code and the doors buzzed open.
As they stepped inside a small anteroom, the very familiar sound of target practicing filled their ears. A weapons master sat alone inside a separate room, visible through a large security glass window on the east wall. Harry signed both detectives in.
‘She’s in the usual booth,’ the weapons master said, jerking his head to one side.
Another short hallway finally led them into the target practice range, where the noise level shot up five-fold. Twelve individual shooting booths were lined side by side facing a large westward target forum. The first four booths were taken by FBI agents in crisp black suits, yellow-tinted shooting glasses and clunky earmuffs. None of them acknowledged the new arrivals.
The next seven booths were empty. Michelle Kelly was occupying the very last one. She was wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans and black boots. Her long hair had been twisted around and thrown forward over her right shoulder in a casual manner. Instead of the usual large earmuffs, she had white earphones stuck deep into her ears. As they approached her booth, they all saw her fire six quick shots with a semiautomatic handgun at a male torso painted onto a paper target twenty-two yards away.
Michelle removed her earphones and thumbed the safety on before placing the gun on the booth ledge in front of her. She pressed the button that controlled the target slide, and the male torso came flying toward her like Superman.
Six body shots – four around the heart area, one to the left shoulder and one at the stomach/chest borderline.
‘Great shooting,’ Hunter said.
She looked at him with fire in her eyes. ‘If you think you can do better, grab a gun, hotshot.’
Garcia and Hunter cocked their heads back in surprise.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Hunter said. ‘And I wasn’t being sarcastic. That was actually very good shooting.’
‘For a woman, you mean?’
Hunter looked at Garcia, then Harry, then back at Michelle. ‘I didn’t say or imply that either.’
Garcia sleekly took a step back, sensing trouble. He didn’t want to get caught in whatever it was that was happening.
‘Why don’t you grab a gun?’ Michelle forced the issue. ‘Let’s do this. FBI against LAPD. Guy against girl. Whatever you want to call it. Let’s see how well you can shoot.’
Hunter held her burning stare for a second. She definitely hadn’t let off enough steam yet.
‘I can save you the hassle,’ he said. ‘I’m not that accurate.’ He nodded at the paper target as she unclipped it from the slide and put a brand-new one in place. ‘And we don’t have a lot of time to spare, Michelle.’
‘That’s a bullshit excuse. And this won’t take more than a few seconds,’ she replied, slotting a new ammo clip into her gun. ‘9mm pistol OK for you?’ she asked, but answered it herself. ‘But of course it is. Harry, could you, please?’ She nodded toward the weapons room.
Hunter and Garcia knew full well that arguing with a woman when she was in that frame of mind was a futile exercise. Especially one with a gun.
A minute later Harry was back with a pair of protective earmuffs, a pair of yellow-tinted anti-haze glasses and a 9mm Glock 19 compact pistol – the same type Michelle was using.
Hunter said no to the glasses.
‘Standard six shots practice,’ Michelle said, even though the Glock 19 ammo clip holds fifteen bullets. She indicated the empty booth to her left. ‘Kill shots only, and don’t hold back. I’ll know if you do.’
Garcia peeked at Hunter but said nothing.
Hunter took booth number ten, leaving an empty one sandwiched between him and Michelle. She returned her earphones to her ear, cranked up the volume on her MP3 player and gave Hunter a head signal. Still, he waited for Michelle to fire first.
The shots came out fast and furious. Twelve shots in eight seconds.
When the noise died down, they both removed their ear protection and reached for the target slide buttons.
Michelle’s target showed three heart-shots, two head-shots – left cheek and forehead – and one throat-shot. She smiled as she unclipped the paper target.
Hunter had placed one shot on the target’s left shoulder; the other five were spread around its chest area. Only two could be considered lethal shots to the heart.
Michelle looked at Hunter’s targets. ‘That’s not very reassuring, taking into account that you’re trained to protect and serve.’
‘What do you mean?’ Garcia said, checking Hunter’s target. ‘Any of those shots would’ve halted any perpetrator.’
‘That’s true,’ Michelle accepted. ‘But I did say kill shots only, didn’t I?’ She glared at Hunter. ‘Want to go again?’
Hunter thumbed the safety on and returned the pistol to Harry. ‘There’s no point. I was going for kill shots,’ he admitted, locking eyes with his partner.
Garcia avoided Michelle’s gaze, afraid she would’ve read him like a book. Time and time again, down at the LAPD’s practice range, he’d seen Hunter empty entire clips on a moving target’s forehead, thirty yards away. Fifteen shots, clustered together in an area never larger than the diameter of a tennis ball. Garcia was a good shot himself, but he’d never seen anyone as accurate as Hunter with a handgun. On a standing target twenty-two yards away, he was sure Hunter could’ve drawn eyes and a smile on the target’s face.
Hunter looked at Michelle. ‘I did mean it when I said that was great shooting earlier.’
Awkward feet shuffling.
‘I’m sorry for taking a stab at you, and for forcing you to shoot,’ Michelle finally said, ejecting the ammo clip from her gun. ‘It hasn’t been the best of days.’
‘You can say that again,’ Garcia agreed.
Hunter simply nodded.
Both detectives understood that refusing to shoot, or achieving a better score with the target, had the potential to unconsciously aggravate Michelle’s already upset state of mind. Playing along, and coming second best without being too obvious, had had a comforting and soothing psychological effect for Michelle. The effect was immediate. Though she was still visibly upset, the hostility she showed just moments ago was now under control.
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