Ell Sadem

EIGHT: EVIDENCE?

—Cowell—

So many words, and somehow so little said. If I didn't know better I would've thought young Miss Mercy is just another dumb blond in over her head, but whatever that was earlier makes it clear that she is anything but. She seems like someone who had to grow up a little too fast, an old soul of sorts. Why she felt the need to avoid giving direct answers, I don't know. All I do know is she wasn't exaggerating about her parents being hard to find. I have run every paper trail and the few that go anywhere without looping back in on themselves lead to stone walls. The girl may as well have spawned out of nowhere as far as the records are concerned. But she is adopted, and that's the strange part. If they hadn't mentioned it, I never would have thought she isn't theirs. Staring at her too long just made me flip-flop between thinking she favors her mother to thinking she looks more like her father.

Those photos she gave us on the other hand, are pointing in some easier to trace and extremely concerning directions. I run my hand through my hair and scratch the back of my head as I lean back. Wherever there are people, the shooter can be found—not so easily—hiding somewhere in the background. I've found at least three landscapes where an arm or leg is barely visible, sometimes a silhouette. The only photos—group or otherwise—that he isn't in are the ones taken at Paddler's Point. It could easily be a coincidence, but it isn't until proven otherwise. Especially here. I should have never moved back. Don't know what I was thinking.

"Mart, I'm not liking what I'm seeing." Hank shakes his head and sets aside another of the pictures. "Most of these have this guy in them, and he's not alone in hardly any of them."

"He seemed a little too comfortable around the school staff too." I put a small stack of pictures where he doesn't appear back in their designated spot in her box. It helps clear up the timeline that she has them sorted by date and place, but it makes it all the more disturbing to see that he's always been there. At least as long as she's had a camera. "I'm going to have a word with the administration, see what they know about the guy. He's still out there somewhere."

"You know what I don't get?" He pushes out from the table and starts pinning blown-up scans onto the board, "How did the security cameras all malfunction at the same time? Across the street, behind the building, inside—all of them. Dead. Fifteen whole minutes before the first shots were reported." He steps back, hands on his hips. "This is a lot bigger than just a couple of guys."

Absolute genius. Would have never occurred to me. Has he not been paying attention this whole investigation? "That has been the general consensus, yes."

Hank glowers, "I'm starting to figure out why no one else wanted to work with you." He snags a styrofoam coffee cup from the table and flips open a random folder, tracing a line with his finger. "I'm assuming your 'general consensus' is also saying that someone in the school may have something to do with it too, isn't it?"

I could make a joke, I want to make a joke, but I refrain. "Why yes, it does." I deadpan instead, "And personally, I think we need someone in there because if that shooting had been successful, we'd have another dead teen on our hands. Last I checked all of the ones who went missing or turned up dead went there, and it's a little much to be a coincidence."

"What, like someone undercover?" He crosses his arms staring at the board. "Where're we going to get someone who won't be recognized around here? Besides, isn't it the only highschool around?"

"Nope," I shrug when he finally looks my way and take a long draft from my coffee and just stare. He'll figure it out eventually. He's only been here a week, and word of a new cop hasn't made it around quite yet. What better way to initiate him into this freak show than going undercover where everyone first discovers just how crazy this town is?