The Nature of the Beast by G.M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

there. Whoever it was came in from over there. Twice, I’m told.”
    “How about from this side?” Craig wanted to know.
    “Just the gate we passed on our way up here,” Letzo said. “Kids used to paint the school’s initials up here every spring.” His expression spoke of nostalgia. “Few years back one of the Cummings kids took a fall and broke his back in a couple places. City attorneys say we’ve got to keep it locked up. Limit our liability.”
    “Which means what?” Craig asked. “Assuming this person isn’t a local, or doesn’t have a local on the payroll, the only other alternative I can think of is that the shooter managed to plan the whole thing using nothing but maps.”
    “Or he’d been up here more than we know. Maybe when there was no snow on the ground.”
    Craig nodded in agreement. “I’ll bet you’re right,” he said. “He’d been planning this for quite a while. He was ready.”
    “Quite a feat,” Letzo said.
    “He’s very well trained. Very flexible,” Craig said. “Lots of up front preparation. Uses whatever’s at hand. Makes the best of it.”
    “Hell of a shot too,” the sheriff offered. “We had deer hunters could shoot like that wouldn’t be a live deer in the whole damn state.”
    By way of a response, Craig pulled a small black device from his coat pocket. He sighted through the digital range finder, made several corrections and then pushed a button. He turned his back toward the sun, shading the screen with his body.
    “Just under seven hundred and ten yards,” he announced.
    The sheriff’s low whistle was sincere.
    “Good location choice,” Craig added. “Prevailing wind in your face. No cross drift.” He nodded in admiration. “Escape route that comes down in another jurisdiction…outside any conceivable law enforcement perimeter.” He pocketed the range finder and brought the binoculars to his eyes. “Rather professionally planned and executed,” he conceded. “But overly theatrical.”
    “Why theatrical?” The sheriff asked, sweeping his gaze over the town below.
    “You want to kill a man,” Craig began “…why do it in the middle of Main Street at high noon?” He waved a gloved hand. “He keeps a fairly regular schedule. His wife’s in the hospital. He’s living alone. Surely there must have been some more surreptitious way to kill the man than dragging a sniper’s rifle way up here for the purpose of shooting the man in front of half the town.”
    A sudden gust of wind swirled the snow, filling the air with ice pellets. They waited for the snow to settle.
    “That’s a darn good question, now isn’t it,” the sheriff said.
    __
    “He’s toying with us,” Jackson Craig said as he stepped forward and dropped the Chicago Tribune article on Bobby Duggan’s desk.
    Bobby studied the page for several minutes, ran a hand over his hair and finally looked up at Jackson Craig. “Why would he want to do that?” he asked.
    “Publicity?”
    “In a roundabout way, I suppose,” Craig said.
    “I’m not sure I understand.”
    “He wanted to make certain Special Agent Wald’s death would make the newspapers, rather than how shall we say being ‘swept under the rug’, so to speak.”
    “In the manner of Harry Joyce’s death.”
    Craig nodded. “What bothers me most is that it’s all just so damned inconsistent.” He pointed down at Bobby’s desk. “On one hand it’s like we’re dealing with a school child here.” Bobby looked annoyed. “All the little X’s through the faces. Drawn with a ruler, like he’s in middle school.”
    “And on the other?”
    “On the other hand…” Craig took in a deep breath. “On the other hand, the Wyoming scene was extremely well-planned and executed. Nothing in the least to suggest the work of an amateur. From the set-up position, your average deer hunter could barely have hit the damn building. The shooter’s been professionally trained.” His tone left little room for argument.
    Bobby