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“We meet to talk about Paula once a week,” the chaplain said, and he smiled faintly at Condon. “It’s good for us.”
For a second I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry to have interrupted,” I finally told him. “We just wanted to talk to him for a few moments, Captain.”
“About what?” Condon said, pugnacious again. “I already told you I didn’t have anything to do with those killings.”
“You actually never answered our questions about that, but this is about six motorists shot by a lone motorcyclist within an hour’s drive of your house.”
“One of them just up the road from your place,” Sampson said. “Beyond Willow Grove.”
The sniper shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You own a forty-five-caliber handgun?” I asked.
“Somewhere,” he said.
“Would you let us test it?”
“Hell no,” Condon said, and then he cocked his head. “Wait, you think I shot these people from my Harley? For what?”
“Breaking traffic laws,” Sampson said. “Speeding. Driving and texting.”
“This is insane, Jim,” the sniper said to the chaplain, throwing up his hands. “Every time a nutcase appears on the scene, they come after me. Even when a cursory glance at my medical record would show that I am not capable of shooting a forty-five-caliber handgun from a motorcycle going fast or slow.”
“What are you talking about?” Sampson asked.
Condon looked over at the chaplain and then pulled off his gloves
, revealing that he wore wrist braces. He tore those off too, revealing scars across his wrists.
Captain Healey said, “Nick shattered both wrists in a training exercise when he was with SEAL Team 6. He can still shoot a rifle better than any man on earth, but his wrists and hands are too weak to shoot a pistol with any accuracy. It was what got him his medical discharge.”
Chapter
60
Sampson pulled up in front of my house just as the sun was setting.
“Don’t look so glum,” Sampson said. “We’ll come up with a new battle plan tomorrow.”
“I feel like we had preconceptions about Condon,” I said, opening the door. “He was the easy person to look to, so we did.”
“We had to look at him,” Sampson said. “It was our job.”
“But it wasn’t our job to insult a war hero and tarnish his reputation,” I said, climbing out.
“Did we do that?”
“In a roundabout way, yes.”
“Are we supposed to be dainty or something in a murder investigation?”
“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I just need food and some sleep before I try to learn something from today.”
“Me too, then. Best to the chief.”
“And to Billie,” I said and climbed up the porch steps.
When I went inside, I was blasted by the smell of curry and the sounds of home. Jannie was in the television room, her foot up and on ice.
