Page 14 of The Deadly Shallows

Hours after arriving at the hospital and seeing Austin into an ER room, Caleb got the go-ahead to interview the first victim who was stable and settled into a room.

He rapped on the door for room 203. “Grant Miller?”

“Yes?”

“I’m CGIS Special Agent Caleb Eason. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Grant said.

Caleb slid the door open and stepped inside.

The young man scooted up in the bed, a cast on his left leg and a bandage wrapped around his forehead and right ear.

“Sorry about your injuries,” Caleb said.

“Thanks. They just need to watch the knock I took to the head for a couple of days, and then I’m free to go. I got off lucky.” Moisture pooled in his brown eyes.

“I appreciate you talking with me,” Caleb said, standing several feet from the bed. Interviewing the victims was vital, but he always hated intruding in the midst of suffering or loss.

“If it can help figure out why the . . .” Grant paused. “If it can help figure out why they did what they did . . .” The moisture brimmed over his lashes, tears slipping down his freckled cheeks. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. “Please take a seat.” He pointed to the empty chair on the far side of his bed.

“Thanks.” Caleb slid the cushioned chair closer to the bed. “The sooner we talk with the—” Don’t say victims. Most people hated the term. “The sooner we speak with those present,” he continued, “the more helpful it often turns out to be.”

“On determining their motive?” Grant asked.

“That’s one thing,” Caleb said.

“And the other?” Grant frowned, then reached for his head, wincing at the facial motion.

“Are you okay to continue?” Caleb asked.

“Yes,” Grant choked out, then reached for the mauve pitcher on his rolling cart but came up short.

“Can I help you?” Caleb asked, standing.

“Some water would be great.”

“No problem.” Caleb poured him a cup of ice water, then moved the cart closer so Grant could reach it if he wanted more.

“You were saying the other reason was . . . ?” Grant asked, reclining back against his pillows.

“We always need to determine if anybody not present at the site played a role in the tragedy.”

“That happens?”

Caleb retook his seat. “More often than you’d think.”

“Wow. I hadn’t thought of that. Ask me anything you like.”

“Hey, Grant,” Austin said, rounding the corner with an oversized gift bag.

Caleb frowned. “I thought you were discharged and went home?” He couldn’t leave to take her until he’d finished interviewing all the injured once they were able to talk, but she’d said she had a friend who could give her a ride home.

“Yes, I was discharged. But, no, I didn’t go home,” she said, shifting her attention to Grant. “I brought you some goodies.” She handed him the gift bag. “I figured you’d prefer magazines and candy to flowers.”

Grant riffled through the bag’s contents, pulling out a sudoku book and Peanut Chews with a big smile. “Thanks, Austin.”

“No problem.” She smiled, though it wasn’t lit with her usual brightness. Caleb hated that she’d been in the tragedy. That kind of trauma stuck with people, leaving an indelible mark.