Page 16 of The Deadly Shallows

“It was one of those . . . what do you call them? Sprinter vans.”

“That’s very helpful,” Caleb said, then dipped his chin for Austin to continue.

“Was there anything painted on it? A name, a logo?” she asked.

“A logo,” Grant said. “It was black and gold, and the writing was fancy.”

“Do you remember the name on the logo?” Caleb asked.

“It started with a J . . . maybe Jacob something . . . or Jason. . . .” He shook his head, then winced. “Sorry. It’s this darn headache. It’s hard to think, and I wasn’t paying a ton of attention.”

“It’s okay,” Austin said.

“You’re doing great,” Caleb added. It was a wonderful start to go on, now knowing the van had been parked outside the hall. A visitor would have parked in one of the lots—or, at least, most visitors would. The van might be inconsequential, but as an investigator he couldn’t ignore the possibility. Often it was the small details that became the biggest clues. “Did you happen to see the driver?” he asked, thinking it would almost be too good to be true if Grant had.

“Yes, but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat.”

“Can you describe the hat?” Caleb asked, refusing to admit how well he and Austin Kelly worked together.

“It was a Red Sox cap, so at least he has good taste,” Grant said.

“Anything else?” Austin leaned a smidge forward. “His hair, build?”

“I’m not sure. . . .” Grant’s lips twisted again in contemplation.

“Close your eyes and replay the scene in your mind,” Caleb said, having found the exercise Rissi recommended to be helpful in situations like this.

Grant closed his eyes. “He had a dark shirt on—maybe black or navy,” he said after a moment. “He was tapping the wheel and staring toward the building, like he was impatiently waiting for someone and they were taking too long. I couldn’t see his hair color with the hat on.”

“So it’s most likely short,” Austin said. “Anything else?”

Grant left his eyes closed another moment, and then his jaw clenched—no doubt his mind had moved to the shooting.

“That’s plenty,” Caleb said, and Austin nodded in agreement.

Grant opened his eyes, tears slipping out. He swiped them with the back of his hand, then cleared his throat. “Hope that was helpful.”

“Extremely,” Caleb and Austin said within a second of each other. “Thanks again for your time.”

“Thanks, Grant.” Austin clutched his hand. “I’m praying for a swift recovery.”

Caleb closed Grant’s door as he and Austin stepped into the ward’s main corridor. “That’s a great lead to follow,” he said.

“Definitely.” She shuffled her feet.

“Yes, you can help me interview,” he said, noting her questioning tell. When had he become so in tune with her gestures, expressions . . . with her? He took a stiff inhale, shifting his full focus back on the case. Why did his thoughts always track to her?

“Thanks,” she said with a soft smile. “I want to help find out why this happened, who the shooters were, and if anybody else might have been involved. In the Oklahoma bombing, Terry Nichols wasn’t present but helped build the bomb, and Michael Fortier was aware of the plot.”

“It’s more the norm that others are involved in some aspect, even if it’s just the knowledge of the coming tragedy. Those are the people we have to find, especially if the only surviving shooter doesn’t make it.” They needed answers. He looked back at Austin.

Having been in the shooting, of course she wanted to work the case, and Noah had had her collaborate on several CGIS cases in the past, so he was sure that wasn’t an issue. And it probably would help distract her from the trauma she’d been through.

He reached over and squeezed her good shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to endure the shooting.”

She slipped her lip into her mouth as tears beaded in her eyes. “Thank you.”

He hated seeing her in pain. He just wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but they didn’t have that depth of relationship. Not yet.