Page 17 of The Deadly Shallows

He started. Not yet?

TEN

Well after nightfall, and once recovered from anesthesia and settled in his own room, Noah was more than ready to dive fully into the case—albeit from a hospital bed.

Rissi had erased the nurses’ information from the whiteboard on the wall after noting it down so Noah still had it, then used it instead as a makeshift case board.

Rissi and Caleb were handling the witness interviews—each working a different avenue of questioning—Rissi at the crime scene and Caleb at the hospital. He’d also approved Austin joining the investigation since she’d already been assisting Caleb with his interviews. She was a brilliant private investigator. He looked forward to hearing her insights.

Considering the strict limit they were placing on visitors due to the high influx of patients, the hospital had made a big exception allowing Caleb, Rissi, and Austin to be present so soon after his surgery. But the one visitor he was aching to see was Brooke. Last he saw her, she was heading for the Medevac with the only surviving shooter.

He clenched his jaw at the realization he could have lost her today without telling her he loved her. But that love was precisely why he couldn’t tell her, so he shifted his thoughts onto something he could do.

“What do we have so far?” he asked.

“We have the identity of the shooter in the ICU,” Rissi said. “Despite his fingerprints coming back unknown like the other shooters, he was wearing a medical-alert necklace. Each one has an individualized ID number.”

That was a solid start.

“His name is Connor Andrews,” she said, the marker squeaking as she wrote it in purple ink on the whiteboard.

“What do we know about Connor Andrews?” Noah asked.

“He’s nineteen, from Georgia, and his work history is limited to a two-year gig at an Apple Genius Bar,” Rissi said.

“All right, let’s find out when he showed up in Wilmington and how he got involved in the mass shooting,” Noah said, wincing as he shifted his weight, his thigh throbbing. “I’ll put Logan on him. He may very well be our only link to discovering the other shooters’ identities.”

“Agreed,” Rissi said.

“Did anything come from your interviews?” Noah asked.

“Mostly very general details. It seems that most people were still too stunned to have clear memories,” Rissi said. “But I had an interesting conversation with a Mrs. Talbot. She was there for the second graduation of the day—IT C-School. Her husband was one of the IT C-School instructors. She’d agreed to join him early to help set up the refreshment tables. She survived. Her husband and the two other instructors scheduled to present at their graduation ceremony did not. What’s of particular interest is that the three instructors were in a meeting room off the back hall. Not accessed directly from the main hall.”

“Hmm,” Noah said. “Maybe that’s where Connor Andrews and the other shooter on the steps were coming from.”

Rissi nodded. “Could be.”

Noah shifted his attention to Caleb. “Anything interesting come from your interviews here?”

“We found out some interesting details about a vehicle seen on-site,” Caleb said. He relayed his and Austin’s conversation with Grant Miller.

“Good work,” Noah said. “I’ll put Em on the logo. That’s a lot to go on. Be sure to follow up with those you both questioned in a day or two, even if by cell,” he said. Following up a few days later often proved helpful. Time allowed memories to surface as the traumatized mind began to settle—though it never truly did.

He took a steep inhale, bracing himself for the information he needed to have. “Can you give me the current casualty stats?” he asked.

“There were twelve dead on-site,” Rissi said.

“And another three have died at General,” Caleb added.

Noah grimaced. They were looking at a death count of at least fifteen. Anger seared through him.

“At last count, the injured treated here is twenty-three,” Caleb added. “A few have been cleared to go home. Only one of those still in the hospital is critical.”

Molly. Caleb didn’t have to say it. As of the latest update from Blotny, Molly’s chances of surviving were less than one percent. He glanced back at his phone. 2110. If Molly was going to pass, he prayed he could be with Brooke to comfort her.

“Emmy is compiling the list of people Mason and I interviewed on-site,” Rissi said as they shifted to wrap up.

“As well as those we interviewed here,” Caleb said.