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"It does," Millar replied, his eyes narrow. "With a high-performance rifle. Russian make. Left at the scene of the crime. They're pulling prints off it as we speak."
"Russian?" I said, shocked that Spencer would have been killed by a Russian weapon.
It was then that I remembered my meeting with Sergei Romanov. He’d had a shipment of Russian sniper rifles. I’d shot one.
He had given me one as a gift.
"It wasn't me," I said and held up my hands defensively. "I was with you early in the morning, and then I caught the flight to Washington."
"Coroner's working out an exact time of death," Millar said like he didn't believe me. "We should have it soon."
I frowned and wanted to text Celia right away to see how she was doing.
"I have to make a call," I said and held up my cell. "I'm close to Spencer Grant's kids."
"I'd rather you didn't," Millar said, holding up his hand.
"Why not?"
"Hunter, you have to know you're a suspect."
"What?" I said, glancing between the two. "Why am I a suspect?"
"Just don't call anyone right now. Not until we have more details."
"I'm close to his step daughter. I need to contact her."
"Hunter," Millar said, coming closer to me. "You're here under my authority. I'm asking you to hold off from contacting anyone until we have more information. That's all I can say."
I shrugged and decided to cooperate. He must know something if he wanted me not to contact anyone back in Boston.
Later, after we'd gone through every part of the cabin, checking for hidden compartments where pornography might have been kept, which were common in places like this, Millar and I stood in the living room and discussed the next steps. The forensic team had finished their sweep of the house and were starting to pack up. My stomach growled and I needed some food.
"What's next? I mean, now that Grant's dead?"
Millar shrugged. "He had lots of accomplices. They'll haul all the evidence down to the forensic labs in DC and we'll meet with federal prosecutors."
"I was afraid someone would have cleaned up the premises after I stopped Jones."
"His secretary at the mortgage brokerage where he works said he was out of town on business. When we asked where, she said he'd gone to Hong Kong to meet some foreign clients."
"He must have been a busy bee getting new ID. I'm surprised he could get it and take a flight out of the US on such short notice. He must have gone right out and decided to escape."
"I don't blame him. Interestingly, we don't have an Extradition Treaty with Hong Kong so Mr. Jones is likely going to stay there indefinitely…"
"Smart move. But he didn't squeal to Grant about being caught. I wonder why."
I shook my head. "Who knows? Maybe he was the one who shot Spencer."
"Maybe," Millar said and shrugged.
We went outside and stood on the front step while one of the FBI Special Agents sealed the door.
"Well, we're going back to the office to process this stuff." Millar glanced at me. "It's going to be a late night."
Then his cell rang and he answered it.
"Okay," he said and glanced at me. Then he walked a few steps away and spoke quietly into his cell. He appeared to be arguing, but kept his voice low enough that I couldn’t hear. Then, he turned to me, his expression dark.
