MONICA AND KORD WAITED at the busy intersection until the traffic allowed them to drive across the street to Paramount High School. Before exiting his car, she dug into her shoulder bag for her Glock, then inserted it into her back waistband. She hung binoculars around her neck and stuffed latex gloves into her jean pocket. They walked to the front entrance of the original school. Silent. At least they weren’t arguing.
Two TV vans and several media representatives stayed behind HPD’s barrier.
Monica’s thoughts exploded with the implications of today’s crime, grim, and yet if the dead man had been Prince Omar, the whole world would be in an uproar with talk of the US’s lack of security. And worse. The greater good crossed her mind, and acid rose from her stomach. No one had the right to choose one man’s life over another.
The sniper had needed time to plan the kill, which meant he’d learned about the prince’s schedule early on —not followed the entourage from the airport. She assumed the killer had military training. Sounded to her like the prince had an enemy within his household. She could only imagine his response. He’d demand proof without a loophole and blame US security before looking at his own people.
“What are the chances the sniper got in and out of the school without someone seeing him?” Kord said.
“Kord, you and I could do it and few would know we were here.”
“Unfortunately you might be right. Whoever pulled the trigger has professional stamped on his training. Look at the strategic planning and accuracy.”
“We’ll get it figured out.” Zain was his friend, and she kept discounting how the impact of his death had to be weighing on him.
“I want the investigation reports now.”
She hadn’t decided if they could work together amicably. One minute he seemed human and the next unpredictable. She’d been accused of the same characteristics. If she’d lost a good friend today and another friend’s life was in danger, she might be crabby too. Given the tragedies, she’d try to curb her tongue.
An HPD officer met them at the school entrance with a middle-aged woman who trembled as though she might fall. “I’m the principal here.” She clenched her fists, and instead of reaching out to shake their hands, she fished through her purse and produced a prescription bottle. Being in charge of a high school and knowing a sniper had fired from the roof of her building might cause the most sane to consider unorthodox coping mechanisms. The woman tapped the prescription bottle into her hand —a green capsule resembling Prozac. “It’s for my heart,” she said.
“We’re from the FBI,” Kord said. “We have a few questions about the crime committed here today.”
“Have you read the police report?” the principal said. “It’s all there.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’d like to talk privately,” Kord said. “A bodyguard from the Saudi royal family was killed.”
The principal’s eyes widened. “I thought it was a random shot, not a murder. I should have paid better attention. Are you certain?”
“It’s a confirmed hit.”
The principal glanced away, then back to them. “This is devastating news. Identification, please. She looks like a reporter to me. And we can talk out here in the open.”
Monica and Kord displayed their FBI IDs. She didn’t mind wearing her earlier work clothes. It simply deepened her cover with the public. Luckily this wasn’t her or Kord’s first rodeo —respecting others’ positions, responsibilities, and emotions were part of riding the wild bronc while ensuring critical situations were handled.
“Today must have tested your stress level,” Monica said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been trying.” The principal relaxed slightly.
“Did anyone report an unusual occurrence, see someone on campus who alarmed them?”
“I repeat. I’ve given my report to HPD.” She blinked dramatically. “Nothing confirmed. Some of my students want to be in the middle of this, while others are afraid to step forward. That goes for teachers, staff, and workers too.” She pointed to the construction of the new building. “I have no idea if they saw anything.”
Monica smiled into her pale face. “We’ll receive a copy of the reports and base our interviews on those. When were you aware of the shooting?”
“Police officers arrived about fifteen minutes after it was determined someone had fired from the roof.”
“What happened then?”
“We went into lockdown mode for two and a half hours, even those working on the new facility. Students and faculty stayed in their respective rooms while officers searched the building. Afterward they suggested we evacuate the building. No one exited without identification, and every student and faculty member met with the same scrutiny and questioning before leaving the grounds. The procedure took an extremely long time. We barely finished before you two arrived.”
“How is the roof accessed?” Kord said.
“I’ve already given the information to HPD.” The principal lifted her chin at the officer standing nearby. “Would you escort these two investigators?”
“Yes, ma’am. Which of the two routes do you recommend?”
“Both,” Kord said before the principal opened her mouth. “Has there been a report of anyone attempting to access the area after the shooting, other than law enforcement?”
The principal and officer responded negatively.
Monica lent a gentler tone to her words —despite her growing impatience with the principal. “We’d like to see the video surveillance over the past three days, inside the building, parking lot, and construction site.”
“We’ll need a search warrant. A very specific one.”
“It’s been ordered and signed. A sniper just killed a man, and that someone is on the streets, perhaps ready to strike again.”
“My students need protection.”
“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Kord said. “Do you want another death on your conscience related to your school?”
“We have guidelines. Until I have the signed search warrant, no one sees a thing.”
“We’re all fortunate the sniper didn’t open fire on the students and faculty,” Kord said.
“You’re right.” She inhaled sharply. “I doubt the footage will do much good. The building is to receive a refresh of the security system. Some of the areas are not covered.”
“The roof?”
“No.” She moistened her lips. “But the parking lot is adequately monitored.”
Monica tamped down her irritation with this woman. “You understand the media has already splattered the story all over the country. Needless to say it’s an international incident. The whole world is looking at your school and the retail strip across the street. We’re all concerned about the students and faculty. So have you spoken to the school board or superintendent about closing tomorrow? I’d think it would be imperative.”
The principal tensed again. “The announcement will be made shortly. Our schools must be safe for our students.” She touched her heart.
More dramatics or a serious health issue? “Are you okay? Do we need to call 911?”
The woman drew in a breath. “I’m all right. Just shaken.”
Maybe the woman was nearing shock, and she and Kord had pushed her too hard. “Would you like to go inside, where you can sit?”
“I’d rather finish our conversation so I can rest alone.”
Monica needed to put herself in the woman’s shoes and stop judging. “We simply want to make sure the killer is apprehended before another tragedy occurs.”
“We all want to think our country is safe for visitors. I’m sorry for my rudeness. The nightmarish incident has me worried about all those within my responsibility. I’ll show you the stairways. No need for this officer to extend his duties.”
They followed the principal through the school’s main entrance. She escorted them to a door labeled Roof Access and indicated the location of the other door.
“I assume the stairways to the roof are normally locked?” Kord said.
“Yes. Except they’re open now with HPD’s activities. Once you’re atop, you’ll see the stairs on the north side.”
Monica opened the door and flipped on a light. She snapped pics of dirty footprints on the stairway but doubted it would lead them anywhere. The sniper had far too much intelligence to leave a trace of evidence.
With the sniper’s success today, what awaited them an hour from now? Tonight? Tomorrow?