“Glock 34.”
Calder knew it to be a semiautomatic nine-millimeter, a favorite of law enforcement officers.
“It came with an eighteen-round magazine,” the agent said. “It was empty.”
So he’d fired his last bullet into his own head, Calder thought.
“Do you own a gun, Mr. Hudson?” Compton asked.
“Only a deer rifle, but I rarely go hunting. The last time was a couple of years ago. The rifle hasn’t been fired since.”
Perkins said, “You were seen on security cameras hunkering down and grabbing the sleeve of the man nearest you and pulling him to the ground.”
“I did? I don’t remember.”
“He does,” Compton said, her eyebrow arching again.
“Is he okay?”
“Thanks to you.”
Calder rubbed his hand over his face. “I can’t take credit. I acted on impulse.”
“You’re shown shouting and motioning for people to get down.”
“I really don’t remember.”
“Did you have military training?”
“No. I never served.” He tried to situate himself more comfortably on the bed, but with all the tubes attached to him, he was as good as strapped down. “I’m hurting, and I’m tired. I don’t remember much. I reacted. That’s it, okay?”
“Do you remember going after a baby stroller?”
He closed his eyes. His head hurt more when he tried to think. “Not until just now. Not until you said it.”
“Did you know the child?”
“No.”
“The parents?”
“No. I’d passed the stroller…”
Thinking back now, he remembered the cumbersome thing, how annoyed he’d been that it was blocking his path and asking himself why anyone in their right mind would subject their kid to this germy mob scene and try to push a behemoth like that stroller through such a dense crowd.
“Mr. Hudson?” Compton said. “What were you about to say?”
“I, uh…” What had he been about to say? “Uh, moments before the first shot was fired, I’d had to go around it. The stroller.” In the process, he’d nudged aside a woman, who he supposed was the kid’s mother.
The two detectives were looking at him with the expectation of more to come. “When, uh, when I dropped to the ground, I turned and looked back toward the exit. I think I must’ve been judging the distance to it. Figuring how exposed I’d be if I made a run for it. Like that. But I don’t remember actually thinking all that, just… you know. We’re talking split seconds.
“Anyhow, I saw this dude barrel into the stroller. I’d thought those things were built not to turn over, but this guy hit it with such force, it tipped over onto two wheels. It was rolling crazily, bumping into people, causing them to stumble.” He divided a look between the two. “Again, I guess I acted on instinct and lunged for it.”
“You were trying to stop the stroller and it was dragging you over with it when the bullet struck you. Your grimace of pain is clearly visible on the security camera video.”
Calder met Compton’s incisive gaze, trying to process that information. “I remember an impact but nothing after that.”
“In spite of your attempt to stop it, the stroller toppled over onto its side just as you were hit. You fell over it and banged your head on the pavement.”
“That explains the concussion.”
Compton looked over at her partner. Perkins gazed back at her impassively, but apparently they communicated something, because she drew herself up to her full height and pocketed her notebook.
She said, “They gave us only five minutes. We’ll go now, but we’ll probably stop by again tomorrow. More often than not, a blow to the head like you sustained affects recall, causes temporary amnesia. Something may occur to you that you haven’t remembered yet. You didn’t remember the stroller until I mentioned it. If you think of something, please call us immediately.”
She laid a business card on the bedside table. “We need information so we can isolate the shooter’s motive.”
“Does it matter?”
Compton replied, “It does if he was in cahoots with someone else who’s still out there.” She let that settle, then said, “Get some rest, Mr. Hudson.”
As the pair turned away from him, Calder mumbled a goodbye, then said, “What about the kid in the stroller?”
The two detectives came back around. Compton said, “Two-year-old boy. Charlie Portman.”
“Was he hurt when that thing went over? Is he all right?”
For the first time since entering the room, she dropped the authoritative persona and looked at him like a regular person. “No. He was struck.”
Calder’s heart clenched. He looked at the detective with abject appeal, but she added, “He died at the scene.”
Chapter 4
Glenda. I won’t survive this.” Elle bent at the waist, buried her face in the stuffed bunny she’d been holding in her lap, and sobbed into the nubby fabric that smelled of Charlie.
Glenda laid her hand on Elle’s back and rubbed consoling circles. “I know you don’t think you will, but you will. One baby step at a time.”
Elle continued to cry and wasn’t even aware that her friend had turned off the car and come around and opened the passenger door until Glenda reached in and guided her out.
She stood beside the car and looked at her front door, dreading the moment she would enter the house, knowing that when she did, the reality of what had happened since she’d left it the previous afternoon would slam into her. It might be more than she could withstand.
“Baby steps,” Glenda whispered. “Come on.”
She never could have made that walk without Glenda’s support, but together they reached the porch. Glenda magically produced her door key, although Elle didn’t remember giving it to her. She unlocked the door and gently ushered Elle inside.
There sat Charlie’s fire truck on the entry table where she’d placed it as they were leaving for the fair, having convinced him that it was too bulky to fit in the bag they were taking along and assuring him that he wasn’t leaving the treasured toy forever, which in his two-year-old mind he was. She’d promised him that it would be there when he returned.
As promised, it was. But Charlie wasn’t returning.
She sobbed. Her knees went weak. Glenda took her arm and led her into the living room and over to a wide, upholstered chair. She collapsed into it like a rag doll.
From the perspective of that chair, she spied one of Charlie’s sneakers underneath the sofa across the room. The sneaker had gone missing several days ago. She had looked for it everywhere except, apparently, under the sofa.
She must remember to get it later, but for now, all she had the wherewithal to do was sit and look at the small, empty shoe through eyes that filled with fresh tears.
Glenda knelt in front of her. “Do you want something?”
“Yes. I want to wake up and discover that this has been an ungodly dream.”
“What can I do for you, Elle?”
“Turn back time?”