After our morning conference with Cyril, Clare and I spent the rest of the day in the records room going over HR files and background checks on detachment personnel including those retired or former officers who for various reasons left the force.
It was tedious work, made more tedious by Cyril’s insistence that we remain inside the building for security reasons. We ordered in lunch and the task dragged on until four pm when we decided to pack it in for the day.
“You need to remain quarantined at the farm,” Cyril reminded us as we headed out the door.
I groaned audibly but Clare, being Clare, gave him a wave and a smile.
The girl’s a saint, I grimaced inwardly.
But our routine at the farm was as restrained and stifled as our workday—that was the fallout from being stalked by a killer.
So much for plans of taking advantage of the sunny fall weather by grilling a steak outdoors on the BBQ.
We finally settled on pasta instead, served with a huge Caesar salad and a bottle of Clare’s finest chianti. Maggie, our golden retriever, got to clean up the leftovers so everyone’s stomach was full and that made out confinement more tolerable.
“I doubt our sniper will attempt further attacks,” I remarked, closing the curtains after peeking out from the safety of our refuge at the security detail camped outside.
Clare nodded. “I’m sure there will be a respite to lull us into thinking the threat has subsided, but I won’t relax until this whack-job is captured.”
We settled down before the fire with our coffee and danish pastries.
In truth, we were hardly deprived but simply restless from constantly having to check our six and watch each other’s back—mind you, in Clare’s case, that was not an unpleasant duty.
”Cyril’s convinced it’s got to be a woman,” Clare remarked while sipping her coffee. “Probably young and attractive considering she’s slightly built and interested in you.”
“That’s leaping to conclusions,” I chuckled. “You must think I have a type.”
“Well, from photos I’ve seen of Sarah, she does resemble me, only with blonde hair.”
“You see, that’s why I spent five years as a profiler—I need only have asked another woman what this sniper hated about you and Sara. You’re both attractive and she probably isn’t.”
“Very funny, Cam,” she pouted, “but a woman would know this girl must have been involved with you and on close enough terms to see other women as competition. She must have been attractive enough to catch your interest or tease you and when you teased back she saw it as you being attracted to her. Know any women that fit that description?”
My blood froze. There was someone I never considered until that moment—Doris Lessing, the on-duty sergeant.
Clare saw the blood drain from my face and knew I had a possible suspect.
“Who is it, Cam—who’s so close to you that she could think she had a chance if these other rivals were out of the picture?”
I felt like puking.
“Oh God, it never occurred to me,” I moaned, “I have a kind of teasing relationship with Doris Lessing—but she has no special forces training or military background.”
“Maybe she has no formal training, but did you even delve deeply into her background?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t believe I could be so blinded by familiarity.
Clare came over and put her arms around me. “It doesn’t mean she’s our shooter—only that we should consider her.”
“I know, but even snooping into her file feels like a kind of betrayal.”
“Look on the bright side, if we rule her out, you can be confident she’s a trusted ally.”
“But if she’s not, my blindness cost Sarah her life and resulted in putting you in danger.”
“Don’t leap to conclusions, Cam. Better to check her out and be safe rather than sorry.”
It was brutal. could accept Robyn, Barnes or Bob Henderson as sniper—but considering Doris was hardest thing I could imagine—it was like accusing a sister.
