Part 10 (1/2)
”What was a bullet doing overhead?” I asked.
”Maybe Ferris went for the shooter, they struggled, the gun discharged.”
”Maybe the shooter placed the gun in Ferris's hand and pulled the trigger.”
”Simulated suicide?” Ryan.
”Every TV viewer knows you gotta have gunshot residue.”
”LaManche didn't find any.”
”Doesn't mean it wasn't there.”
I munched and thought.
LaManche had recovered one bullet fragment from the victim's head. SIJ had dug one bullet from the ceiling. Where was the rest of the ballistic evidence?
”You said Ferris may have been sitting on a stool when he took the shots?” I asked.
Ryan nodded.
”Facing the door?”
”Which was probably open. SIJ's going over the office and hallways. You wouldn't believe how much c.r.a.p is stacked in this place.”
”What about casings?”
Ryan shook his head. ”Shooter must have collected them.”
That didn't make sense either.
”Why leave the gun, then turn around and collect the bullet casings?”
”An astute question, Dr. Brennan.”
I had no astute answer.
I offered salad to Ryan. He declined.
Ryan changed gears. ”Dropped in on the widow again today.”
”And?”
”The lady won't be topping my Miss Congeniality ballot.”
”She's grieving.”
”So she says.”
”You don't buy it?”
”My gut says there's something to gnaw on there.”
”Bad metaphor.” I was thinking of the cats.
”Good point.”
”Any suspects?”
”A plethora.”
”Big word,” I said. ”s.e.xy.”
”Tap pants,” Ryan said.
”Small words.”
Over dessert, I told Ryan what I'd learned about Kessler's photo.
”Drum actually diverted to Paris?”
”Apparently.”
”He's convinced the print shows this Masada skeleton?”
”And Jake's not one to get worked up easily.”
Ryan gave me an odd look.
”How well do you know this Jake?”
”More than twenty years.”
”The query concerned depth, not length of acquaintance.”
”We're colleagues.”
”Just colleagues?”
Eye roll. ”Getting a little personal?”
”Mmm.”
”Mmm.”
”I'm thinking maybe we should pool our tips.”