in Harlan's gun case or in the back of the pickup?
Burke exhaled. Imagining the worst never helped. And the 911 call to dispatch had been sketchy. The caller hadn't known if the school had been empty when the windows had been shot at. Rodd had called for the ambulance to meet them just in case. And what about Keely Turner?
Burke told himself that she'd be safely home by this time of night. But he knew he'd feel better when he saw for himself that the school had been unoccupied.
He and Rodd parked near the school entrance and jumped out of their vehicles. Scanning the scene, Burke saw that several large windows had been shattered. Broken glass littered the grass and bushes near the building. A small crowd already milled around the school doors. Little town, big city—crime attracted crowds.
Burke hung back and let Rodd approach the crowd. "I'm Sheriff Durand. Is there anyone inside the school?"
"I think the principal might be," a woman wearing a bright red blouse and shorts volunteered. "I saw her walking by with a sack from the cafe. She works late lots of nights."
"Her car's parked in back," a man offered.
At this, Burke moved to the door and tried the handle to the school entrance. "It's locked. Who would have a key?"
The same woman spoke up, "I called the police; then I called the school maintenance man."
A clattering pickup truck turned the corner on two wheels and zoomed into the parking lot. Brakes squealed, and a middle-aged man in khaki work clothes got out and hustled toward the group. "I've got the keys."
Rodd ordered, "Everyone stay out here. Deputy Sloan and I will go in and see if Ms. Turner's in the building—"
"I better come with you," the maintenance man interjected. "She usually locks the door to the outer office, too, when she's in here alone at night."
Rodd waved him inside. As they jogged to the principal's office, the sheriff used his cell phone to summon more deputies. Rodd and Burke exchanged looks. They both understood they now needed crowd control. They must examine the scene without interference. If they could identify the culprit, that might nip this vandalism right now before anyone got more than a sprained ankle. They reached the office door. A bank of windows showed them an empty office.
When Burke didn't see Keely, his anxiety grew . As soon as the man unlocked the door, Burke pushed inside. "Ms. Turner!" he called. "It's Sheriff Durand and Deputy Sloan! Ms. Turner?"
A moan answered him.
Burke darted behind the counter. Keely lay crumpled, facedown on the floor beside a step stool. His adrenaline surged at the sight. "She's down!"
Dropping to one knee, he checked her carotid pulse. Had she gotten hit by bullet? "She has a pulse." He bent his face down to feel her breath against his cheek. "She's breathing."Then he gently rolled her head into view "One small cut over her right eye." Relief rushed through him.
In spite of his concern, Burke continued the routine he knew so well. He ran his hands over Keely's form, looking for, feeling for, more blood or evidence of injury.
Someone had fired at the school, probably not meaning to injure anyone. But bullets could ricochet and travel farther than people expected. He found no sign of any other injury, and the tension inside him eased. She hadn't been seriously injured.
However the ugly gash marred the pale skin of her forehead, lending her a vulnerability that tugged at his sympathy."She must have fallen and bumped her head. "Ms. Turner, can you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, then frowned. "Deputy?"
Thankful that she'd regained consciousness without medical aid, he asked the necessary question, "Do you remember hearing anything?"
"Yes." She started to rise. "Shots. Someone shot ...the windows." She groaned and put a hand to her head.
"Take it easy," he cautioned, taking hold of her slender shoulders. How could he have prevented something like this? Knowing impossible thoughts like this only clouded his
Burke exhaled. Imagining the worst never helped. And the 911 call to dispatch had been sketchy. The caller hadn't known if the school had been empty when the windows had been shot at. Rodd had called for the ambulance to meet them just in case. And what about Keely Turner?
Burke told himself that she'd be safely home by this time of night. But he knew he'd feel better when he saw for himself that the school had been unoccupied.
He and Rodd parked near the school entrance and jumped out of their vehicles. Scanning the scene, Burke saw that several large windows had been shattered. Broken glass littered the grass and bushes near the building. A small crowd already milled around the school doors. Little town, big city—crime attracted crowds.
Burke hung back and let Rodd approach the crowd. "I'm Sheriff Durand. Is there anyone inside the school?"
"I think the principal might be," a woman wearing a bright red blouse and shorts volunteered. "I saw her walking by with a sack from the cafe. She works late lots of nights."
"Her car's parked in back," a man offered.
At this, Burke moved to the door and tried the handle to the school entrance. "It's locked. Who would have a key?"
The same woman spoke up, "I called the police; then I called the school maintenance man."
A clattering pickup truck turned the corner on two wheels and zoomed into the parking lot. Brakes squealed, and a middle-aged man in khaki work clothes got out and hustled toward the group. "I've got the keys."
Rodd ordered, "Everyone stay out here. Deputy Sloan and I will go in and see if Ms. Turner's in the building—"
"I better come with you," the maintenance man interjected. "She usually locks the door to the outer office, too, when she's in here alone at night."
Rodd waved him inside. As they jogged to the principal's office, the sheriff used his cell phone to summon more deputies. Rodd and Burke exchanged looks. They both understood they now needed crowd control. They must examine the scene without interference. If they could identify the culprit, that might nip this vandalism right now before anyone got more than a sprained ankle. They reached the office door. A bank of windows showed them an empty office.
When Burke didn't see Keely, his anxiety grew . As soon as the man unlocked the door, Burke pushed inside. "Ms. Turner!" he called. "It's Sheriff Durand and Deputy Sloan! Ms. Turner?"
A moan answered him.
Burke darted behind the counter. Keely lay crumpled, facedown on the floor beside a step stool. His adrenaline surged at the sight. "She's down!"
Dropping to one knee, he checked her carotid pulse. Had she gotten hit by bullet? "She has a pulse." He bent his face down to feel her breath against his cheek. "She's breathing."Then he gently rolled her head into view "One small cut over her right eye." Relief rushed through him.
In spite of his concern, Burke continued the routine he knew so well. He ran his hands over Keely's form, looking for, feeling for, more blood or evidence of injury.
Someone had fired at the school, probably not meaning to injure anyone. But bullets could ricochet and travel farther than people expected. He found no sign of any other injury, and the tension inside him eased. She hadn't been seriously injured.
However the ugly gash marred the pale skin of her forehead, lending her a vulnerability that tugged at his sympathy."She must have fallen and bumped her head. "Ms. Turner, can you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, then frowned. "Deputy?"
Thankful that she'd regained consciousness without medical aid, he asked the necessary question, "Do you remember hearing anything?"
"Yes." She started to rise. "Shots. Someone shot ...the windows." She groaned and put a hand to her head.
"Take it easy," he cautioned, taking hold of her slender shoulders. How could he have prevented something like this? Knowing impossible thoughts like this only clouded his
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