Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

coffee. Once he’d swilled it down he looked at McNulty. “Want to hazard a guess who your judge looked like?”

Two sirens started up outside. McNulty turned and watched a pair of black and whites peel off out of the parking lot, careful of the traffic but insistent on speedy forward momentum. That’s what life on the front line was all about. Being aware of your surroundings but always moving forward. Harris had set the scene with sweeping brushstrokes, then pushed ahead. McNulty thought about Larry Unger pointing out the courthouse façade and came up with the same response.

“Nobody’s that stupid.”

Harris tapped his cup. “I think some people are exactly that stupid.”

McNulty drew an invisible line on the desk as if tracing the route. “I don’t care how good we made the frontage. Nobody’s going to drive past the District Court building and shoot the judge on a movie set by mistake.”

Harris looked across the desk. “Who said he drove past the District Court?”

McNulty didn’t even think about his answer. “Van came from Main Street. Had to pass the courthouse before reaching us.”

Harris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Ah yes. The grey van. I forgot. You saw that as well, didn’t you?”

Harris hadn’t forgotten anything, he was just reminding McNulty how many coincidences were stacking up. He made a mixing gesture with both hands. “There are too many possibilities and not enough facts at the moment. Could be an idiot shot the wrong judge.” He shrugged. “Could be sending a message to the real judge, him being too well protected to target in court.” He sighed again. “Could be a random shooting at an orphanage.” He took a breath and held it, as if something had just occurred to him. He let the breath out slowly before continuing. “Publicity won’t help campaign contributions, the adoption guy being a healthy backer of the sheriff’s re-election.”

Harris feigned surprise as another thought struck him. “You met him last night didn’t you? Harlan DeVries.” He leaned forward and tapped McNulty’s cup again. The ding sounded loud in the quiet office. “The agency that brought your sister over.”

McNulty kept a level tone to hide his rising anger. “Where’d you hear that?”

Harris made a circle motion. “This is a small town. We hear about everything.”

It was McNulty’s turn to lean forward. “Well maybe you should try hearing who shot the judge.”

Harris sat back in his chair. “He wasn’t a judge.”

McNulty didn’t relax. “He wasn’t the only one shot, either.”

Harris nodded. “Even worse publicity.” He tilted his head sideways and looked at McNulty. “He wouldn’t be wanting you to help deflect that from the orphanage would he?”

McNulty straightened his back. “I don’t help orphanages.”

Harris straightened, too. “I guess not. They’ve not exactly been a happy hunting ground for you, have they?” He mimicked stirring the pot. “Something else to add to the mix. A random shooting would certainly damage anyone connected to it.”

McNulty hardened his stare. “Not solving it won’t help your re-election campaign, either.”

Harris shook his head. “That’s the Middlesex County Sheriff’s Department. I’m with Waltham P-D. But I take your point.” He gave a hard stare back. “What I want is to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

McNulty pulled the yellow legal pad toward himself and picked up the pen. “Then why don’t we get started?”

EIGHT

Filming was disrupted by key personnel giving their statements, but the real delay resulted from changing locations. The courthouse set at the orphanage was off limits for the foreseeable future, so Titanic Productions relocated to the Cambridge Reservoir just across I-95 out past West End. Location services and transport vehicles were camped in Fresenius Medical Care’s parking lot on the edge of the business park. The location was two hundred yards along the western shore on a spur of land jutting out into the reservoir. McNulty found Alfonse Bayard in the woods overlooking the water.

“You okay?”

Alfonse looked anything but okay. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, despite the ministrations of Amy Moore. There are only so many things you can cover with makeup. The look in Alfonse’s eyes wasn’t one of them. McNulty kept it light. “You’re still breathing. Chin up.”

Alfonse looked at the man who’d helped him look like a real cop. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Is that it?”

McNulty turned serious. “What doesn’t kill you…” he jutted his chin out,“…doesn’t kill you. After that, you just have to deal with it.” He slapped Alfonse on the back. “Cops have to deal with the afterwards. You’ve got to hold it together or you can’t help anybody.”

Alfonse looked out across the water. “I’m not a cop.”

McNulty stood beside him, following his gaze. “Neither am I.”

Alfonse glanced at his mentor. “You stormed in with a fire extinguisher.”

McNulty kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not a good idea.”

Alfonse turned to face McNulty. “What I’m saying is, you didn’t think about the consequences. You just acted on instinct. The rest of us ran out the back door.”

McNulty took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned serious eyes on Alfonse and held the actor’s gaze. “A man came in shooting. Sensible thing is to run out the back door. I’d have done the same.”

“But you didn’t. You came in after Amy.”

McNulty hardened his focus. “You got Amy out safe. If I’d known that, I’d have stayed put.”

Alfonse shook his head. “Amy got me out safe. All of us. She kept a cool head.”

McNulty nodded. “And now it’s over. You’ve got to carry on.” He waved at the camera position “They can’t just shut down. There’s a lot of money at stake. A lot of people.”

As if to prove a point the set dressers and sound crew came through the woods. Strong men moved arc lights into position. Reflectors and diffusers were adjusted. The continuity director checked her clipboard—Titanic Productions was a mass of moving parts and all the parts had to work together. The actors were just the part that appeared on