Confusion swept over the man’s face as his hand involuntarily flew up to his neck. He wobbled for a moment, then careened face-first onto the concrete. A moment later the girl was standing next to the car screaming. The shot had come from somewhere beyond them. I had no visual on the shooter.
“Get down,” I shouted to her. “Back in the car!” I leveled my weapon. She scurried back inside and slammed the door, probably thinking I was the one who’d shot her friend. I could hear her wild shrieks, muffled only slightly by the doors of their SUV.
“Shots fired!” I shouted. I hoped one of the officers had followed me into the parking garage and could hear me. I raced to the victim. “I repeat, shots fired!”
Why did you shoot this man? Why would you kill this man? Still no visual on the shooter.
I leaned over and held my hand against the victim’s gurgling throat. He was shaking slightly, starting to go into shock. The bullet had missed the center of his neck and passed through the side of it. There was a lot of blood, but the wound didn’t look fatal. It was a good thing our suspect wasn’t a great shot.
“Sir, you’re going to be all right,” I whispered, hoping it was true, all the while keeping one eye on the cars in front of me. “Lie still. Don’t move.” With one hand I applied gentle pressure to the man’s neck to slow the bleeding, being careful not to press too hard or I might constrict his breathing. With the other I gripped the SIG and surveyed the parking garage. A pack of cops burst through the door.
“Get down!” they yelled.
“I’m a federal agent!”
“Shut up. Drop your weapon!”
Just then one of the men recognized me. “Wait, he’s one of us.”
“Get me an ambulance,” I called out. “And the shooter is still in the building!” I pointed toward where I thought the suspect had run, the most sensible escape route. “Down there. Sweep down toward the exit.”
The officers fanned out and began to search the parking garage car by car while I stayed with the injured man.
“Hang in there,” I told him. “Help will be here in a minute.”
Why did he shoot this man? Was he aiming at me? Did he miss me?
Maybe our suspect wasn’t a very good shot. Maybe. But as I considered the possibilities, a chilling thought struck me: maybe he was an excellent shot. Maybe he knew that if he killed this man with a shot to the torso or to the head I wouldn’t have had to stop to help him. Or, if he hit him in an extremity, the gunshot wound wouldn’t have been serious enough for me to stop. But if he wounded him just right I’d have to make a choice-I’d have to choose between saving this man’s life or continuing the chase. Somehow, he’d thought of all that in the brief moment after this man stepped out of his car. Was that possible? Could he be that smart?
Or maybe he knew this couple would be here. Maybe he’d planned it all in advance. I made a mental note to find out why this man and this girl were here on this night at this time in that parking spot. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe that the killer had planned it all out. He might have even waited on that walkway until I saw him there. He’s in it for the game. He likes to watch.
I started to wonder how I could catch a guy who could plan his moves like this. He was smarter than I was.
I stayed with the man who’d been shot until the ambulance arrived a few minutes later. There was a little confusion about which paramedics were going to take him to the hospital-apparently several vehicles had responded. Finally, two of the men lifted the gunshot victim onto a gurney and wheeled him away. We searched the entire parking garage complex, the mall, the parking lot, the restaurants. Nothing.
The girl from the van was still screaming when they took her away. I wondered if she would ever be able to stop herself from screaming when she thought of this night. Some people can put events like this behind them and move on. Most of us can’t.
Before leaving, I looked through the Ford Expedition they’d been in. A white pawn was sitting on the center of the dashboard.