Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(74)

“Where’s Zach?” My eyes darted to every corner of the gym. Delia glanced up from her markers and shrugged.

“Come on, Dee!” Vero grabbed Delia’s hand, towing her after me as I raced to the rear exit. It was the only door Zach could have escaped through without any of us noticing.

I shouted his name, catching a glimpse of his coat as he followed a group of students through a side door to the lecture halls, completely unnoticed. I chased after them, impatiently swiping my card key and waiting for the locks to slide open. Vero scooped Delia into her arms and followed me inside. We called Zach’s name, dodging groups of students chatting in the hall.

I skidded to a stop beside Mrs. Haggerty. “Mrs. Haggerty! Have you seen…” She squinted up at me through the thick lenses in her rose-gold frames. “Never mind.”

Flashing lights caught my attention down the hall. Over her shoulder, I spotted Zach’s blinking sneakers as they disappeared into a classroom. I navigated around Mrs. Haggerty and sprinted down the hall. Vero’s sneakers squeaked on the tile behind me as we skidded to a stop inside the classroom door.

A familiar man stood at the front of the room, the same man we’d seen standing behind a podium on the stage of the auditorium two days ago, right before his lecture with Peter. The name printed on the whiteboard behind him read DR. MOHAMMED SHARIF—FIREARMS EXAMINER.

“That’s the asshole that stole our bullet,” Vero whispered.

Dr. Sharif’s Adam’s apple bobbed as Zach stared at him across the room. He watched the blinking lights on my son’s shoes with a look of abject horror.

“I’m so sorry if he disturbed you.” I grabbed hold of my son to keep him from tackle-hugging the doctor’s legs. Zach giggled and the man flinched. Tiny beads of perspiration had begun forming on his forehead. “Dr. Sharif? Are you okay?”

The doctor’s eyes lifted to mine, recognition sparking. “You?”

I read his name again and glanced down at his shoes. “Mo?”

He backed into the whiteboard.

A police radio squawked and Roddy appeared in the doorway behind us. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, hiking up his belt. “Steven’s here.”

“Thank god,” I whispered.

Roddy plucked his mic from his vest. “Nick?”

“Copy.”

“Found ’em. I’ll have everyone escorted downstairs.”

Mo cried out. “Whatever this woman told you, Officer, I swear to you that I did nothing inappropriate in the restroom of the Walmart!”

Roddy frowned at him, his eyes ping-ponging between us.

I interjected before Mo could regale Roddy with our drama in the men’s room. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Roddy. Dr. Sharif has generously offered to help me with some very important tool mark questions. Right, Doctor?”

Mo nodded emphatically. “I am happy to cooperate with this woman—and the police—in any way I can. Just please don’t make me go with you.”

“That was easy,” Vero muttered. “Roddy and I will go find the kids’ luggage and wait for you in the lobby.” The classroom door closed behind them as she led the children out.

Mo sagged, clutching his chest.

“The bullet Pete gave you,” I said, still a little out of breath, “I need to know anything you can tell me about the gun that fired it.” This man was my last hope for giving me anything … anything at all that would help me identify EasyClean. Feliks was loose and Marco clearly knew we were here, but if I could find out whose gun fired that bullet, there might still be time to give Feliks a name and negotiate with Kat for that duffel bag full of incentive money.

Mo searched frantically through the loose papers and books on his desk, plucking the bullet from a small plastic tray. He carried it to a lab table, turned on a microscope, and set the bullet on the stage. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he leaned over the eyepiece and adjusted the dials. He studied it, using a set of tweezers to turn the bullet this way and that before removing it from the stage and passing it to me. “The caliber is 9mm,” he said, gesturing for me to leave. “There’s quite a bit of damage.”

“That’s it?” I asked, refusing to budge. “Can’t you tell me anything else … a model number or something?”

He held open the door and nudged me through it. “Lots of models are compatible with 9mm rounds,” he said irritably. “All I can tell you is the name of the manufacturer. The rifling marks suggest it was fired from a Glock.”





CHAPTER 28


When I descended the stairs toward the main entrance of the building, Vero, Roddy, and the kids were nowhere in sight. Steven was pacing in front of the vestibule, arms crossed, casting impatient sideways looks at Nick, Georgia, Samara, and Joey, who were huddled close, having a tense conversation at the edge of the hall. Nick glanced up, his eyes trailing me as I crossed the lobby and tapped Steven on the shoulder.

Steven whirled. “Hey,” he said, spreading his arms wide to hug me. I held him back by the chest.

“Where have you been?” I asked in a harsh whisper.

“Look, I’m sorry I had to leave Delia and Zach with your mom. An emergency came up.”

“Didn’t you get my messages?”