face-to-face. “You’re talking about—”
“Glenn Klinger.”
“—the man who shot eleven people at his workplace, then turned the gun on himself.”
“Yes.”
Bheru’s dark eyes widened. “What makes her say that?”
Eran spread his hands as he searched for the right words. His partner knew some things about Brynna, but what he didn’t know was a whole lot more complicated. What he didn’t know was the truth . “Your guess is as good as mine. It could be her belief that nothing happens because of coincidence, or it could be one of her feelings.”
“A premonition?”
“Something like that, although you know how Brynna insists she has no such ability.” Eran tried to keep his gaze level with Bheru’s. If he looked away now, it would be a giveaway that he wasn’t being entirely aboveboard. “I’m not exactly clear on it myself.”
“Then we should check it out,” Bheru said. He stood at the same time that Eran did. “Next stop, CTA Security.”
“OKAY, LET’S TAKE A look.” Dave Pickett, one of the security supervisors in the video archives office of the Chicago Transit Authority, had Eran and Bheru sitting on either side of him as he swiftly tapped on a keyboard below a triple row of computer monitors. Eran had worked with Dave before, and the number of cases was growing as more and more cameras were installed in the Chicago area. It was now the most closely monitored city in the United States, and Eran couldn’t help agreeing with most of the citizenry, who actually thought that was a good thing. According to widely held reports, most of the complaints came from people who were snagged for petty crimes and those who were upset because a camera wasn’t installed or hadn’t been working when a crime had occurred.
Eran and Bheru leaned closer to the monitors, although they were seeing about as much as they were going to. “You said it was about three-thirty, right?” Dave asked. “Blue-collar go-home time?”
“Yeah,” Eran said. “The time’s estimated but that’s pretty close.”
“It’ll be easy to find,” Dave said. “I’ll do a fast-forward through the platform tape and just look for the glob of uniforms that shows the medics. Then we can go back and take a closer look until we find your rescue guy. I can get it within three or four minutes right off the bat because of the conductor’s emergency call-in.”
Dave was as good as his word, and in no time at all the three men were watching a grainy but fairly wide-ranging view of the subway platform in question. There were a number of factories in the area and it was crowded, filled with workers headed home after the day shift. Even though it was underground, it was hot, too—Eran could see that by the looks on the faces of the people waiting for the next train. Being a cop for so many years had made him very attuned to facial expression and body language, and there was a certain way that people held themselves and behaved when the temperature was jacked into the uncomfortable range. Like these folks, they stood apart from each other as much as possible, trying for breathing room; jackets and sweaters that had been worn in air-conditioned workplaces were held with only one or two fingers and Eran could see a lot of the men wiping at their foreheads.
“Right about here,” Dave said suddenly. He paused the image on the screen, then rolled it backward a couple of times until he got what he wanted, matching the date and time display on the lower left of the screen to a report that was open next to his keyboard. “That’s Klinger.” He tapped the screen to bring their gazes to a gangly-looking man in a work uniform. The guy had crazy hair that was sticking up in every possible direction. “Okay, here we go,” he said.
Another few seconds and they saw it all—Klinger holding his head then pitching forward onto the tracks, the surging movement of the bystanders as they instinctively crowded toward the spot where he’d gone over, the
“Glenn Klinger.”
“—the man who shot eleven people at his workplace, then turned the gun on himself.”
“Yes.”
Bheru’s dark eyes widened. “What makes her say that?”
Eran spread his hands as he searched for the right words. His partner knew some things about Brynna, but what he didn’t know was a whole lot more complicated. What he didn’t know was the truth . “Your guess is as good as mine. It could be her belief that nothing happens because of coincidence, or it could be one of her feelings.”
“A premonition?”
“Something like that, although you know how Brynna insists she has no such ability.” Eran tried to keep his gaze level with Bheru’s. If he looked away now, it would be a giveaway that he wasn’t being entirely aboveboard. “I’m not exactly clear on it myself.”
“Then we should check it out,” Bheru said. He stood at the same time that Eran did. “Next stop, CTA Security.”
“OKAY, LET’S TAKE A look.” Dave Pickett, one of the security supervisors in the video archives office of the Chicago Transit Authority, had Eran and Bheru sitting on either side of him as he swiftly tapped on a keyboard below a triple row of computer monitors. Eran had worked with Dave before, and the number of cases was growing as more and more cameras were installed in the Chicago area. It was now the most closely monitored city in the United States, and Eran couldn’t help agreeing with most of the citizenry, who actually thought that was a good thing. According to widely held reports, most of the complaints came from people who were snagged for petty crimes and those who were upset because a camera wasn’t installed or hadn’t been working when a crime had occurred.
Eran and Bheru leaned closer to the monitors, although they were seeing about as much as they were going to. “You said it was about three-thirty, right?” Dave asked. “Blue-collar go-home time?”
“Yeah,” Eran said. “The time’s estimated but that’s pretty close.”
“It’ll be easy to find,” Dave said. “I’ll do a fast-forward through the platform tape and just look for the glob of uniforms that shows the medics. Then we can go back and take a closer look until we find your rescue guy. I can get it within three or four minutes right off the bat because of the conductor’s emergency call-in.”
Dave was as good as his word, and in no time at all the three men were watching a grainy but fairly wide-ranging view of the subway platform in question. There were a number of factories in the area and it was crowded, filled with workers headed home after the day shift. Even though it was underground, it was hot, too—Eran could see that by the looks on the faces of the people waiting for the next train. Being a cop for so many years had made him very attuned to facial expression and body language, and there was a certain way that people held themselves and behaved when the temperature was jacked into the uncomfortable range. Like these folks, they stood apart from each other as much as possible, trying for breathing room; jackets and sweaters that had been worn in air-conditioned workplaces were held with only one or two fingers and Eran could see a lot of the men wiping at their foreheads.
“Right about here,” Dave said suddenly. He paused the image on the screen, then rolled it backward a couple of times until he got what he wanted, matching the date and time display on the lower left of the screen to a report that was open next to his keyboard. “That’s Klinger.” He tapped the screen to bring their gazes to a gangly-looking man in a work uniform. The guy had crazy hair that was sticking up in every possible direction. “Okay, here we go,” he said.
Another few seconds and they saw it all—Klinger holding his head then pitching forward onto the tracks, the surging movement of the bystanders as they instinctively crowded toward the spot where he’d gone over, the
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