“Five shot? Six?”
“I would only be guessing. It looked older. Not snub-nosed, but—” Charlie stopped. “Was there another gun? Another shooter?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you asked how many shots were fired, and you asked how many bullets were in the revolver.”
“I wouldn’t extrapolate from my questions, Ms. Quinn. At this point in the investigation, we can say with a high degree of certainty that there was not another gun and there was not another shooter.”
Charlie pressed together her lips. Had she heard more than four gunshots in the beginning? Had she heard more than six?
Suddenly, she wasn’t certain of anything.
Delia said, “You said that Kelly Wilson had the revolver. What was she doing with it?”
Charlie closed her eyes to give her brain a moment to reset back to the hallway. “Kelly was sitting on the floor like I said. Her back was to the wall. She had the revolver pointed at her chest, like this.” Charlie clasped her hands together, miming the way the girl had held the gun with both hands, her thumb looped inside the trigger guard. “She looked like she was going to kill herself.”
“Her left thumb was inside the trigger guard?”
Charlie looked at her hands. “Sorry, I’m only guessing. I’m left-handed. I don’t know which thumb was inside the trigger guard, but one of them was.”
Delia continued writing. “And?”
Charlie said, “Carlson and Rodgers were screaming for Kelly to put down the gun. They were freaked out. We were all freaked out. Except for Huck. I guess he’s seen combat or …” She didn’t speculate. “Huck had his hand out. He told Kelly to give him the revolver.”
“Did Kelly Wilson make a statement at any time?”
Charlie wasn’t going to validate that Kelly Wilson had spoken, because she didn’t trust the two men who had heard her words to relay them truthfully.
She said, “Huck was negotiating Kelly’s surrender. She was complying.” Charlie’s gaze went back to the mirror, where she hoped Ken Coin was about to piss himself. “Kelly placed the revolver in Huck’s hand. She had completely relinquished it. That’s when Officer Rodgers shot Mr. Huckabee.”
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Delia held up her hand to stop him.
“Where was he shot?” the agent asked.
“Here.” Charlie indicated her bicep.
“What was Kelly Wilson’s affect during this time?”
“She looked dazed.” Charlie silently berated herself for answering the question. “That’s just a guess. I don’t know her. I’m not an expert. I can’t speak to her state of mind.”
“Understood,” Delia said. “Was Mr. Huckabee unarmed when he was shot?”
“Well, he had the revolver in his hand, but sideways, the way Kelly had put it there.”
“Show me?” She took a Glock 45 out of her purse. She dropped the clip, pulled on the slide to eject the cartridge, and placed the gun on the table.
Charlie didn’t want to take the Glock. She hated guns, even though she practiced twice a month at the range. She was never, ever going to find herself in another situation where she didn’t know how to use a gun.
Delia said, “Ms. Quinn, you don’t have to, but it would be helpful if you could show me the position of the revolver when it was placed in Mr. Huckabee’s hand.”
“Oh.” Charlie felt like a giant light bulb turned on over her head. She had been so overwhelmed by the murders that she hadn’t processed the fact that there was a second investigation into the officer-involved shooting. If Rodgers had moved his gun an inch in the wrong direction, Huck could’ve been a third body lying in the front office hallway.
“It was like this.” Charlie picked up the Glock. The black metal felt cold against her skin. She hefted it into her left hand, but that was wrong. Huck had reached back with his right. She put the gun in her open right palm, turned sideways, muzzle facing backward, the same way Kelly had with the revolver.
Delia already had her cell phone in her hands. She took several pictures, saying, “You don’t mind?” when she knew full well it was too late if Charlie minded. “What happened to the revolver?”
Charlie placed the Glock on the table so that the muzzle pointed toward the back wall. “I don’t know. Huck didn’t really move. I mean, he flinched, I guess from the pain of a bullet shredding his arm, but he didn’t fall down or anything. He told Rodgers to take the revolver, but I don’t remember whether or not Rodgers took it, or if someone else did.”
Delia’s pen had stopped writing. “After Mr. Huckabee was shot, he told Rodgers to take the revolver?”
“Yes. He was very calm about it, but I mean, it was tense, because nobody knew whether or not Rodgers was going to shoot him again. He still had his Glock pointed at Huck. Carlson still had his shotgun.”
“But there wasn’t another shot fired?”
“No.”
“Could you see if anyone had their finger on a trigger?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t see Mr. Huckabee hand the revolver to anyone?”
“No.”
“Did you see him put it anywhere on his person? On the ground?”
“I don’t—” Charlie shook her head. “I was more concerned that he had been shot.”
“Okay.” She made a few more notes before looking up. “What do you remember next?”
Charlie didn’t know what she remembered next. Had she looked down at her hands the same way she was looking down at them now? She could remember the sound of heavy breathing from Carlson and Rodgers. Both men had looked as terrified as Charlie had felt, sweating profusely, their chests heaving up and down under the weight of their bulletproof vests.
My girl’s that age.
Pink coached me up.
Carlson hadn’t buckled his bulletproof vest. The sides had flapped open as he ran into the school with his shotgun. He’d had no idea what he would find when he turned that corner; bodies, carnage, a bullet to the head.
If you’ve never seen anything like that before, it could break you.
Delia asked, “Ms. Quinn, do you need a moment?”
Charlie thought about the terrified look on Carlson’s face when he slipped in the patch of blood. Had there been tears in his eyes? Was he wondering if the dead girl a few feet away from his face was his own child?
