4 Shot Off The Presses Read Online Free Page A

how many shots were fired,” I sighed. “And how far away the shot really was.”
    Brick smiled smugly. “Yeah. I know it’s probably hard for you, but you’re going to have to get some actual information before you start going after gun owners.”
    I waited until Brick had disappeared back around the far side of the cubicles and turned to Fish. “Nice hire.”
    “He’s not so bad,” Fish said. “He brought me some venison jerky.”
    “Yum,” I said sarcastically.
    “It was really good. He’s a master smoker.”
    “That’s what she said.”
    “What?” Fish looked confused.
    “Never mind.”
    I made my way back to my desk and booted up my computer. I Googled freeway shootings, hoping I would find some statistics, and was surprised to find that this wasn’t the first freeway shooting in the area over the past few days. There had been one in Oakland County, too, less than a week ago. Now that I read the story, I vaguely remembered hearing something about it on the nightly news. The Oakland County police had attributed the shooting to bored teenagers – mostly because the shot was believed to have originated from a footbridge by a nearby park. It hadn’t been solved, and the investigation had apparently stalled. Oakland County was notorious for hiding crime, though, so I had no idea where that investigation stood. I would have to try and reach out to a few reporters I knew across town – ones I could tolerate – which meant it was a short list. I printed out the story and took it to Fish’s desk.
    “What’s that?”
    I handed the story to him and waited for him to read it. When he was finished, he turned to me. “This could be a coincidence.”
    “It could be,” I agreed. “We have no way of knowing yet if the two cases are related. One was a single businessman named Malcolm Hopper and one was a mother. They were in two different counties. It could be a copycat, too.”
    “It could be,” Fish furrowed his brow. “Mention this shooting in your story, but don’t focus on it. We don’t want to create a panic if they’re not related. That will just make us look like jerks.”
    Since the media was often regarded as jerks as it was, I didn’t disagree with him. “I’ll call over to the Oakland paper and see what they have. I’ll dig into that shooting and see what else I can unearth.”
    “That’s a good idea,” Fish said. He glanced up at the wall clock. “You probably won’t be able to get anyone until tomorrow, though.”
    “It’s just another angle,” I said absentmindedly.
    “It’s a good angle,” Fish said. “Just don’t press it yet. We don’t want to do anything that’s going to come back and bite us.”
    As a reporter that had witnessed many a story come back and bite me – or try to kill me – I had no problem acquiescing to his demands. I would wait. For now. I needed more information before I picked a direction to go.

Four
    I placed a call to the sheriff’s department and found out that a press conference had been scheduled for the next morning. Since no more information would be available tonight, I filed my story and headed home.
    A few years ago I had bought a small, two-bedroom home in Roseville. I loved the area because it boasted a bevy of restaurants and easy access to the freeway. It also had a high white trash population that alternately amused and irritated me. I pulled into my driveway and frowned when I saw that my hillbilly neighbors were out in their backyard grilling – without their shirts on. Maybe it’s me, but I never think it’s a good idea to be around an open flame with bare skin. Unfortunately, I would have no choice but to greet them – something I tried really hard to avoid most days.
    The brothers had issues, there’s no other way to put it. They lived in the two-bedroom house their mom had left them in her will – with one of the brother’s wife and toddler. That was four people – three of whom liked to drink (a lot) – and a