Chapter Four

The interrogations continue as Monica butts heads with Agents Carson and Davis.

“How long have you worked with Griffin Lauer?” Davis is very calm, but his eyes are very intense beneath the flickering light. It’s a stare much unlike one’s Monica is used to. Being a woman, you walk down the street in a pencil skirt and people are going to stare. It just happens. But this is different. While both stares may be unwelcome, this one does not originate from desire. It’s spawned by pure curiosity and a need for information.

            “It’s only been a few months,” Monica answers honestly. “He came in to help decrypt a personal computer for us and Cooper decided to keep him on as staff.”

            “What month did he begin?”

            “August, I believe.” Monica is staring right back at him. It shows that she has nothing to hide, and it also shows that she understands the reasoning for these questions.

            “Did you ever discuss politics with Mr. Lauer?”

            Now begins the gradual transition into the more relevant questions. “It came up occasionally.”

            Davis nods his head, his thick grey brows furrowing curiously. “And how would you describe his political affiliations?”

            Monica recalls a few conversations where Cooper cursed the cost of college tuition and blamed guns for every act of violence. “I would say he leans pretty far left, just like President Anderson.”

            Davis’ wrinkled hands move up to rest beneath his chin. “So based on your conversations with Mr. Lauer, you can’t think of any reason he would want to bring harm to the president?”

            “Perhaps if it had been a Republican in that motorcade. But even then the kid can barely work a ballpoint pen let alone a high powered sniper rifle. If it doesn’t have a touch screen, he can’t feasibly use it.”

            “Do you understand how serious this situation is, Miss Moore?”

            “I do, and I’m trying to help you. And while I know me saying this doesn’t add anything to your investigation because there’s no evidence to support my words yet, Griffin didn’t do this.”

           

            Abby is still crying, and Carson is visibly irritated by her inability to gain any kind of control over her emotions.

            “Miss Brooks, I’m going to need you to calm down and answer my questions, please.” He slides a box of cheap, convenient store tissues across the table to her.

She plucks two tissues from their confines in the little plastic lip and wipes her eyes. “I just can’t believe they shot him. Please tell me he’s okay. Please!”

“Don’t worry, Abigail. They won’t let him die until he answers their questions,” the man says, his frustration with the way these interrogations are unfolding clearly mounting.

“Oh God!”

“But if you tell us what we need to know, and answer these questions, maybe I can help him.” He takes the box of tissues back, holding onto them as some kind of leverage. “What were you, Monica and Cooper doing in that building with Griffin Lauer?”

“We heard the gunshot on TV,” Abby begins, her voice still unsteady. “And then we saw Griffin, so we ran to help him.”

“You ran to help an assassin?”

“He’s not an assassin!”

Carson seems satisfied with the reactions he’s finally getting.

“Oh, yeah? And how can you be so sure?”

Abby sighs as she wipes at her eyes with her palms. “Monica used to take us all to the shooting range. Team building or something. Griffin sucked more than the rest of us, so she kept taking him even after we stopped. He still sucked.”

Carson is up out of his chair and trudging to the door before Abby has even finished her sentence.

 

“So he socially and economically agrees with President Anderson?” Davis asks the raven haired female.

“Yes, that is what I am saying. If I could think of any reason he’d want him dead-”

Monica is cut off by the abrupt opening of the door into the room. S.S.A. Davis storms in and lunges right at her from across the table. “Talk, b***h!” His face is red and veins are popping out of his forehead and neck.

Carson reaches out and places his hand on Davis’ chest, holding him back. “Davis, what the hell are you doing?”

“Come on, boys. Aren’t we a little old for good cop, bad cop?” Monica’s smugness returns. She can’t help it, Davis just brings it out of her.

“Yeah, keep talking. Just keep talking Moore. Let’s see what you slip up and decide to tell us. Your friend Abby is already spilling all the dirt on you.” Davis grabs Carson’s hand and pushes it away.

“Care to share?” Carson asks his temporary partner.

Davis steps forward again and takes his original seat. “Tell us why you continued taking Griffin to the shooting range once your little team building exercise stopped.”

Monica sighs as she straightens up her posture and places her hands on the table, the chains from the handcuffs scratching the table. “The kid was a horrible shot. I felt bad for him because everyone else in the group could hit their target and he was constantly shooting the wall behind it.”

“And you just felt it was so important that he learn to shoot? Why?”

“It’s a good life skill. Besides, the kid was terrified of guns. I wanted to help him overcome that.”

“Did he improve at all while you worked with him?”

Monica rolls her eyes. “Coping with the fear? Yes. Getting closer to the bullseye? I think he actually got worse.”

“What was the name of the range, Moore?”

Monica shrugs. “Hell if I remember. Something like Campbell’s Arsenal, I think.”

“Agent Carson,” Davis says as he stands once more. “Find a Campbell’s in Atlanta or immediately surrounding areas. See if they have security footage from anytime between the last week and six months ago.”

“And see if Mr. Lauer is really as bad of a shot as she says?” Carson asks even though he knows the answer.

“Precisely.”