“Yes, but I figured it was a hangover. I drank two gallons of water and several bottles of Powerade to help me rehydrate and felt better that afternoon.”

  “Didn’t notice any sore spots on your head or anything?”

  “No sir,” Randolph said.

  “Ok, let’s get that x-ray and make sure there isn’t some kind of fracture to the humerus, ulna, or radius,” the doctor said. “Nurse, why don’t we prioritize Mr. Randolph’s treatment, since this is an open wound situation.”

  “Will do, doctor,” the nurse said. Randolph sighed with relief. The news had announced the Family Annihilator had been killed by the SCTU. He was home free, which was good because Lydia would have been angry with him if he’d been caught, and he wasn’t keen on the idea of killing himself as she would have expected. Now he’d get some pain relievers as well as antibiotics, and the wound would be stitched closed. He might be able to return to his job. Even better, Lydia wouldn’t be there. He’d watched the news announce the day before that she’d been moved to The Fortress and would be tried under the SKMM laws as a serial offender. This also eased his tension. It was where she belonged. He could go back to his normal life and put all this behind him.

  The nurse took him to x-ray. The film, once developed, showed the small piece of metal in his arm. He was given a local anesthetic and once it had kicked in, the nurse and doctor began to dig around in his arm. The doctor pulled out the piece of rebar and put it in a plastic bin. Then the nurse set about cleaning the wound. This hurt more than the doctor with the tweezers, and he supposed it was the result of the local wearing off.

  In less than two hours, Edgar Randolph’s wound had been cleaned and bandaged and he had pain medication and antibiotics. The doctor stared at the small chunk of metal he had pulled out of his arm and frowned.

  “How many gunshot wounds do you think I’ve seen in my life?” he asked the nurse standing in the little office the doctors all shared.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, surprised.

  “Probably hundreds. I can’t account for this piece of metal, he went to some lengths to disguise it, but if the hole in Edgar Randolph’s arm wasn’t a bullet wound, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “Well, it isn’t like there is a lot you can do about it now,” the nurse responded. “He had a more plausible story than most people with bullet wounds.”

  “Yes, he did and I am obligated to report suspected bullet wounds, but it won’t amount to anything. I just can’t account for the metal fragment or some of the other stuff associated with it.” The doctor tapped the desktop with his fingertips. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the number for the local precinct.

  “Hello, yes, my name is Doctor Vance Rogers, I work at Jackson County Medical Group. I specifically see walk-in patients at the Jackson County Urgent Care Center on 144th street. We just had a patient come in for treatment with what I suspect was a bullet wound, but he had a plausible story about falling on some rebar after a night of drinking. However, as a mandatory reporter of such things, I am doing my due diligence and reporting it,” Dr. Rogers said. “Oh, yes, that’s fine. I’m here until eight tonight.”

  “Well?” the nurse asked.

  “They are sending a detective,” Dr. Rogers pursed his lips. “They’ve never sent a detective before.”

  Edgar Randolph had his prescriptions filled at the pharmacy near his house and stopped at a Taco John’s to get lunch. Then he went home and called his boss at Lankford Correctional Institute for Women.

  Twenty-Nine

  Lucas brought me in a peanut butter sandwich around four p.m. I’d been in bed for six hours. My head was still pounding as we sat together on my bed.

  “I believe you’ll be cleared,” Lucas told me for the third time. “But unfortunately, we haven’t found any evidence he’s the Family Annihilator. Marshals will be escorting your mom home from the hospital tomorrow. Have you spoken with her today?”

  “No,” I said quietly.

  “Gabriel called and told her about this morning. The board is sending a member to interview you later today.”

  “Great.”

  “Hey, I thought he was reaching for a gun too,” Lucas said and gave me a hug, enveloping me in his large arms. I leaned against him and began to cry. I felt stupid for crying. I didn’t feel remorse exactly, beyond the thought that all life is sacred. I was crying because of the injections and the pills and because I didn’t want to lose my job. Yes, I could get another job, but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much as I did my current one. Even working for Nadine would not satisfy me as much as working for the SCTU, even though the pay would be roughly the same.

  “If you hadn’t shot him, I would have,” Lucas said.

  “That is the only silver lining. My conscience can bear it better than yours,” I told him.

  “Your conscience should be clear. He might not be the bad guy we were looking for this time, but eventually he would have been, and he was a bad guy, Ace. He’s faced domestic assault charges 49 times since he was 17—that means nearly 50 times in less than 20 years. Eventually, he would have killed one of his women or that woman he made think was his aunt.”

  “Did you get the story with that?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Christman and her brother had a falling-out about her marriage to Jesus Christman at the time her nephew Harden Clooney was two years old. When her brother passed away in 2000, she began looking for his child almost immediately. Last she knew her brother was living in New Orleans, and she hired a private detective there to find her nephew. The detective found Bruno Clooney working in a bar. We don’t know if the detective made the mistake, or if Bruno saw the opportunity to pretend to be Harden Clooney and took it. Either way, the detective informed Mrs. Christman, and she went down there to reunite with him. Idoya went with her. Mrs. Christman had a stroke six years ago and has some issues with her mobility and memory as a result. Gabriel found the real Harden Clooney; he went into foster care after his father died, murdered by Harden’s mother and her lover. Gabriel has informed Idoya, who is a live-in nurse and caretaker for Mrs. Christman; she is also her niece on her husband’s side. Mrs. Christman has a daughter that lives in the UK. We’ve told her and Idoya about the real nephew and it will be up to them what to do with the information.”

  “Why did she and her brother have a falling-out?” I asked.

  “Jesus Christman was Puerto Rican and her brother didn’t like it. Kept telling her he was marrying her for citizenship and would leave her for a younger, prettier woman the first opportunity he got,” Lucas said.

  “How odd.” I said as I chewed the last bite of my sandwich.

  “How so?”

  “The US took possession of Puerto Rico and the Philippines in 1898. Pablo Christman might have been born in Puerto Rico, but he was born an American citizen.”

  “He also didn’t leave her for a younger woman. They were married until he died in 2012 of heart disease,” Lucas told me. “From what I can tell, they lived a very happy life. Idoya suspected that the few times Harden, or who they thought was Harden anyway, and Mrs. Christman were left alone together that Harden threatened her to get more money out of her.”

  “Why does she think that?” I asked.

  “Because originally Mrs. Christman was going to give her nephew an allowance of $1000 a month, plus pay for him to have a place to live. After just two months, he moved into Mrs. Chrisman’s house and she upped his monthly allowance. Then Mrs. Christman had started asking Idoya to take her with her when errands needed to be run. Idoya says she asked her about it a few times, but Mrs. Christman always just told her Harden had endured such a hard life it was no wonder he was rough around the edges.”

  “Huh,” I said and pushed the plate to Lucas. “When is the board coming?”

  “I’m not sure. This afternoon or evening.”

  “I may go back to bed until they get here,” I told him.

  “I think that would be a good idea. I’m going to send Xavier around to check on you tonight as well.” Lucas stood up. “If you need me or Trevor, we are just next door. Text or have Nadine run over to get us.”

  “Thanks,” I said and lay down. I was sleeping again when Nadine came and woke me to tell me that Peter West and Deputy Director Schwab were in the living room, and she and Zeke were going out to dinner. I considered getting dressed, but decided to go down in my pajamas. They had Bigfoot on them and said “I believe”.

  “Marshal Cain, how are you feeling?” Deputy Director Schwab asked me as I came into the room.

  “We’ll be back in a few hours,” Nadine announced as she and Zeke very hurriedly and very obviously left.

  “Not great,” I told them and took a seat at my kitchen table. They both sat down across from me.

  “This is not a disciplinary meeting,” Peter West said. “We just want your statement, Marshal Cain.” He conspicuously put a handheld tape recorder on the table.

  “We gave Marshal McMichaels permission to come speak with you first, because you are not under review for this incident,” Deputy Director Schwab said. “However, you may have a representative here with you if you would like.”

  “No,” I said. “There’s no need.”

  “Tell us in your own words what happened after you reached the second floor, Marshal Cain.”

  “Upon reaching the second floor of the house owned by Mrs. Christman, it was obvious there was a man engaged in conversation while also either watching a movie loudly or playing a video game, although I thought it was a video game, like Call of Duty,” I said. “Marshal McMichaels hit the door with the battering ram because the door was closed and I entered the room. I gave the male in the room instructions to lay on the floor with his hands palm down on the ground and flat stretched out above his head, and then I identified myself as a US Marshal with the SCTU. At that point, the suspect turned and reached for something on the side of his chair. Since he was suspected of being the Family Annihilator, I pulled the trigger on my gun and fired three shots into his chest before he could reach what I expected to be his gun. The suspect collapsed onto the floor and Marshal McMichaels went to secure him while I went to investigate what he was reaching for. There was a side pocket on his chair and inside I found what at first appeared to be a gun. However, once I pulled it out of the pocket, I realized it was plastic. At this time, Marshal McMichaels was attempting to do CPR. However, when he did a chest compression, I saw blood stream from one of the bullet wounds and realized one of my shots had pierced his heart. At that point, I attempted to pull back the slide on the gun. When it did not pull back, I realized it was a toy. This was when Supervisory Marshal Henders joined us upstairs and called for an ambulance. Then he ordered me to go to the vehicle and get inside. I did so, but required assistance.” I hated having to admit to a weakness, any type of weakness. But this was the first person I’d actually felt like I’d murdered.

  “Is that your full statement?” Peter West asked.

  “What more would you like to know?” I asked.

  “Did you notice anything else strange about the gun?” Deputy Director Schwab asked.

  “It was heavier than most toy guns and it did not have a colored tip,” I said.

  “Marshal Cain, while this matter will be reviewed, after reviewing your body cam footage and getting a report from the Marshals forensics lab, there will not be an investigation,” Schwab said. “It is my belief that had you not acted as you did, yourself or Marshal McMichaels would have been injured, possibly fatally. The lab was able to open the gun. It was loaded with .44 caliber bullets with full copper jackets. While not as deadly as hollow-points, it is still illegal for the public to own full metal jacketed bullets. The gun you found presents a new type of challenge facing law enforcement these days. It was indeed plastic, but firing it, which the lab was able to do, did not render it useless and they found it would hold eight bullets. Furthermore, due to the heavy plastic shielding, the lab found that it did not set off most metal detectors.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Marshal Cain, you discovered a 3D printed gun and a new kind. Most 3D printed guns up to this point have been able to fire only once or twice before they start to show stress cracks and most hold only .22 caliber ammunition. The forensics team is still going through Mr. Clooney’s computer as well as the 3D printer found in his room, but the techs think Mr. Clooney may have programmed and designed this gun himself and was going to offer it for sale on the dark web. Of course, they will need more than ten hours to investigate this matter fully, but that is their preliminary conclusion. If you had waited for him to draw the weapon, which still would have appeared to be a toy, either your or Marshal McMichaels could easily have been killed in that room. The director of the US Marshals as well as the NSA and Homeland Security have decided this is a good shooting at this point. The only question that needs to be discussed among ourselves is your quickness on the trigger. However, given your job and the types of criminals you encounter all the time, I consider that a positive outcome,” Peter West said to me. “The NSA and Homeland are actually grateful that it was you that discovered this gun, and not a police officer on the street who probably would not have reacted as quickly and efficiently as you did. 3D printers are not regulated because you aren’t supposed to be able to print working guns from them, but that may need to change.” Peter West said.

  “We hope your migraine is alleviated and expect you back to full duty tomorrow,” Deputy Director Schwab told me. Then he stood and shook my hand. “I know it has been a rough two days for you, Marshal Cain, but the Family Annihilator is still out there as far as we can tell. We need you looking for him.”

  I sat at the table as they showed themselves out. I had never heard of a 3D printed gun. 3D printers were astronomically expensive and the material for them even more so. I typed 3D printer into Google and it brought up an advertisement for JoAnn’s Fabric and Craft stores, where 3D printers were on sale for less than $300. My mouth fell open. When had 3D printers become available for anyone and everyone? I couldn’t answer that. But I quickly realized I could buy a really nice 3D printer for less than $1,000, and Bruno Clooney had access to way more money than I did. My phone dinged and I looked at it.

  “Bringing dinner back with us,” it read. It was from Nadine and was addressed to my entire SCT unit as well as Alex, Kenzie, Anthony, and Sebastian. I wondered if I wanted company, and my stomach growled.

  Thirty

  After we had eaten our fill of Kansas City barbecue and I’d had a cheeseburger with everything bad on it, I leaned forward at the table and sighed.

  “It’s still Lydia Rolf,” I said. “I don’t know how or who she used for it, but it’s Lydia Rolf. I know it with every fiber of my being.”

  “Did they tell you what they are going to make you do?” Lucas asked.

  “No, they didn’t mention punishments,” I said.

  “Ah well, it isn’t a punishment, it’s a covering their ass thing,” Gabriel said.

  “Okay, so what hoops do I have to jump through?” I asked nervously.

  “You are the only SCTU member that doesn’t have a law enforcement background. You didn’t sit through the classes we had to sit through,” Gabriel said. “You’re going to get to sit through some of them. Your first class is a week-long training with the Missouri Highway Patrol on law enforcement ethics. It will be terribly boring, but you might actually enjoy it. Then you get to go through the Kansas City Police Department’s investigator training. It’s six weeks. We think you will absolutely enjoy that one.”

  “I didn’t know the Highway Patrol offered classes.”

  “Originally, we were going to send you to them for their investigator training course, but KC Metro volunteered to take you into their classes as an olive branch. They also think it will be good for their officers to interact with you more. Well, all of us really. We will be doing a meet-and-greet barbecue as well as a couple of get-to-know-the-SCTU courses at the local departments.”

  “Ah,” I said.

  “The Missouri Highway Patrol is such a tough institution that they have an arrangement with the FBI. Some Quantico cadets come to the MSHP for training,” Gabriel told me. “It is quite an honor to get selected.”

  “So, I should be honored?” I asked.

  “No, you should be prepared,” Gabriel said. “The Highway Patrol ethics class will be grueling and will include real-life scenarios. If you fail it, it could mean you have to take the full 12-week course at the FBI.”

  “Got it.” I absolutely didn’t want to go to Quantico. “Back to the Family Annihilator, what about Lydia Rolf?”

  “What about her?” Gabriel asked.

  “I can’t believe there is absolutely no membership list for the Children from the Future,” I said. “If we could get that list, we might be able to figure out who our killer is.”

  “The only membership list ever found was the one Nadine and Alex gave to the police,” Gabriel told me.

  “None of the other members would give a list?”

  “You mean the ones arrested with Lydia Rolf? No. Members on the list Alex and Nadine provided? Also a no.”

  “Good grief.” I sighed.

  “There’s not been another killing. Maybe he died from the gunshot wound Ralph DeLong gave him.”

  “We can hope, I guess. Although I still think Lydia Rolf is involved. Are we monitoring her communications both within The Fortress and with the outside?”

  “Yes, Aislinn.” Gabriel said tiredly.

  “Well, damn it, it has to be someone!” I said.

  “We are stopping the hormone shots,” Xavier said. “I want to do some more research and I don’t think you should be in training with this new attitude.”