Buffalo: Black and Blue by James Ward

Author:James Ward [Ward, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Resilience Press
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

34

A little after 10:00 p.m., Campbell and McGuire sat parked on the corner of Genesee and Sherman. They knew it was unlikely they would be at the exact spot of a new shooting. The hope was that they would be close enough to respond immediately and have a chance of catching their guy.

From their location, they had a good view of the whole intersection and a block down both streets in either direction. Campbell had had no luck in requisitioning a car so they were using McGuire’s four-door Ford Taurus, which was old and battered enough to fit the role. Their provisions included two large thermoses of coffee, two deli-made ham sandwiches, and energy bars.

“This isn’t what I would’ve done,” McGuire said. “But the lieutenant wants complete control of this thing.”

Sitting there with McGuire in the dark, with nothing to do but stay alert, and the streets all around them quiet, Campbell felt pressured to make conversation. He didn’t want the topic to turn to the past troubles between his father and McGuire. Not now. He didn’t sense McGuire was a sports fan. There wasn’t much likelihood they shared tastes in movies or books or music. Politics didn’t seem like a good idea. He tried talking some more about the case.

“The lieutenant’s called me three times today. He’s wired about this case.”

“He’s got something to be wired about,” McGuire answered. “This thing could turn bad, and fast. Then he’ll have to get on the stick and blame someone else. In this kind of case, for an up-and-comer like Hood, it’s win alone but lose in a crowd.”

McGuire’s cynicism didn’t bother Campbell. He expected that in a retired detective. He sometimes wondered if the affliction would catch up with him.

“I wasn’t even born when the Christopher case happened. Why would someone want to copy it? You’d have to be a sick bastard.”

“They’re out there. Wackos of all types.” McGuire poured himself some more coffee and opened his sandwich, even though their night was just starting. “Our shooter is probably not old enough to have lived through the .22-Caliber case. This kind of shit is almost always young or middle-aged men. So he had to have someone, or something, stir up his interest in the case. And I’m betting he wants notoriety. These screwballs all want to be famous.”

McGuire avoided the core of the case: the vicious racism that surely propelled the killer. Campbell could understand that, but it was something that had to be recognized. It went directly to motive.

Just after 11:00 p.m., a single light appeared on Genesee Street, moving too fast to be a pedestrian with a flashlight. The light drew closer to the intersection. It was someone on a bicycle with a lamp on the handlebars, riding down the center of the street. Both detectives sat up and watched.

“You want to bet he’s carrying something illegal?” McGuire asked.

“Not necessarily. He might work a night shift. Maybe in one of the fast-food places.”

“Yeah, sure.”

McGuire’s tone aggravated Campbell. He was already wound up and didn’t need this.

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