Andrew Gross - 15 Seconds

She caught herself, in an awkward pause. “Sorry.”

I looked at her. “You think it’s time you start calling me Henry? Nothing special, it’s just that I kind of let everyone who saves my life call me by my first name. It’s a rule with me…”

Carrie smiled, brightness coming back into her face. “I don’t know. Maybe we should keep it like it is for now…”

“You’re right. Anyway, Doctor Steadman will probably get us a better table at the Denny’s in Mount Holly if we have lunch there…”

Suddenly I realized what the answer to my question about Carrie was.

It had to do with what I had said to her that first time I called in that somehow made her trust in me and look for that car. When everyone else had me tried and convicted as a ruthless killer and just wanted to bring me in.

I had asked if she had kids… And now I remembered, after a long pause she had answered yes, she did, a son . Her first day back, from such an abominable tragedy…

And then I had said: “ Well, then you’ll know exactly what I mean…”

Then I swore, on Hallie-the love of my life-that I was completely innocent of all the things they were saying.

And somehow that had cut through all the convincing evidence and the rush to judgment. And it had made her believe me. In spite of everything to the contrary. All the evidence, all the crimes Hofer had managed to pin on me-

“What?” Carrie glanced at me staring at her, and it suddenly was like she was reading my mind as she smiled, a bit fuzzily. “So you want me to tell you what it was? That made me believe you that day. Seems a little stupid now, in light of everything, but-”

“No.” I shook my head at her, smiling. “I think you just did.”

Mount Holly was a sleepy North Carolina town, like so many I’d been through lately. We made it there by 2:30 that afternoon.

Around Charlotte, the traffic narrowed to a single lane, a bunch of police lights flashing. Carrie pushed Rick’s license back to me, saying, “You may want to hold on to this. And while we’re at it, maybe this too.” Underneath it was Rick’s business card.

Worriedly, I started thinking maybe those sightings of me were more dangerous than I’d thought.

But it was just an accident. We passed right on through the line of police cars. The road was clear the rest of the way.

Bud’s Guns was located in a small strip mall on the outskirts of town, in between a wheelchair outlet and a Dairy Queen.

“Ready?” Carrie asked, parking the car and reaching around to the back for her file of photos and my iPad. She took in a breath.

“Totally ready,” I replied.

Carrie went into the store, the iPad armed with two bookmarked photos: one, from the Jacksonville News, of me, which must have been found on my website. Clean-shaven, smiling, confident, the way I looked just days ago.

And the other of Vance Hofer, which I had taken in my office three weeks before.

I followed her in, but stayed back in the aisle.

A barrel-chested, wide-shouldered guy with curly reddish hair and a thick mustache was behind the counter, just hanging up the phone. Carrie went up to him, resting my iPad on the counter.

“Help you, ma’am?” the amiable gun dealer asked with a wide grin. “Hope I’m not saying something wrong, but you look like just the kind of gal who’d line up pretty nicely with an extended-mag TEC-9.”

“Already got one.” Carrie smiled, as if he had complimented her hair. “You the owner?”

“That be me.” He nodded. “Bud Poole. And you…?”

“My name’s Carrie Holmes.” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head, all business. “I’m with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.” She flashed her JSO ID.

“Jacksonville, you say…? Been getting a bunch of you folk up here these past few days, you must know what I mean…”

“I do… Hope you don’t mind if I ask you some questions… You were at the Mid-Carolina Gun Fair a few weeks back?”

“I was.” Bud nodded again. “Make it every year… Some of my steadiest customers are up there… But somehow I thought this business was all wrapped up…” He shifted a little uncomfortably.

“Just a question or two. Kind of a follow-up. You were the dealer who sold the gun to Henry Steadman?” Carrie opened her file. “An H and K nine-millimeter… I can show you a copy of the invoice here…”

“Save the effort,” Bud said obligingly. “Everyone in the damn country has seen that invoice by now. That was me.” He shrugged, his ruddy face sagging a little like an old orange. “Look, I told all this to the people who were up here before. I always do things by the book. Anyone got a problem with it, write your congressman and change the law…”

“I assure you I’m not up here to hassle you about sidestepping some red tape, Mr. Poole… I just want to show you a couple of photos, and ask if you’d be kind enough to let me know if you recognize the person you sold the weapon to.”

“Hard not to recognize him,” the dealer grunted. “His face’s been on the evening news as much as that guy Gadhafi. But like I’ve been saying to anyone who’ll listen, I was busy; it was crowded that day. You make a lot of quick sales at these shows. Everyone has a way of melding together…” Bud glanced up and saw me in the aisle. “Feel free to look around. Be with you in just a moment…”

“I’m sure they do.” Carrie nodded. She placed the iPad on the counter and brought up the photo of me. “Is that him?”

Bud stared, fingers rubbing his chin. “I keep saying, could’ve been in a cap or a beard or something. Or sunglasses. My reputation is my Bible, I always say. But yeah, looks like the guy.”

“You’re pointing to a picture of Dr. Henry Steadman,” Carrie confirmed, “of Palm Beach, Florida, who’s been accused of committing those killings down in Jacksonville.”

Bud shrugged again. “I can’t exactly vouch for what people chose to do with ’em once they pay me the cash.”

“Or I’m wondering, is it possible it could have been this man that you saw?” Carrie said, switching to the second image on the iPad. “I just want you to look again and think back carefully. I understand that you were very busy…”

This time she showed him the photo of Vance Hofer.

Bud didn’t have to say a word. His eyes pretty much told it all, fastening on the new face, flickering in surprise and then thought, nodding.

“Just take a close look. I know it’s hard to admit you might have been wrong…” She switched back to the photo of me. “But what if I told you that this person, Dr. Henry Steadman, was actually in South Florida on the day of that sale, operating on a patient in the morning and in meetings for much of the rest of it?”

Bud bunched his lips.

“But that this man…” She switched again to Hofer. “ Vance Hofer. Is there any chance, Mr. Poole, that it might have been this man who bought that gun from you that day?”

He drew in a deep breath, his ruddy complexion replaced now by a dim pallor, staring and seemingly reevaluating. He tapped his index finger on the counter.

“No one’s trying to get you into any trouble, Mr. Poole. Like you said, you did exactly what was required. But I’m sure there are security cameras somewhere that might show Mr. Hofer coming into the hall that day. And not Dr. Steadman. So which person was it,” Carrie asked again, “this man or this one?”-flashing once more between the two. “Truth is, we’re going to have to clear it up at some point, whether here or in front of a jury, where you’d be under oath.”