17Before I heard Tom’s phone ring, he picked up.
“Jeff’s dead,” he said. “Two hours ago, Dooley shot him.”
Edison Dooley was a firearms instructor at the Virginia facility.
We’d had a couple of nonfatal shootings there in the past. The facility was under the jurisdiction of the county sheriff.
I knew the drill.
“What’d the sheriff’s investigator say?”
“Accident,” Tom replied.
The word reeked of scorn.
Tom didn’t buy the official explanation.
“Ten minutes ago,” he added, “Ramsey canceled your no-hire orders.”
“The recruits I blackballed didn’t go home this morning?”
“All six resumed training,” he confirmed.
I drew a deep breath while I worked out the implications.
Of course, Jeff would not have allowed those recruits to work for Caprock.
Jeff’s death had eliminated Ramsey’s la
