Keats started to kick at the windows, making small cracks near the top. Jake pulled her into his lap, pinning down her legs.
"This car is expensive, Remington. Don't do that." He said. But instead of forcing himself onto her, he opened his door and gently pushed her out.
"I was just going to take you to question another suspect. The prosecutor said that the bullet wounds on the body displayed skilled marksmanship. Guess whose brother is a retired exhibition marksman?" Jake asked.
"The Reverend's wife?" Keats asked in disbelief. Jake was proving to be somewhat helpful.
They traveled the twenty or so paces down the beach to a condo belonging to Dean Stryker, the widow Edward's brother.
Ryan examined the reports of the autopsy, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Calleigh wandered into the lab, glancing over his shoulder.
"Any luck?" She asked him. He shrugged.
"I don't know…where's the wonder duo?" He asked, suddenly wondering why he hadn't seen Keats all day.
"They're questioning a few suspects."
"Together? Alone? There's a crime waiting to happen." Ryan rubbed the back of his neck.
"Berkeley might be a jerk, but he wouldn't do anything to screw up his position in the department." Calleigh said.
"I'll take your word for it." He murmured, looking back over the photos of the victims.
Keats knocked on the door, noting with mild trepidation that all the shutters had been drawn as soon as she had approached the condo. Berkeley pulled his jacket aside, placing his right hand on his weapon.
"Mr. Stryker?" Keats knocked on the door again. The door swung open and a man with a sawed-off shotgun took aim at Berkeley's hand, sending a bullet into his open palm. Keats grasped for her handgun, only to have Stryker's shotgun shoved dangerously close to the flesh between her eyes.
"Drop it." He said. Keats undid the clasp and let the handgun fall. She held her hands up in surrender.
"Don't even think about running, hotshot. I can knock a bottle of beer off a fence a mile away." Dean Stryker bragged. Keats would have rolled her eyes if she'd had the nerve. Berkeley sat down on the steps of the condo, leaning against the banister.
His hand was trembling, the lodged bullet shining against the bright red backdrop of blood.
"Do I have to kill you bastards to get you to leave me alone?" Stryker shouted. Keats shook her head slowly, calmly. Now was not the time to lose her head. Even though I'd love nothing more than to run screaming down the beach.
"No, Mr. Stryker. We just want to question you about the deaths of Hal Edwards and Jill Hughes." She said. Stryker reloaded his shotgun.
"You think I did it, don't you?" He cried, his voice harsh and broken.
"Let me call an ambulance for my friend, here, and we'll discuss it." Keats answered, losing much of her patience.
"Not if you're dead." He mumbled, heaving the barrel of the gun into the side of her neck. Keats staggered backward, sprawling across the steps, unconscious.
Jake Berkeley stared in horror at Keats' lifeless body, barely aware of Dean Stryker's semi-automatic pistol emerging from his back pocket.
Horatio came into the ballistics lab just as Ryan and Calleigh were finishing up examining the latest shells from the crime scene.
"I was just thinking. I haven't gotten a call from Berkeley or Ms. Remington, lately. Wolfe? If you wouldn't mind heading over to the suspect's condo…" He said. Ryan took off running, fear darkening his face.
He shed his lab coat, grabbed a few necessities from his locker, then bolted toward the M.D.P.D. parking area.
Stryker pointed the gun toward Berkeley's face, loading the clip. Keats' eyes fluttered, coming to focus on Stryker's outstretched hand. She drowsily grabbed onto her own gun, cocking it as quietly as possible.
She felt the gun kick and cringed as Stryker's blood dripped onto her arm. Stryker finally looked at her. His eyes bored right into hers, startling her with their lack of emotion; their lack of depth. It's like he doesn't give a damn that I just gunned him down.
Stryker gave a strange sort of smile, kneeling where he had once stood only moments before. He eventually came to rest on his back, his eyes closing.
Keats sat up, checking herself and Berkeley for any other injuries. She tore part of her shirt and wrapped it around his hand, careful not to embed the bullet any deeper than it already was.
"Remington requesting for immediate backup…" She gave them the address and told them to send an ambulance as well. After hanging up, she glanced over at Jake Berkeley, giving him a smile of good-natured condescension.
"Thanks, Remington. You really saved my ass." He winced, groaning in pain. Keats brushed it off modestly, patting him on the shoulder with reassuring kindness.
After several minutes, she heard the sirens abound. She stood and prepared to meet them, but no sooner had she taken one step than she felt a sharp pain in her back. She collapsed onto the sand, a hot bullet burning a hole near her spine.