The Artist and the Actor – 3

 

 

"His keys?" Colin repeated, frowning. "Why were they missing?"

 

"At this point the sheriff's investigators have no idea. At least not that they've informed us," the officer replied. "They asked that we notify you, which we have. I'm sure someone will come to talk with you—"

 

"No," David interjected. "We'll go there—now. I want, I need to see…" He stuttered to a stop, his face ashen with grief. "Maybe it's not him. Maybe…"

 

"According to the sheriff, the photo on the driver's license matches the victim and the car is registered to one Kenneth Ainsley."

 

"Who would do that to him?" Colin asked, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. His parents would need him to be their strength, at least for the next few hours.

 

The officer spread his hands as he stood. "That's what the sheriff intends to find out."

 

By then, Nan was sobbing against her husband's shoulder and tears coursed down David's face. Colin wanted to cry too, but bit it back as he got up. "I'll show you to the door," he said to the officers. When they got there, he asked them where he and his parents should go when they arrived…"In Golden?"

 

"Yes," one office replied, giving him the address before they left.

 

It took a while for Colin and his parents to dress, lock the house, and drive to Golden, to the sheriff's department. By the time they arrived, Colin's parents were composed to the point of being stoic when the chief of the criminal investigations unit offered his condolences and told them what the department knew at that point—which was next to nothing as far as Colin was concerned. Someone had shot Kenny multiple times from outside the car, leaving him to die.

 

"Our conclusion, for now, is that it was done by someone obsessed with making certain he was dead," the chief explained. "Numerous shell casings were found both on the front floorboard and on the ground on the driver's side of the car."

 

"What about the weapon?" Colin asked.

 

"It hasn't been found, and my men did a through search of the area," the chief responded. "There were enough casings to suggest the killer reloaded at least twice."

 

"Who could hate him that much?" David asked.

 

"I was about to ask you the same thing," said the chief.

 

"No one," Nan replied after taking a deep breath, obviously reining in impending tears.

 

"I agree," David said.

 

They all looked at Colin. "I have no idea." He turned his attention to the chief. "I'm away at college, so I haven't seen much of him except when I come home on breaks. He never said anything to me about…well…anyone who was pissed off at him for some reason." He paused before asking, "Are you sure he was the intended victim? I mean, could it be a random killing by some whacko?"