So Gray in the head; Simpson in the chest. Why?

And why through the newspaper?

That had really bothered Knox. Not that having to penetrate the few pages would’ve screwed the shot, but the shooter would’ve had to more or less guess where his round would impact. And what if Simpson had had a thick book on his chest, or a cigarette lighter in his breast pocket that the paper had concealed? That could’ve fouled the shot. Most snipers Knox had known didn’t like to guess about anything other than who they’d kill next.

Yet when he’d examined the paper he understood quite clearly why the chest shot had been used. A snapshot of someone had been taped to the inside of the newspaper. The shot had taken the person’s head in the photo right off. As Knox looked more closely, the remaining part of the picture showed the torso to be that of a woman. There were no marks or writing on what was left of the photo to help him figure out who it was. He’d talked to the paper carrier to see if he’d seen anything suspicious, but he hadn’t. And Simpson’s building didn’t have a doorman. Yet the killer had put that photo in the paper, Knox was certain of it.

And that meant only one thing. This hit had been personal. And the killer had wanted Simpson to know exactly why he was going to die and also who was doing the deed. Just like the flag and grave marker with Gray. His grudging admiration for the assassin increased even more. Gauging the shot accurately enough to take out that picture required remarkable skill, planning and simply a level of confidence that not even most professional sharpshooters possessed.

He’d instructed the medical examiner to let him know if anything showed up in the wound that was out of the ordinary. They almost certainly wouldn’t be able to reconstruct the burned bits of photo now plastered into the senator’s chest cavity by a high-velocity rifle round. But one never knew. Knox understood from experience that it was the little shit that brought most criminals down.

He straightened up and stopped thinking about gunshots and dead men as the sounds of the footfalls trickled down the narrow hall toward him. There were two men, both in suits, and both carried equally grim expressions. One of them held what looked like a large safety deposit box. He set it down on the table with a loud clunk. It gave added gravitas to a situation that didn’t really need any more, at least to Knox’s thinking.