Howell crouched next to him. “Agent Rodriguez called it in after the woman accompanying the presumed target noticed a flash of light from this spot on the roof. The woman was standing in front of the door, but she must have a hell of an eye. I don’t know that I would have noticed it from there. Rodriguez said that once she’d pointed it out, he briefly glimpsed someone, and got them out of there.”

Tom’s jaw tightened and it was suddenly important that she be acknowledged as more than the woman who’d accompanied Mercy Callahan. “Liza Barkley. She spotted the shooter.”

She’d been standing in the direct line of fire. He wondered if she’d been scared. He knew he was scared at the thought of her in the path of a sniper’s bullet.

The Liza he’d known before the army would have been terrified, but she would have done the right thing anyway. Trouble was, he didn’t recognize parts of the Liza who’d returned from combat duty. That needed to change. He’d asked about her experiences in the military, but she’d always evaded his questions, and he’d respected her need for privacy.

He wondered if he should have. Maybe he’d left her alone with her memories for too long.

“Well, she’s got one hell of an eye,” Howell stated again. “Rodriguez said she was as cool as a cucumber. Just pointed it out and told him to bring the car. She got Callahan and the little girl to safety and made sure the optometrist’s receptionist was away from the window as well. She handled everything so calmly that no one panicked.”

“She served in Afghanistan,” Tom said quietly. “I think she’s seen much worse.”

He was going to get the specifics this time. Something had been bothering her for months and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He knew that she had PTSD, but she would never talk to him about what had happened to her over there, and that sent another sharp pain into his heart. He didn’t want Liza to suffer anything. She’d already had a hard enough time, with the losses of her mother and sister.

Slowly he rose, not taking his eyes from the glass door of the optometrist’s office. “Were any shots actually fired?”

“Not that we can find,” Howell replied. “Nobody reported any gunshots and there are no spent cartridges here.”

“We need to know where Agent Rodriguez was standing,” Croft said, taking out her cell phone. “I’m going to call him now.”

“He included that in his report when he called it in,” Howell said. “He was standing off to the side, against the plate glass window. He’d lit a cigarette and pretended to be taking a break. He also said that he didn’t see the shooter until Miss Barkley pointed him out.”

“It was a man, then?” Croft asked.

“Rodriguez thought so, but his glimpse was too brief for him to be certain.”

It was DJ Belmont. Of that Tom was completely certain. But they needed actual proof. “We’ll need access to any prints Latent lifts,” he said. “We think we know who this was, and we have his prints on file.”