Chapter Two

1:48 PM

"Sir, you are a material witness in a homicide, and you have just admitted to assaulting a police officer," I told him in my best authority-voice as I glanced around for Jones's weapon. I found it in the shadow of one of the van's wheels. If someone else didn't arrive soon, Mike and I were going to have to leave this crime scene and enter the hotel. Under those circumstances, despite the disruption to the scene, department policy is to remove any weapon that a bystander could take, particularly an officer's piece. I heard sirens. Good. "Do not leave the area, do you understand?"

He shook his head, still smiling tiredly. He gave up working with the prosthetic and waggled it at me. "Officer, I have to take my pants off to get this thing on. I can't go anywhere."

I remembered who he was. He shined shoes in a rented booth inside the Bonaventure. I relaxed a little. It didn't mean he wasn't a perp, but when you know the regulars on your beat, you have an understanding of how they fit into the city's puzzle. Also, you have a line on tracking them down if you need it. I couldn't even begin to imagine why he would think Lenore Jones was going to shoot a little girl, but the day hadn't progressed that far yet.

Little girl. Teddy bear.

Mike came around to my side, his face set in stone. He'd been examining a fallen comrade. I only had an unconscious one. He said nothing, not interrupting my interview. We were after a cop-killer now.

"Do you know who shot the other officer?" I asked.

He lost his smile. "Yeah. They went back inside."

"They?!"

"Him and his little girl."

Mike and I exchanged looks. What the . . .? Was this even related to the Governor incident? We headed around the van as two more patrol cars bounced into the drive, a third approaching behind them in the street, and an ambulance behind them. We relinquished control of the injured, the witness and the crime scene as quickly as we could, and then Mike and I and two other guys headed inside. Shortly there would be people who outranked us to take charge, and I wanted to get inside before that happened.

"He's not dangerous!" the shoe-shine guy called after us.

Yeah, right. Tell that to Smitty. What planet was that guy living on?

We holstered our weapons, but entered the hotel lobby with our hands on them. The spacious area looked as it usually did, except for the huge poster of Governor Grant hanging from a fourth level balcony. Staff and guests looked subdued and worried, as I'd expected, though they went about their usual business. The elderly couple hovered just inside the doors for the chance to get to their car and get out of Dodge. Not going to happen. This place would have to be shut down, at least until we could determine if the assassin was still inside.

My attention was drawn to the small knot of white-shirted hotel security standing together by the wall. They stood clustered around a guy they had up against the wall while they searched him. One security guy held on to a little girl, maybe five years old, who was screaming and struggling. Just as we came in, they yanked the guy from the wall, and whirled him around, unresisting, so they could start walking him. As Mike and I and the other pair trotted up, I heard somebody say something about going to the Security Office.

The suspect was average height and thirtyish, wearing a gray suit and tie. His brown hair was mussed beyond immediate repair, his tie dangled loosely like a noose around his neck, and, most interesting of all, water dripped from his hair and clothes. He looked pale as hotel sheets, except where he bled from two injuries to his face, and even from where I was, I could see he was shaking.

Gray suit, and he fit the description. I guessed this was both the assassin and the cop-killer. Bastard.

As they whirled him from the wall, he looked immediately to the little girl, and didn't take his gaze from her, even when his glasses fell off. "Daddy!" she sobbed, her tiny face red with crying. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

The suspect collapsed as he put weight on his left leg. I made note of which leg, because lots of time suspects try to buy time by pretending injuries or try to claim brutality. I'd watch for if later is injured leg became his right one. His captors held him up, but he paid attention only to the little girl. He looked so stricken, that I revised my opinion about his collapse. Maybe it wasn't his leg; maybe it was her cries. He could be putting on an act, but I didn't think the little girl was. She was terrified, but, then, she was being held prisoner by a stranger.

I wondered if the guy really was her father. What kind of an assassin brings a child along? Was he planning to use her as some kind of shield or something? "Please!" he gasped out. "Let her stay with me. For now." He pulled himself together a little and looked at the men holding him. "Some of you must be parents."

"Police!" I called out to the security men. "What's the situation?" The knot of white-shirted, clean cut men turned to face us. One older man answered, looking from me to Mike, and settling on Mike, even though I was the one who had spoken. This happens a lot. I outrank Mike, though I don't expect civilians to know that, but it would be nice if I were the one deferred to at least 50 percent of the time. Mike's big, and, you know, male.

"This asshole tried to take a shot at the Governor. We caught him in the john." Apparently they didn't even know about the dead officer on their doorstep. So the guy had tried to kill the Governor, Smitty and Jones got in the way of his escape, and he'd killed Smitty. I stomped hard on the anger burning inside me.

"What's in the john?" I asked, scooping up the guy's glasses. "Could he escape from there?"

Still looking sick, the suspect looked past me to the little girl. Her cries had grown heartbroken, like her whole world had ended, and his bereft expression as he regarded her hardly matched the usual cold-blooded killer act.

"He was coming out, actually," the head security guy admitted. "There's no other way out of there." I was careful not to smirk. Hardly the heroic take-down of a fugitive they were hoping for, I bet.

I didn't have the chance for any more questions right then. Mike nudged me and tilted his head. One by one, everyone turned their gaze up the staircase, as Governor Grant came down, live and in the flesh.