Chapter Seven
2:55 PM
The Governor returned to Captain Plunkett, and their whole group trundled down the hall.
"Now, Mr. Watson," said Gonzalez, "first, tell me who else you have shot today."
"No one!"
"What about in the ballroom?"
"I can't have shot anyone." Watson looked uncertain, like he feared what Gonzalez would tell him. "I only shot up."
"One of the Governor's bodyguards would be very dead now, except he was wearing a vest. And a second one is on his way to the hospital."
Watson closed his eyes. "It wasn't me," he breathed. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."
"You discharged a weapon in a public gathering, and you thought no one would get hurt."
"I didn't have any choice! I had to do something!"
"So you did try to shoot the Governor."
"No! I tried to shoot the guy. Smith. I don't know who shot her bodyguards."
"You tried to shoot Smith in the crowd."
"No, I saw him up in one of those control booths over the ballroom. I tried to shoot him there. I missed. I've never shot a gun before." Watson had gone pale again, and I thought he was shivering a little. He was still wet. He took some more Kleenex and wiped at the blood on his face. "I chased him," he went on. He shouldn't have gone on, I thought. He really should stick to answering the questions Gonzalez asked. But often suspects get all caught up in trying to convince you they are innocent and they ramble on and on and hang themselves. Especially if they haven't got an attorney there to stop them. But Watson didn't seem intense and earnest, just . . . dazed and exhausted. "I knew he had to get out of the ballroom, because his radio wouldn't work in there. I had to get to him before he could call his partner. I got his radio away from him, but it was already after 1:30. She was supposed to kill Lynn at 1:30 either way."
"Daddy, you're squeezing me," complained Lynn.
"Sorry, Honey," he said, relaxing his grip.
Gonzalez cocked his head slightly. "His radio wouldn't work in the ballroom?"
"I heard a TV technician complain that the room was, you know, radios couldn't get out. So I knew whatever I did, he couldn't call his partner, not right away. So I tried to shoot him, and then I chased him."
"How did you kill Mr. White?"
"Who?"
"The Governor's Chief of Security."
"Oh. I didn't. He was after me from . . ." He passed a trembling hand, handcuffed to the other hand, across his eyes. "The ballroom. He was shooting at me. Jesus." He shook his head. He looked really bad again, and I wondered if he was going to be sick.
"Who killed him?"
"I don't know. Could I have some water, please?" His voice shook.
"I'm thirsty, too, Daddy," said the girl.
"Could we have some water?" he corrected.
"I want 7-Up," said Lynn.
"Water's fine, Lynn," he said wearily.
Gonzalez nodded at another guy, who went to find some water. Great. I get to steal the child, but not bring the drinks. But I had a thought. My curiosity was growing. I slipped away, too, as if I was going to help the other guy with the water.
I left the hotel security office, and took the stairs to the mezzanine. The Command Post had more equipment, now, and a lot more people. I grabbed a uniform I recognized.
"Hey, Maglaras," I said.
"Hey, yourself."
"State Troopers got the ballroom?" I cocked my head toward the door.
"Yeah, they're taking hundreds of statements in there. Why?"
"Do you know if anyone's checked out the control booths above the room?"
"Me and Davis did. No more stiffs, if that's what you're thinking."
"Anything there?"
"In one of 'em. Some shot must have gone really wild, 'cause the plexiglass got shot out."
I'll be damned, I thought.
"Did you lock it up?"
"Sure. Don't know if forensics is going to want to bother, though."
"I think they will. I think they'll want to dust it. The perp says he shot up there on purpose."
Maglaras's eyes lit up. "You a door guard? What's his story?"
I snorted. "He says Smitty and Jones held his daughter hostage to get him to kill the Governor."
"What? Bullshit."
"I'm serious. That's what he says. Anyway, I gotta get back. I just wondered."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Maglaras stopped me. He glanced to the side, checking to see if we were being overheard. "Tell me more. Why'd he shoot at the booth?"
I tried not to smirk. It's so much fun to be the one in the know. "He says Smitty was up there, so he decided to shoot for him, instead of the Governor. I'm telling you, they'll want to dust up there."
"For Smitty's prints? Don't tell me you believe that crap!"
I shrugged. "I dunno. He doesn't seem wacko. And he's scared to death of losing his little girl."
"Listen to you. You're liking the guy."
"Where do you get that from? I'm just telling you."
Davis had seen us talking and came up. He's as tall and thin as his partner is short and stocky. "Who's she liking?" he asked.
"The guy who killed Smitty."
"Would you shut up? Hi, Davis."
It's an annoying thing. Have you ever noticed this? Everybody thinks it's cosmically wrong if you're not seeing anybody. They always figure there's somebody you've got your eye on. Or maybe you're dating someone and not telling your buddies at work, so it becomes their job to find it out. If a woman cop is unmarried, they partner her with a married guy, like Mike and me. Thank God Mike doesn't make it his mission to know all about my love life. Everyone else does, though. And they love to make these stupid guesses.
Thing is, you guess often enough and someday you'll hit the mark. It was irritating that Maglaras had guessed I thought that guy was drop-dead gorgeous, and so sweet to his little girl before I had even admitted it to myself.
I hate the guys.
Fortunately, Davis wasn't in the mood for prod-Patty-about-who-she-lusts-after. Maybe he even remembered we had a dead cop to avenge and I could never like a man who had killed a cop.
"You guys gotta come see this," Davis said, like a kid with a new toy.
The new equipment on the Command Post table was a video monitor, and they were viewing the security tape from inside the ballroom! Cool! Soon we wouldn't be able to see it, because hotel staff were erecting cubicle walls around the table to isolate it from prying eyes. One of the perks of having your crime scene in a four star hotel, I suppose. But for right now, we could hover in the background and watch.
I didn't hover really; more like bob and weave. I'm too darn short.
The detectives were playing frame-by-frame a segment where a bullet hit a guy in the back. I saw his arms fly up, taking four frames to reach over his head as the force of the shot knocked him slowly forward. I winced, waiting for the arterial blood to spray from his back - that should look great in freeze-frame - but it never came. Oh yeah, the bodyguard was wearing a vest.
They backed the tape up. The downed bodyguard was pulled back to his feet by invisible strings, his raised hands coming down. A blur emerged from his spine area, pointing to the upper right of the screen. The blur moved frame-by-frame to the upper right corner, where the detectives stopped and messed with the tape.
"That bullet came from above," someone murmured.
"Where's Watson," I wondered.
"Looking for your lover boy?" asked Maglaras.
"Shut up," I hissed, and kicked him in the shin.
"Ow."
They got the tape from a different camera synched, and we watched the blur fly up toward the back wall of the ballroom, finally entering the control booth. Cops don't gasp, you know, not even during scary movies, but you could feel the current go through us all. Someone up there had fired at the Governor. In fact, you could see the blur enter a small, fuzzy black tube.
"Freeze that," ordered one detective.
Yep, it was a gun. Revolver, I thought. Maybe a .38, hard to tell, though all around me, people were guessing. What I wanted to know was where was Watson when this happened, but I didn't dare say anything.
The detectives, fortunately, must have wanted to confirm the same thing. They adjusted the angle of view down from the control booth, and then zoomed forward into the crowd. Standing there, with no one immediately around him, was Gene Watson, wearing his grey suit, and with his gun hand pointed at the ceiling. He looked scared out of his wits. Maglaras tried to elbow me, but I dodged him, and ducked to the back of the crowd.
I headed back to the Security Office in amazement. On my way, I passed the hotel bar. I ducked in to pick up a 7-Up. No, make that two.
