3:43 PM

I did spot a few twinkles of mirth in the guys's eyes, though, quickly smothered. The guys love bathroom humor.

So now we had nothing to do but stand around looking at each other, and eye the nearby press of Press. Above us, at the top of the staircase, the Command Post bustled with people. Witnesses from the ballroom trickled down the stairs, released after giving their statements.

A State Trooper trotted down the stairs, aiming for Gonzalez. Our group parted to let him through. The two men exchanged quick introductions, then the Trooper said, "They wanted me to let you know - the security tape and the witnesses agree your suspect exited into the service corridor and was pursued by Alan White, the Governor's head of security. If there were any witnesses to his death it would be the hotel staff; no one else from the ballroom followed, not at first."

"Did they exchange fire?"

"White shot at him. We can't find that your guy returned fire."

Gonzalez glanced at the lawyer, who was listening, but from a polite distance. "Did he shoot at the Governor?" Gonzalez asked.

The Trooper's professional demeanor slipped, allowing him to look uncertain. "We . . . haven't found a credible witness who says he did . . . he did fire a couple of shots. They can see him clearly on the security tape. He shot into the ceiling and into a projection booth. The tape didn't catch anything else."

"Okay, thanks," said Gonzalez with an uneasy glance at the bathroom door.

"I'm supposed to ask, do you need us to check for anything in particular?"

"Yeah, find out if anyone saw someone in the projection booth and get a description if they did."

"Right." The Trooper took himself off back upstairs.

Watson and his daughter emerged, closely escorted. Watson must have had a chance to see himself in a mirror, for he had his shirt and tie straightened up and his wild hair calmed down. He looked quite preppy, I thought.

The lawyer frowned at Watson's limp. "Lieutenant," he said, "my client is injured. He needs medical assistance."

I expected Gonzalez to say it could wait, but it was Watson who protested softly, "No, it's okay, really."

I didn't think it was okay, and neither did the lawyer. "Let's let a doctor decide that, shall we?" he replied archly.

Gonzalez nodded. "If any paramedics are still here, we'll get them down at the office," he said.

Well, well.

We started back across the lobby. This time I didn't get to walk so close to Watson. Before, I hadn't noticed that the black man from the crime scene was sitting on the low wall of a fountain planter watching us.

Lynn saw him. "Daddy! That man there!" She tugged on her father's bound hands. "He was at the car. The lady shot at him!"

Huey Hardimon, the shoeshine guy, waved at Lynn. "Hello, little girl," he said. Watson gave him a weak smile and an inclination of his head. "I know, Honey. I think he saved your life."

"Can we go talk to him? Is he all right? Where's his leg?" I looked, and sure enough, Mr. Hardimon's prosthetic was still off, and I didn't see it anywhere. A sturdy wooden cane leaned against the wall, next to him.

Watson stopped, and the crowd of us surged uncertainly around him like a wave breaking and falling back. No, no, no. You do not let a suspect and a witness chat. They'll compare notes and get their stories matching, or something.

"Come along, Mr. Watson," said Gonzalez.

Watson ignored him. "Huey! Are you all right? Your leg . . ."

Hardimon gave a huge grin. "It don't hurt as much as yours," he called cheerfully.

"That's enough," Gonzalez said, so one of the guys dutifully grasped Watson's bicep. I saw my chance. I ducked around two other guys to get to Watson's other side. I slid my arm under his. Oh, he was just the right height for me. I could feel the others' surprise. Who cared? Let 'em talk.

Watson resisted us pulling him forward, his worried gaze on Hardimon. Hardimon waved him away, still grinning. "It's a wooden leg! They kept it as ev-vee-dence, can you believe it?"

Watson stumbled forward, wincing. I tried to keep him from landing on his injured leg.

Lynn waved at Hardimon. "Bye!" she said.

"Bye!" He waved back.

The guy on Watson's other side let him go, but Watson made no attempt to shake me off. I had the side of his hurt leg and I was able to be under his stride on that side. I made quite a good crutch, if I say so myself, and I only wished the walk back to the security office was longer.

I helped Watson to his bench seat as everyone arranged themselves around us again. He sat down with a sigh of relief and Lynn clambered up to snuggle at his side. He didn't look at me as I released him, and I really wanted him to at least notice who had been his prop, so I took his glasses out of my pocket. "Here," I said quietly.

It worked. I got that surprised, then grateful look from him. What's more, he put the glasses on and looked more directly at me. I smiled. I looked around. No one had noticed. Good.

Someone brought a paramedic. They moved the table out a little so the guy could work on Watson's leg while he sat there. He slit Watson's trousers to up above the knee, and you could see how badly swollen the knee and leg were, as well as bloody. Lynn watched, wide-eyed.

As everyone was settling in, Mike came in with a good-sized evidence bag in his hand. I knew that kind of I-have-something-important look on his face. He didn't even glance at me; he went straight for Gonzalez. The two of them stepped to the side, and then Gonzalez took Mike into another little office.

They emerged a few minutes later, as the paramedic was getting going with some of those adhesive thingys they use before you put stitches in. Gonzalez approached the table slowly, Mike a discreet few paces behind.

The lawyer faced Gonzalez. "Lieutenant," he said, "if you have the preliminary information you need from my client, I think it's time he gives a full statement, from beginning to end. Shouldn't we be at the station?"

Gonzalez didn't answer right away. He looked at Watson and the little girl. Then he leaned over and said something to one of the "door guards" standing there. "No, Mr. Poole," Gonzalez said. "We can take his statement here, for now. We can see him at the station tomorrow."

What? Tomorrow?

The door guard, looking a little surprised, reached across the table with a handcuff key. Watson also looked surprised, but then held up his hands for the man to unlock him. The handcuffs fell away and the room fell quiet.

"Mr. Watson, you are a material witness to conspiracy and murder," Gonzalez said. "You are not to leave L.A., do you understand?"

Stunned, Watson gave a small nod.

"When we're done here, you may go. But we'll need to see you downtown tomorrow. The FBI will have more questions for you by then."

No one said anything. Watson nodded again.

Poole, the lawyer, cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, we need to talk."

"Yes, Mr. Poole, we do."