green jacket … moving like a blip on a radar.”
“I didn’t see a thing,” Courtney said. “I had like my eyes squeezed shut and was praying real hard—Please, please, just let this be over.” Her eyes overflowed with water. “I’d like to call my mom if I could.”
“When can we see our parents?” Amy asked.
“Soon—”
“How soon?” Carol demanded. “At least let her call her mother?”
“I’m sure she’s outside.”
“So tell her that her daughter’s okay, for godsakes! And when can I call my mother? She must be worried sick about me. She’s not in the best of health.”
“Please, Carol,” Olaf said. “The woman is just trying to do her job—”
“I know that, Olaf. We are all trying to do our job!”
“You must have patience—”
“I’ve been plenty patient,” Carol shot back. “Now I want some action!”
Marge said, “Let me consult with my boss. You all stay put—”
“Well, we can’t exactly go anywhere with the Nazis blocking the doors.”
Marge kept her expression neutral. “I’m so, so sorry. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is cause anyone additional pain. I’ll be right back.”
Carol’s face was still irate, but she held her tongue.
Marge tried out a smile, but Carol responded by rolling her eyes. Before Marge made it to the door, Oliver flagged her down. “You’re going to see Decker?”
“Yeah, we’ve got to start letting some of the people out of here. It’s not fair—”
“I’ll go with you,” Oliver said.
They both stepped into the cool night air, shielding their eyes from the blinding glare of the headlights. Marge quickly counted fifteen vehicles—police cars, press vans, ambulances, and several meat wagons. Her eyes adjusted to the shadows as she made out a group of people inside the tape barrier, off to the left. They’d been sidelined. She could hear their anger stabbing through the mist.
The family members.
The gawkers, along with the press, had been penned outside the yellow tape perimeter, at least fifty yards away.
Marge spotted Decker. His complexion had turned pasty, his big hands had been tightened into white-knuckled fists. She shouted his name. He stopped walking, turned, and came toward them.
Decker said, “You have the finalized list of the dead?”
Oliver showed him the ominous white sheet. “Give it to the captain?”
“Please. I’ve already delivered my allotment of bad news.”
Marge said, “I’ve got a group of teenage girls—”
Decker said, “Go tell their parents. See some tears of joy instead of tears of agony.”
Marge felt her throat tighten. “You all right? What a stupid question.”
“I’m lousy,” Decker said. “Not a fraction as shitty as the group I just left.”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and looked upward. A starless foggy night, a crescent of moon floating in an endless gray sea. “I’ve got to deal with the press.” He turned to his detectives. “Anyone tell you anything useful?”
Oliver said. “Everyone ducked as soon as the shooting and screaming started.”
Marge added, “Lots of screaming, lots of praying.”
“Bullets flying around the room from all directions.”
“From all directions?” Decker asked.
“I think they were using hyperbole,” Marge said.
“Most of them were too busy ducking,” Oliver said.
“Shooter say anything?”
Marge shook her head. “People I spoke to said someone just opened fire. No warning, no nothing.”
“Ditto.”
“So that seems to eliminate robbery as a motive.” Decker rubbed his eyes, told them to go and bring some good cheer.
As he watched them approach the anxious relatives, he tried to collect his thoughts … rid himself of the shrieking and sobbing he had just heard from the unlucky family members. Slowly, he let his fingers uncurl, realized his hands were shaking. He wiped wet palms on his pants, tucked them into his pockets.
He needed something.
He needed a smoke.
As he neared the press corps, he bummed a pack of cigarettes and some matches off one of the uniformed cops. He tried to steady his hands as he lit up, sucking hot, dry smog into his lungs.
It felt acrid, but it did the trick. As nicotine coursed through his body, Decker felt his hands settle down, his brain beginning to clear.
He polished off the cigarette in four inhalations, immediately went for number two. Only after he had smoked it down to the butt was he ready to face the cameras. He ducked under the crime tape ribbon, was charged upon by a cavalry of multimedia representatives. He held up his palms, keeping them at arm’s length, then shouted as best he could. His voice traveled well in the night air. “I’m only going to do this once, so let’s give everyone a fair shot. Anyone out there need a little extra time to set up?”
“Five minutes to set up my camera?” a male voice yelled out.
“Make it ten,” replied a female.
Decker said, “Ten minutes. I’ll read from a prepared statement. Please, please, be respectful, ladies and gentlemen. I will take questions afterward for about fifteen, twenty minutes. Then I’m going to have to get back to work.”
With his announcement, Decker turned inward, lit up a third cigarette, and spoke to no one, ignoring the questions that were thrown at him. He smoked two more cigarettes until the requisite time had passed. After checking his watch, he threw down his fifth butt of the evening, crushed it harder than necessary with his heel. He smoothed his hair and spoke to a wire wheel of microphones. Flashbulbs and video lights attacked his eyes.
“Our first concerns are with the people who need immediate medical attention. All the hospitals and medical institutions in the area have been notified and are giving those inside the benefit of their expertise as well as their staff, facilities, and supplies. We’ve received an abundance of community help from local physicians. The help is needed and appreciated. To everyone out there viewing this broadcast, please, please: If you are not involved in the primary medical care of those injured, stay away from the area so that doctors, nurses, medics, ambulances,
