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on the floor near his right hand. His eyes and teeth were still white. His throat and chest were bright red. His shield gleamed silver. Some blue showed below the knees of his uniform trousers. Otherwise, the man was black. |
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Wet and black. Like an oilman in the movies who has struck a gusher and stood in its downpour. |
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'Did you get him?' Francine called. |
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'Who was it? Why did he shoot that woman and . . .' |
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'He was the desk sergeant,' Trev said. 'I don't know why he . . .' |
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'Yeah,' he said, and climbed over the counter. He dropped to the floor at Patterson's feet. 'Stay put. I'll be right back.' |
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For a moment, he considered taking Patterson's revolver or at least kicking it some distance from the body. But he didn't want to disturb the crime scene. Patterson was in no shape to use the revolver, anyway, and the gun was almost certainly out of ammunition. So he left it there and hurried toward the station doors. |
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'Don't go out there!' Lisa shouted. |
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Patterson went out, he thought. Patterson came in wet and black and shooting. Doesn't make any sense at all. |
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The double doors were blue painted metal, each with a square window of bullet-proof glass at head level. From the other side came a faint hissing sound |
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