Fredrickson. The man whose death I was responsible for, indirectly or not. Mauser wanted to be closer to his sister, Linda,
John's widow. In various interviews, Mauser insinuated that he held no ill will toward me. That given the circumstances he would have defended his life and honor, as well. But a wound is a wound, no matter how it's caused, and the simple fact was his brother-in-law would still be alive if not for me.
Mauser had sold the book and film rights to his story for a reputed seven figures. He said the money wasn't for him, but would feed his sister's family, educate her fatherless children. If not for Mauser, my life wouldn't have been saved by a beautiful stranger. The same woman who now shares my bed. I guess we could call it even.
Mauser looked good, healthy and even a little tan. He looked like the kind of man who was proud to serve his city.
And I was glad to finally be on his side.
I could barely hear over the noise as reporters chirped into cell phones, cameras ran their feeds. Suddenly a hush came over the crowd and I saw Mayor Dennis Perez stride to the podium through the massive columns bracketing city hall.
Walking alongside Mayor Perez was Costas Paradis. The normally confident man looked pale, tired. But looking through the binoculars, I could see the anger that burned for his murdered daughter.
The mayor wore a striped gray suit and walked with a purpose. His mustache was neatly trimmed as always, but his eyes were bloodshot. He probably hadn't slept since Athena died. And Costas wasn't the kind of man to mourn. He was the kind of man whose grief turned to anger, whose anger turned to rage, and whose rage could scorch the earth. I just stood and hoped they found the killer before more families experienced that grief.
The crowd grew quiet. Though the majority in attendance were paid to speak, discuss and bloviate as loud as humanly possible, they also knew that if they missed a single word they could miss a scoop, fall behind, give people a reason to pick up a paper or watch a newscast other than theirs.
I thought about Wallace's sign by the elevators. Then I looked at the sea of microphones and suits. Just like a marathon, a giant mass beginning as one. But that wouldn't last. The good ones would break away.
Mayor Perez stepped to the podium. Costas Paradis stood next to Perez, and I could sense the mayor's discomfort, like a child forced to admit wrongdoing in front of an angry parent.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. His eyes traveled from right to left. Making sure he made eye contact with every camera he could. Give each station their half second of exclusive content. "At approximately one thirty-seven this morning, Athena Paradis was shot and killed as she was leaving a nightclub. This is a shocking and heinous crime, perpetrated by an individual whose depravity knows no bounds.
At this very moment we have unleashed the very best men and women upon the crime scene to establish just who is responsible for Ms. Paradis's death, as well as their motives in doing so. No stone will remain unturned, not a second will go by where Ms. Paradis's murderer will have a chance to breathe."
Jack was scribbling in a notepad. I was watching their eyes. Mayor Perez. Costas Paradis. Joe Mauser. There was worry in them. Right then I knew they had nothing.
The mayor continued.
"The true test of a city is challenge. The test of a family is grief. In this investigation, we will grieve for the memory of
Athena Paradis, but rise to the challenge of bringing her killer to justice."
"Second book," Jack said, pen hanging from his mouth.
"What?"
"That line. From Perez's second book. Just made himself another ten K in royalties right there."
I shook my head as Perez continued. "What we do know at this time is that the shooter is most likely a lone assailant, the murder weapon a high-powered rifle which was discharged from the roof of a building several blocks away from the club where Ms. Paradis was performing that evening. We have taken casts of footprints discovered at that rooftop, and are matching them with known offenders as we speak."
Bullshit, I thought. Officer Lemansky told me the rooftop was covered in gravel. Unless they developed some way to detect footprints in rocks, they're throwing us a hollow bone.
He continued. "We have many unfortunate witnesses to the crime itself, but as of yet nobody has come forward who has been able to positively identify the assailant."
At this point Costas Paradis moved a half inch closer. His eyes seemed to be burning a hole through Mayor Perez's neck. The mayor swallowed. He held his hand up, index finger extended.
"Let me assure you that the NYPD is using every available resource to find this heartless and soulless coward, and the NYPD will not rest until the assailant has been brought to justice."
Perez's eyes became sorrowful and he lowered his head.
"At this time I would like to express my sincerest condolences to the Paradis family. I have known Athena's devoted father, Costas, for many years, and suffice it to say his daughter's death is not only felt by the Paradis family, but is felt by his family and friends both in this city and around the world.
Justice will be served."
Hotel Paradis, Paradis Park, Paradis Skating Rink, I thought. Not only was there a murderer loose, but there were millions, perhaps billions of dollars at stake. Maybe Perez should quote a few more lines from his book. Catching
Athena's killer was not only a moral and legal priority, but one the mayor needed to help pay for those campaign reelection ads with spiffy production values.
Perez went on for another few minutes. He spoke a great deal but said very little.
"I've seen mimes more eloquent," Jack said. He leaned in closer. "Listen, I've got a contact in the medical examiner's office. As soon as this little soiree breaks up I'll have him on the phone. I want you to talk to him before we file any copy."
"What do you want me to do?"
"He owes me a solid. After you talk to him, I want you to go back and canvas the area around the Kitten Club. People don't like talking to cops. Answering questions makes them feel like they're being accused of something. Too many freaking Law amp; Order spin-offs. Anyway, tell them who you are. A newsman, their voice, the voice of the people. You make 'em believe it, they'll let you hold their newborn."
"Got it."
At that moment, Mayor Perez said, "And now I'd like to turn the podium over to Police Commissioner Alan Bradley, who will answer further questions."
"Might be worth leaving now," I said. "Get a head start."
"Not yet," Jack said. "Leaving early is how you miss the big stuff."
Commissioner Bradley, a stocky bald man in his early fifties, shook hands with the mayor and Costas Paradis. He stepped to the podium with a look of gravity and sincerity.
Then I noticed something strange.
Joe Mauser was flinching. He brought his hand up to his eyes, as if shielding the sun. I took the binoculars, followed his line of sight. He was looking at a building across the way.
Then I saw what he saw-a faint glimmer of light off of… something- and then all hell broke loose.
Mauser dove to his left a millisecond before the air was shattered by a deafening crack. I saw a fountain of red explode by the podium, and suddenly hundreds of people were screaming and running and cursing and fleeing.
I heard someone yell, "He's been shot!" EMS workers sprinted up the stairs. I watched in slow motion detachment, arms and legs pummeling me as they flew past. A man and a woman in white knelt down beside a fallen person atop the stairs. Police had their guns drawn and were yelling into walkie-talkies. Their eyes were all looking up, guns drawn.
At the rooftops. Where the gunshot had come from.