“Not confirmed. But yeah, I think it’s him.”
“Can I see his picture?”
Jim hesitated, then pulled out his cell phone and brought up an image.
The dead white guy could have had light brown hair, but it looked dark in the photo because of the blood. He’d been shot in the right temple and Alex could picture his brains spattered against the window, though that gruesome image was cut off. But his face was intact. His eyes were closed, mouth partly open. Twenty-two at most. Fresh-faced. Young.
She recognized him. She almost said as much to Jim, except that she knew this kid only because of the undercover work she’d done for the Feds. She didn’t know his name, but Tommy had met up with him several times during the months she’d been spying on him. Alex suspected that the kid had been giving Tommy money or drugs, but she didn’t know for certain.
This kid was connected to Rykov and that meant that someone in the Russian mob wanted Hart dead. Either Hart or his legislative consultant, Eric Huang.
“You recognize him?” Jim asked.
She shook her head, handed him back his phone. “He’s just so young.” She paused. “So is he a hired gun?”
“We don’t know.”
“But it’s not a suicide.”
“We don’t know that, either. We’re waiting on the M.E.’s report. And that’s the extent of the information I can give you, Alex. I shouldn’t have told you anything.”
“You told me next to nothing. And I’m a witness, Jim. I shouldn’t have to ask to see the suspect’s picture.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to meet Steve. Are we done here?”
“Just—watch your back, Alex. Someone wanted Hart dead, and if this kid was working with anyone, that person might be angry you thwarted their plans.”
***
Alex left her car at the hotel and walked the eight short blocks to the courthouse. Not only was the spring morning refreshing, and parking anywhere near the capitol or courthouse next to impossible, she needed time to clear her head and think.
Why was Jim concerned about her? Did he know something he wasn’t telling her? If he had a suspicion, wouldn’t he simply clue her in? It was all very odd.
But the more interesting point was that the Russians had something to do with the assassination attempt on Hart. Last night Matt had told her that Sergei Rykov was one of Hart’s major donors ... and now a kid, likely working for Rykov or one of his rivals, had tried to kill him? Perhaps Hart wasn’t corrupt like the feds thought. She could see a scenario where a thug like Rykov would donate to Hart, then expect favors in return. Maybe Hart balked at the expectation, and Rykov put out the hit. But wouldn’t Hart have shared the information with the police? Wouldn’t Jim have asked if anyone was unhappy with his service?
Except ... Rykov was smart. He would have hired a professional to kill Hart, and Alex couldn’t imagine the kid she’d chased was a professional assassin. Maybe the shooting was simply to scare Hart into compliance.
Or maybe there was a connection between the kid and Huang? Huang was what, thirty? Take or leave. They wouldn’t have gone to college together. The Russians tended to stick within the same communities. Huang appeared to be an educated Chinese-American, and likely had gone to a four-year college majoring in something like government or public administration.
Ugh—Alex couldn’t imagine anything more boring. Criminal Justice had been bad enough as a major, and she only did it because it would help her be a cop. Yet she rarely called upon what she learned during her four years in college.
Maybe she could parlay that four-year degree into a job. She wanted to be a cop, but if she wanted to stay in Sacramento close to her family, she’d have to find something else to do. Working for a politician? Never. She could go back to school ... scratch that. She hated it the first time around, why would she go back to get another degree? For what? To be a teacher? She had no desire to teach when she hated school. Law school for three years? She’d rather work minimum wage at a fast food joint.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Alex mumbled to herself.
Not completely ridiculous. Her severance pay and small savings would be depleted in two months, if she was frugal. She’s already paid March rent and utilities and had the money set aside for April. Her lease was up June first. She might be able to scrimp and scrape May rent, or give notice and use her deposit for the last month. Beyond that, she was done.
She’d have to move in with her dad. He’d wanted her to after she was shot, but she couldn’t. She was thirty-four years old. If she moved in with her father she’d feel even more like a failure.
Now, she was getting depressed.
She arrived early to the courthouse and spotted Steve standing by the fountain talking on his cell phone. She waved to catch his attention and he finished his call.