Three California Highway Patrol officers met up with Alex as she stood on the corner replaying the last ten minutes over and over in her mind, but she couldn’t have done it any other way. If she’d had a partner or if the shooter hadn’t had such a good head start? Maybe. Maybe she could have caught up to him.
“Hey,” Alex said as the CHP approached her cautiously. CHP handled security in the Capitol building.
Alex holstered her weapon and identified herself to the officers, showing her ID and her concealed carry permit. She couldn't really blame their response time. Everything had happened so quick, by the time hotel security or Hart’s security alerted the police, the suspect was long gone.
“He disappeared on K Street, but I couldn’t get a visual once he left the garage.” It was close to the lunch hour; the street began to fill with government bureaucrats and hacks on their lunch break. “He was approximately five feet ten inches tall wearing a black hoodie and jeans. Light brown or dark blond hair, Caucasian, slim—no more than one-fifty. In his early twenties.
One officer repeated the information into his walkie-talkie, then said to Alex, “We'll canvass the neighborhood. Maybe someone saw him. We can also pull the security feeds from the hotel and K Street.” He gestured to the city’s security cameras that had been installed a few years ago on streets surrounding the Capitol building.
That's all that could be done at this point. Alex hoped one of the cameras caught a good look at his face, but they’d have a better chance with the hotel surveillance system. They'd also search the hotel for evidence and interview witnesses.
She said, “He had on gloves, but was standing on the second floor railing looking down into the lobby. Maybe there are prints up there.” Doubtful, but worth checking.
“You’re bleeding.”
“No shit.” The scent of her own blood turned her stomach, and she was trying to ignore the throbbing pain. The wail of approaching sirens told her the cavalry had arrived.
The CHP escorted her back to the main hotel entrance. Three Sacramento PD squad cars skidded into the roundabout, facing the wrong direction.
“An ambulance is on its way,” one of the cops said to her. “Why don’t you sit down inside?”
A blast of cool, artificial air hit her as the doors swooshed open. Her damp silk blouse clung to her skin and chilled her when just a minute ago she was overheated. She subconsciously shivered.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” she said. “Just a first aid kit.”
They ignored her comment. She would have, too, if she were still cop.
While two of the CHP officers went to brief the responding police, she allowed the third to escort her to a leather seat next to the valet stand. She’d grown increasingly dizzy.
“Was anyone else hurt?” she asked.
“Negative,” the cop said.
“Good.”
“Excuse me for a minute,” he said.
Relieved that she had been left alone to deal with her pain and failure, she watched both uniformed cops and detectives spread around the perimeter and invade the hotel. An unmarked car pulled up behind the patrol cars, and Detective Jim Perry jumped out. He flashed his badge. She didn’t have to hear him state he was the lead detective on the case, his body language said it all.
She knew him well. Too well.
Jim and his partner listened to the first responders as they walked briskly into the hotel without a glance in her direction. Alex thanked God she had a moment to gather her wits before she had to face Jim and her former colleagues.
She scanned the crowd, impatiently brushing aside a lock of brown hair that had escaped her French braid. The first responders had acted fast—the area was roped off, the reporters and spectators far from the scene of the crime. She didn’t see Hart or his entourage anywhere.
As the adrenaline subsided, the dull pain in Alex’s arm increased proportionally. When she finally concentrated on her arm, she winced at the blood. Just looking at it made the pain worse.
The CHP officer returned with a first aid kit and stack of towels. “You’re still bleeding,” he said. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head.
“I’m Mike Lane, by the way.” He looked down at his notepad where he’d copied the information from her ID. “Alexandra, right?”
She cringed. Only her father called her by her full name. “Alex.”
“I need to cut off your sleeve.”
“Just do it,” she said.
He cut around her shoulder, then slid the sleeve down her own. The material tore at the hole in her arm. It started bleeding more.
“Shit!” she said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry. The ambulance will be here in two minutes. I just want to get this bleeding stopped.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo.”
He raised an eye. “You didn’t say you were a cop.”
“I’m not.” Not anymore. “I was, up until last summer.”
“Hotel security?”
She almost laughed. “Trying.”
“You’re a little young to be retired.”
She shot him a side-long glance. Too old to be a rookie. “You new?”
“I was in L.A. for ten years, rotated up here for Capitol duty last month.”