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“That’s a good observation, Heather. I know this is a frightening time for you, and I appreciate your willingness to talk to me.”

“I want to help you. I appreciate what you did. The risk you took. Getting in Judd Turlock’s face like that to bring me here . . . when you didn’t even know my name.” Her voice was starting to quaver. “Most people . . . wouldn’t do that. Something like that . . . takes more than courage. It takes . . . goodness.”

A brief silence fell between them. It was broken by Gurney, clearing his throat and trying to speak in a matter-of-fact way. “Turlock and other WRPD people will be questioning you about what happened today. Not just about the shooting itself, but—”

“I know how the process works.”

“Are you going to tell them that Rick was on his way to meet me when he was shot?”

“No.”

“Or that he and I had spoken on the phone?”

“No.”

He paused. “You really don’t trust the department, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Do you know if Rick or John Steele had uncovered any evidence of criminal actions?”

“I think . . . they were getting close.”

“Was anyone helping them?”

“Rick didn’t like to bring those details home. But I did have the impression that someone was giving them information, telling them which cases they should look into.”

“Someone inside the department?”

“Rick never said.”

“Do you know if it was information about individuals who’d been framed?”

“I think so.”

“Framed by Turlock?”

“Probably. He seems like an awful man.”

“And Beckert?”

She hesitated. “Probably not directly. According to Rick, he’s the sort of person who makes everything turn out the way he wants it, without leaving his fingerprints on anything.”

“I was told he has political ambitions. Do you know anything about that?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. He has that kind of—” She let out a sharp little cry. “Have to go. The doctor’s here.”

He felt a sudden tightness in his chest, perhaps a contagious germ of her fear. He hoped with all his heart she’d be able to handle whatever the doctor was about to tell her.

He was just slipping the phone back in his pocket when a call arrived from Sheridan Kline. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail; but he knew that delaying the conversation would accomplish nothing—that procrastination only increased the weight of things that needed to be done.

“Gurney here.”

“What on earth is going on?”

“Is there a problem?”

“I was told that you barged into the Loomis crime scene and removed a key witness before she could be interviewed by a senior WRPD officer.”

“That’s an interesting arrangement of the facts. Let me give you another one. I narrowly averted a public relations disaster that would have had Beckert stumbling all over himself at his next press conference.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the desperate wife of a downed police officer was being detained—kept from her possibly dying husband—for the interviewing convenience of a deputy police chief with the sensitivity of a stone. How do you think Beckert’s precious media would react to that?”

Kline took so long to reply Gurney began to wonder if they were still connected.

“That’s not the way I heard it,” he finally said, the energy gone from his voice. “And according to the hospital, Loomis is still alive. I understand the shooter site has been located and Garrett Felder’s going over it. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And the Loomis shooter used the same black Corolla used in the Steele case?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“One neighbor saw the Corolla. Another neighbor claims there was another vehicle present, an off-road motorcycle. Hard to say at this point which one the shooter used.”

“What difference does it make? He obviously used one of them. From what you’re saying, it appears that he had some kind of BDA backup.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t see as how there’s any maybe about it. Two vehicles. One shooter plus one backup.”

Gurney remained silent. There were other possibilities, but he didn’t feel like discussing them with Kline. At least not until he had a chance to think them through.

“Did you observe the site yourself?” asked Kline.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Similar to the first. Some indication that a rifle-support tripod was used. I’m waiting to see what else Garrett and his assistant come up with.”

“Good. With that same Corolla involved, any prints they find ought to corroborate the evidence we’ve gathered on the Steele shooting—which is already a prosecutor’s dream.”

“As long as you don’t think about it too much. Or start wondering why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why that laser dot followed the back of Steele’s head as long as it did. Why he was shot while he was moving, rather than while he was standing still. Why the shooter used a full metal jacket, rather than a hollow-point. Things like that keep me awake at night. They ought to keep you awake, too.”

“Nonsense. You’re overcomplicating everything.”

“I thought you wanted my objective view of the case.”