"No cameras aimed at the parked cars area?" asked Kurtz as the tape began to roll, yesterday's date, hour, minute and second in white in the lower right of the frame.
"There is," said Kennedy, "but the city chose the least expensive camera layout, so the next camera is looking the opposite direction, set about seventy-five feet from this coverage area. The shooter or shooters were in a dead area between camera views. No overlap."
On the screen, the door opened and Kurtz watched himself emerge nodding toward the shadow that was Peg O'Toole holding the door. Kurtz watched himself walk in front of the woman, who was staying back.
They had separated ten feet or so and started to go opposite directions when something happened. Kurtz watched himself crouch, fling his arm out, point at the door, and shout something. O'Toole froze, looked at Kurtz as if he was mad, reached for the weapon in her purse, and then her head swung around and looked into the darkness behind the overhead camera. Everything was silent.
He saw sparks as a bullet struck a concrete pillar eight feet behind them. O'Toole drew her 9-mm Sig Pro and swung it in the direction the shooting was coming from. Kurtz watched himself swing around as if he was going to run for the shelter of the pillar, but then O'Toole was struck. Her head snapped back.
Kurtz remembered now. Remembered bits of it. The phut, phut, phut and muzzle flare coming from the sixth or seventh dark car down the ramp. Not a silenced weapon, Kurtz realized at the time and remembered now, but almost certainly a.22-caliber pistol, just one, sounding even softer than most.22s, as if the shooter had reduced the powder load.
O'Toole dropped, a black corsage blooming on her pale white forehead in the video. The gun skidded across concrete.
Kurtz dove for the Sig Sauer, came up with it, went to one knee in front of the parole officer, braced the pistol with both hands, and returned fire, the muzzle flare making the video bloom.
There were two figures , remembered Kurtz. Shadows. The shooter near the trunk of the car, and another man, taller, behind the bulk of the vehicle, just glimpsed through the car's glass. Only the shorter man was shooting .
Kurtz was firing on the screen. Suddenly he stopped, dragged O'Toole by the arm across the floor, lifted her suddenly, and began carrying her back toward the doors.
I Hit the shooter , remembered Kurtz. He spun and sagged against the car. That's when I tried to get O'Toole out. Then the other man grabbed the gun and kept shooting at us .
Officer O'Toole's arm seemed to twitcha slug going through her upper arm , Kurtz thought, remembering the doctor's explanationKurtz's upper body twisted and his head jerked around to the left as he brought the Sig Pro to bear again, and then he went down bard, dropping the woman. The two sprawled onto the concrete. Black-looking blood pooled on the floor.
A full minute went by with just the two bodies lying entangled there.
"There was no coverage of the exit ramp," said Rigby. "We didn't see the car leave at least until it got to the ticket station."
"Why didn't he come out to finish us?" said Kurtz. He was looking at his own body sprawled next to O'Toole's and thinking about the second shooter.
"We don't know," said Kennedy. "But a court stenographer comes out through those doors in a minute ah, there she is and she may have spooked the shooter."
Shooters , thought Kurtz. Remembering the adrenaline of those few minutes made his head hurt worse.
On the screen, a woman steps out, claps her hands to her cheeks, screams silently, and runs back in through the doors.
Kennedy stopped the tape. "Another three and a half minutes before she gets someone down therea security guard. He didn't see anyone else, just you and Peg on the ground. He radioed for the ambulance. Then another ten minutes of people milling until the paramedics arrive. It's lucky Peg survived all that loss of blood."
Why didn't the second shooter finish us? wondered Kurtz. Whichever one of us he was trying to kill .
Kennedy pulled the tape and popped another one in. Kurtz looked at Rigby King. "Why was I handcuffed?" His voice wasn't pleasant.
"We hadn't seen this yet," she said.
"Why not?"
"The tapes weren't marked," said Brian Kennedy, answering for her. "There was some confusion. We didn't have this to show Officers Kemper and King until after they visited you yesterday evening."
I was handcuffed the entire fucking night , thought Kurtz, glaring at Rigby King. You left me helpless and handcuffed in that fucking hospital all night . She was obviously receiving his unspoken message, but she just returned his stare.
"This is the security camera at the Market Street exit," said Kennedy, thumbing the remote control.
A young black woman was reading the National Enquirer in her glass cashier's cubicle. Suddenly an older-make car roared up the ramp and out of the parking garage, snapping the wooden gate off in pieces and skidding a right turn into the empty street before disappearing.