hallway and started up another one, and finally I saw the yellow crime scene tape I'd been expecting. It was blocking the entrance to the infamous green room. Actually the room was painted blue, but why quibble.
I leaned over the tape to look in there—and immediately regretted it. That blue green room had way too much red. One sofa was decorated with large scarlet splotches, and there was a sea of dried blood on the floor nearby.
On the wall behind the sofa and slightly above it, the cops had drawn a circle in white chalk. In the middle of the circle was a small hole, with more blood splattered all around it. It looked like someone had shot a bullet through the Hack's head and into the wall, and parts of his head had burst open.
I doubled over and tried to breathe. It's a good thing I hadn't eaten lunch yet, or I would have lost it.
"Sorry, I should've wa rned you," Charlie said. "I figured what with you being an experienced murder investigator and all . . ."
Yeah, some murder investigator. The truth is, I'm such a wimp about blood I faint when I get a tetanus shot. But I steeled myself. "Can we go in?" I asked.
"Read the tape. 'Do Not Cross.' They got a cop guarding the place."
"Yeah? What, is he invisible?"
"No, he just went out for a bite to eat."
"Sounds like our big chance. Come on, Charlie, I won't tell anyone if you won't."
Without waiting for a reply, I lifted my leg and went over the tape. Charlie didn't argue. In fact, he went over the tape right behind me. "I've been wanting to do this all morning," he said.
Keeping my eyes away from the gore, I crossed the room and headed for the bathroom. "Do me a favor," I asked Charlie. "After I go in the john and close the door, could you say, in a regular voice, 'Hi, how you doing?' "
Charlie looked puzzled, but nodded. I closed the door and sat on the toilet. Then I heard Charlie saying, "Hi, how you doing?" from the other room. It was muffled, but I heard it. Well, at least that part of Will's story checked out.
I rejoined Charlie in the green room, still averting my eyes from all things crimson. "Did anyone here at the station have any connection with the Hack?"
"That's what the cops asked. Answer's no. Besides, there were only five of us in the station when the Hack was killed, and four of us were in the recording studio together."
"How about the fifth?"
"That was the receptionist, and she doesn't seem like a killer to me."
She did have killer eyelashes, but still, I had to agree with Charlie. Well, maybe the shooter came from outside. I stepped to the window. The sidewalk was only a few feet away, and just beyond it was a row of two-hour parking spots.
WTRO was plopped down amidst a strip-mall wasteland, surrounded by vacant storefronts featuring peeling for rent signs. The booming national economy was bypassing Troy with a vengeance. I wondered how many Troy residents—what do they call themselves anyway, Trojans?—were walking around outside the WTRO building at the time of the crime, 8:45 p.m. on Labor Day.
Not many, I guessed. And it was already dark by then. Perfect circumstances for a getaway.
But how could the killer make it into the building unseen in the first place? Unless that twenty-something blonde was off somewhere touching up her eye shadow, she would have spotted any intruders.
I turned to Charli e. "What if somebody parked outside, looked through this window, and saw the Hack sitting all by himself in the green room? Could they sneak into the building, and into this room, with no one from the station seeing them?"
"Fat chance," Charlie declared. "They'd have to come through the front door, and they'd never make it."
"You must have another door to the building."
"Emergency exit. Locks automatically. You can't come in through there."
"Let's go check it out."
Charlie rolled his eyes, but took me out to the hall. The emergency exit door was a mere five steps farther down. We went outside and let the door close behind us. Then we
I leaned over the tape to look in there—and immediately regretted it. That blue green room had way too much red. One sofa was decorated with large scarlet splotches, and there was a sea of dried blood on the floor nearby.
On the wall behind the sofa and slightly above it, the cops had drawn a circle in white chalk. In the middle of the circle was a small hole, with more blood splattered all around it. It looked like someone had shot a bullet through the Hack's head and into the wall, and parts of his head had burst open.
I doubled over and tried to breathe. It's a good thing I hadn't eaten lunch yet, or I would have lost it.
"Sorry, I should've wa rned you," Charlie said. "I figured what with you being an experienced murder investigator and all . . ."
Yeah, some murder investigator. The truth is, I'm such a wimp about blood I faint when I get a tetanus shot. But I steeled myself. "Can we go in?" I asked.
"Read the tape. 'Do Not Cross.' They got a cop guarding the place."
"Yeah? What, is he invisible?"
"No, he just went out for a bite to eat."
"Sounds like our big chance. Come on, Charlie, I won't tell anyone if you won't."
Without waiting for a reply, I lifted my leg and went over the tape. Charlie didn't argue. In fact, he went over the tape right behind me. "I've been wanting to do this all morning," he said.
Keeping my eyes away from the gore, I crossed the room and headed for the bathroom. "Do me a favor," I asked Charlie. "After I go in the john and close the door, could you say, in a regular voice, 'Hi, how you doing?' "
Charlie looked puzzled, but nodded. I closed the door and sat on the toilet. Then I heard Charlie saying, "Hi, how you doing?" from the other room. It was muffled, but I heard it. Well, at least that part of Will's story checked out.
I rejoined Charlie in the green room, still averting my eyes from all things crimson. "Did anyone here at the station have any connection with the Hack?"
"That's what the cops asked. Answer's no. Besides, there were only five of us in the station when the Hack was killed, and four of us were in the recording studio together."
"How about the fifth?"
"That was the receptionist, and she doesn't seem like a killer to me."
She did have killer eyelashes, but still, I had to agree with Charlie. Well, maybe the shooter came from outside. I stepped to the window. The sidewalk was only a few feet away, and just beyond it was a row of two-hour parking spots.
WTRO was plopped down amidst a strip-mall wasteland, surrounded by vacant storefronts featuring peeling for rent signs. The booming national economy was bypassing Troy with a vengeance. I wondered how many Troy residents—what do they call themselves anyway, Trojans?—were walking around outside the WTRO building at the time of the crime, 8:45 p.m. on Labor Day.
Not many, I guessed. And it was already dark by then. Perfect circumstances for a getaway.
But how could the killer make it into the building unseen in the first place? Unless that twenty-something blonde was off somewhere touching up her eye shadow, she would have spotted any intruders.
I turned to Charli e. "What if somebody parked outside, looked through this window, and saw the Hack sitting all by himself in the green room? Could they sneak into the building, and into this room, with no one from the station seeing them?"
"Fat chance," Charlie declared. "They'd have to come through the front door, and they'd never make it."
"You must have another door to the building."
"Emergency exit. Locks automatically. You can't come in through there."
"Let's go check it out."
Charlie rolled his eyes, but took me out to the hall. The emergency exit door was a mere five steps farther down. We went outside and let the door close behind us. Then we
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