That’s when the crowd hit the corner. They were following the President,
who was purposefully striding down the sidewalk to where his limo was
parked. As he passed the side of the courthouse, he looked up. As if
sensing his presence, Luther, whose eyes had been pressed to the ground,
also looked up. Their eyes locked for one terrible instant.
The words escaped Luther’s lips before he knew what was happening.
“Fucking bastard.” It was said quietly, but each officer heard
something, because they looked around as the President walked by a mere
hundred feet away. They were surprised. And then their thoughts focused
on one thing only.
Luther’s knees buckled. At first both officers thought he was
intentionally making their job harder until they saw the blood streaming
down the side of his face. One of them shouted an expletive and grabbed
Luther’s arm. The other pulled his gun and swung it in wide arcs at
where he thought the shot had come from. The events that happened in the
next few minutes seemed a blur to most people who were there. The sound
of the shot was not entirely clear over the screams of the crowds. The
Secret Service agents heard it, though. Burton had Richmond on the
ground in a second.
Twenty dark suits carrying automatic weapons made a human cocoon around
them.
Seth Frank watched as the Secret Service van tore out of I the alley and
blocked off the now hysterical crowd from the President. One agent
emerged wielding a machine gun and scanned the street, barking into a
radio.
I Frank directed his men to cover every square inch of the area; every
intersection was cordoned off and a building-by- I building search would
commence. Truckloads of officers would arrive shortly, but somehow Frank
knew it was too late.
in another second Frank was beside Luther. He looked on in disbelief as
the blood drenched the snow, warming it into a sickening pool of
crimson. An ambulance’was called and would be there in minutes. But
Frank also knew it was too late for ambulances. Luther’s face had
already gone white, the eyes stared blank, the fingers were curled
tight. Luther Whitney had two new holes in his head and the damn round
had put a hole in the van after exiting the man. Someone was taking no
chances.
Frank closed the dead man’s eyes and then looked around.
The President was up and being hustled into his limo. In a few seconds
the firno and the vans were gone, Reporters started to flock to the
murder scene, but Frank motioned to his men and the journalists were met
by a brick wall of infuriated and embarrassed police officers who
brandished their batons and hoped somebody tried something.
Seth Frank looked down at the body. He took off his jacket despite the
cold and laid it across Luther’s torso and face.
Jack had made it to the window a few seconds after the screams started.
His pulse was off the chart and his forehead was suddenly drenched in
sweat.
“Stay here, Kate.” He looked at her. She was frozen, her face having
already registered a fact that Jack hoped beyond hope wasn’t true.
Samuel had emerged from the inner sanctum.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Samuel, keep an eye on her, please.”
Samuel nodded and Jack hit the door running.
Outside there were more men with guns than Jack had ever seen outside of
a Hollywood war flick. He ran to the side of the courthouse and was
about to have his head cracked open by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound
baton-wielding trooper when Frank’s voice boomed out.
Jack warily approached. Each of his steps in the tightpacked snow seemed
to take a month. All eyes seemed to be on him. The crumpled figure under
the coat. The blood soaking the once pristine snowfall. The anguished
and at the same time disgusted look on Detective Seth Frank’s features.
He would remember each of these things for many sleepless nights,
perhaps for the rest of his life.
When he finally crouched down beside his friend, he started to draw back
the jacket but then stopped. He turned around and looked back from where
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