While he believed there was a threat, it would be dumb for someone to attack at a courthouse with armed guards and in close proximity to the police station. Yet the main doors provided the best vantage point if someone wanted to get to Stan.
He entered the building and spotted Marie and Stan sitting on a bench in the main lobby. He went through security and asked the head bailiff if he could let them out the side exit.
“The door’s locked. We don’t use that entrance.”
“But can someone unlock it?”
“It would be a hassle.”
“There’s been a threat made against Mr. Grant and I’m making sure he gets home safely.”
The bailiff almost smiled, then hid it. He was the epitome of why Sean didn’t like some cops.
“I can’t open the entrance. It’s locked and alarmed.”
Sean wanted to keep arguing but didn’t think he was going to get anywhere.
He told Marie and Stan to wait for him inside, then he ran out to his car. He didn’t want to drive around the block, so waited until the street was clear and backed up two hundred feet. Now he was double-parked, but his car was right next to the path off the main entrance. Less than a hundred yards in the open. Not ideal, but better than walking Stan past the fountain to the main street, which was twice as far.
He flipped on his hazards and ran back inside.
“Be alert,” Sean said. “It’s ten seconds to my car.”
“Is this really necessary?” Marie asked.
He hadn’t meant to scare her, but better to scare her than not expect trouble. “Follow my lead, okay?”
He stepped out again, this time with Stan and Marie right by his side. He glanced around—little had changed in the few moments he’d been in the courthouse—then ushered them down the stairs, turned left, and briskly strode toward his jeep, looking for potential threats.
No one approached them. But out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.
The florist van.
The van burst through the intersection as if trying to beat a light—except they were heading down the one-way street where Sean’s car was double-parked.
“Down!” he shouted as he heard the first gunshot. He pushed both Stan and Marie hard, falling on top of Marie to shield her body.
The van screeched to a halt and Sean reached for his gun, only to remember it was in his car because he’d been in the courthouse.
More gunshots rang out of the driver’s side window in rapid succession.
one two three four …
Five total bullets, then the van floored it and sped away, firing one last time into Sean’s rear tire. His vantage point from the ground was poor, but the driver appeared Caucasian and there was someone in the passenger seat—someone he couldn’t see.
“Marie! Marie, are you hurt?”
She didn’t answer and Sean climbed off her as multiple cops came running from the courthouse.
“Call nine-one-one!” he shouted.
“On their way,” one of the court security officers said.
Sean inspected Marie. She seemed to be in shock, but he didn’t see any blood on her. A small pool was above her head. Had he hurt her when he pushed her down?
“Marie!” He gently shook her.
“You’re bleeding,” she said in a monotone.
He looked at his arm. That’s where the blood was coming from. He thought he’d been nicked. It was just enough to draw blood.
“Are you okay?”
“Stan!” she cried out.
She tried to get up. Sean helped her to a sitting position and told her to stay.
More officers were coming toward them from the annex.
Sean looked over at Stan, who was sprawled, facedown, on the sidewalk. Three distinct entry points.
Fortunately, two of the officers immediately went to him, while two came over to Sean and Marie, who were ten feet away, on the grass.
“Are you okay?” one asked.
“Sean Rogan, private investigator,” he said. “Can I retrieve my identification?” It was always good to tell an officer when you were reaching into your pocket, even when you weren’t carrying.
The officer nodded and watched him. Sean pulled out his wallet and handed him his PI license and driver’s license.
“What were you doing here?”
“Taking Mr. Grant and Ms. Richards to a hotel after the bail hearing.” Someone knew exactly when they were leaving, that was the only explanation for them to be able to act so quickly. “We need to check surveillance cameras in the area. A white florist van, I don’t know the name, but there was a large picture of flowers taking up the entire driver’s side panel. Two suspects, the shooter was a white or light Hispanic male, but that’s all I got. I couldn’t see the license plate, but they were parked outside the archives building in the loading zone the entire time I was here.” He paused. “The back doors were open on the van, so they pretended they were delivering something.” They could have been there for an hour. Someone had to have seen them. This was a major intersection with several government buildings and the courthouse, and there were security cameras all over the place.
The officer wrote everything down.
Sean was supposed to protect them. But clearly, someone had tipped off the shooter. Who? Someone who worked in the courthouse? Someone Stan reached out to in the hours he was waiting for release?
The van was there when you arrived ten minutes ago. They were waiting. How long?
“Marie,” Sean said as the ambulance pulled up behind Sean’s car.
“Stan. I need to go with him to the hospital.”
“They’re working on him right now. He’s alive, that’s all I know. Marie, listen to me. This is important. Did Stan talk to anyone while you were waiting for his bail and ankle monitor?”
“I … yes … but—”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He used my phone.”
“May I take it? Someone knew when you were leaving.”
The officer said, “I don’t know about that—”
Marie ignored him and handed Sean her phone. “The passcode is four-four-two-one.”
“You go with Stan. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
He helped her stand, inspected her head. “You have a bump, you should be looked at for a possible concussion.”
Spontaneously she hugged him, tears beginning to flow. “You saved my life. You risked everything for me, I’ll never forget that. My boys—” She choked up. “My boys.” That was all she needed to say.
“Don’t leave the hospital until we talk. You shouldn’t go anywhere alone until we figure out what’s going on. But I think Stan was the primary target.” But the shooter didn’t care if they hit anyone else. And if the shooter thought Stan might have said something to Marie, she could also be in danger.
So could Max.
The shooter was good. Of the five shots, three hit Stan, one grazed Sean, and one missed completely. Sean hadn’t clearly seen the weapon, but it looked and sounded like a small-arms semi-automatic pistol. Well-trained, possible former military.
Sean knew professional bodyguards he trusted, at least until they could rule out Marie as a target.
He watched as the ambulance left, gave his statement again to the investigators, then called a tow company to pick up his jeep.