I clutched my hands around my head, too frightened to move. Finally, I heard people running, and I looked up, shocked to see Alan Bennet lying on the pavement, shot in the chest. In the parking lot, Monty had also been shot and apprehended by the police, his own blood seeping onto the leg of his pants as they handcuffed him.

Paramedics were laboring over Alan, who seemed to be unconscious but not dead. A bright red stain radiated from his chest in a jagged circle.

I turned and headed to the parking lot, wanting to come face-to-face with the man who had tried to kill me this morning. Keegan saw me and grabbed the sleeve of my jacket, pulling me back, away from the confusion. He gestured toward Monty, his voice soft.

“He look familiar to you?”

“Monty Redburn,” I said. “He tried to kill me this morning in a vehicular homicide. He very nearly succeeded.”

“I know it’s Redburn. But how do you know? What’s your connection with him?”

“Before today, not much. He’s been tailing me, trying to scare me. Yesterday, he lured me out to the cemetery and then pushed me into an open grave.”

“And you didn’t report that incident to the police?”

“It’s part of an ongoing investigation,” I said, shrugging. “I survived. I managed to get his prints, and I asked Duane to run them.”

Keegan grunted angrily.

“Sometimes I like to know the identity of the people who are trying to kill me,” I added sarcastically. “Surely that’s not a crime.”

“No,” he said. “But avoiding the police when you know you’re being sought for questioning isn’t exactly what I call being ‘mutually cooperative.’”

“You think I’ve been obstructing justice, Keegan?”

He rolled his eyes and let go of my sleeve.

“I think you’ve been biting the hand that feeds you,” he replied.

Then he stalked off, leaving me to feel guilty, knowing that in a way, I had done just that.

I watched all of the activity for a while, standing on the fringe of the crowd, watching as first one ambulance was loaded with the still-unconscious body of Alan Bennet and then another with the angry and struggling Monty Redburn. Once both vehicles sped away, I sought out Detective Sollie, who was filling out some paperwork near his car. I approached him carefully and apologized for avoiding them the first half of the day. He seemed distracted, but not angry the way Keegan had been.

“Can I ask you a question?” I inquired gingerly.

“Mm-hmm.”

“How do you guys know Monty Redburn? Why did his name send off red flags when we tried to run his prints?”

“You’re shameless, Webber,” I heard from behind me. I turned to see Keegan, hands on hips, lips pursed. He seemed irritated with me, but no longer truly angry.