Wannaker, 44, started at the paper 27 years ago as a copy boy. Senior photo editor Ted Baines remembers how Wannaker spent a lot of time, as a kid, hanging around the photo desk. “He wanted to be a shooter from the moment he walked through the doors. He was a natural from the beginning.”

In recent years, Wannaker had covered the fall of the Berlin Wall, the war in Yugoslavia, the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan, and the war in Iraq.

“It’s unbelievable,” said Mr. Magnuson, “that, after all he’s been through, Stan would be a victim of violence outside our very building.”

Police say Wannaker’s attacker, or attackers, did not appear to have been motivated by robbery. None of his cameras had been taken, and he still had his wallet and credit cards on him, as well as a sum of cash.

“It appears,” said a police spokesperson, “that he was targeted for who he was, not what he might happen to be carrying.”

Police say Wannaker evidently was forced down onto his knees, then his car door was slammed on his head.

I looked up from the story, feeling as though I might be sick. Nancy, who was clearly putting in a very long day, was standing there.

“Hey,” she said. Her eyes were red.

“Hi,” I said. “Sarah called me. She heard about it before I did. She’s coming back tonight.”

Nancy nodded.

“They got any idea who did it?” I asked.

Nancy shook her head no. “Colby’s still making calls. He’s out with the cops now. They think he was targeted, but it might still be just one of those crazy random things. Maybe some kids, high on something, they spotted him and went berserk.”

“I suppose.”

“I mean, it’s not like some guy in Iraq or Afghanistan is going to come over here to settle some grudge.”

“Maybe it was someone closer to home,” I offered. Briefly, I told her about Stan’s fight with the guy at the car auction the day before, and how Sarah was supposed to pass on what I’d told her to Colby.

“She did, I think. Colby said he might be giving you a call later.” She shook her head. Her chin quivered. “A bunch of us are going across the street after the edition closes. Hoist a few to the memory of Stan. You want to come?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d like to do that. Let me get a couple of other things out of the way.” I turned a bit in my chair, and it was then that Nancy noticed the side of my face. She reached out tentatively, like she was going to touch it, but stopped.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” I said.