“The point is this,” I said. “All of these systems we’re talking about are crew-served weapons. The military model is one shooter and one spotter in the field.” I could hear people on the line mumbling to one another in their various conference rooms. “So you can see where I’m going here. It could be shades of two thousand two all over again. We’re probably not looking for a single shooter anymore. Most likely, we’re looking for a two-man team.”

Chapter 30

AS SAMPSON AND I came out of the conference room, we found Joyce Catalone from our Communications Office standing outside the door.

“I was just going to pull you out,” she said. “I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

I looked at my watch — four forty-five. That meant at least three dozen reporters were downstairs, waiting to grill me for their five and six o’clock news cycles. Damn it — it was time to feed the beast.

Joyce and Sampson walked down with me. We took the stairs so she could run through a few things for me to consider on the way.

“Keisha Samuels from the Post wants to do a profile for the Sunday magazine.”

“No,” I told her. “I like Keisha, she’s smart and she’s fair, but it’s too early for that kind of in-depth piece.”

“And I’ve got CNN and MSNBC both ready to give this thing thirty minutes in prime time, if you’re ready to sit down.”

“Joyce, I’m not doing any special coverage until we have something we want to get out there. I wish to hell that we did.”

“No prob,” she said, “but don’t come crying to me when you want some coverage and they’ve moved on to something else.” Joyce was an old hand in the department and the unofficial mother hen of Investigative Services.

“I never cry,” I said.

“Except when I get you on the ropes,” Sampson said, and threw a punch my way.

“That’s your breath — not your punches,” I told him.

We’d reached the ground floor, and Joyce stopped with her hand on the door. “Excuse me, Beavis? Butt-Head? We ready to focus, here?” She was also excellent at her job and great to have as backup at these daily press briefings, which could get kind of hectic.

Did I say “kind of”? A buzzing swarm of reporters came at us the second we hit the front steps of the Daly Building.

“Alex! What can you tell us about Woodley Park?”

“Detective Cross, over here!”

“Is there truth to the rumors —”

“People!” Joyce shouted over the group. Her volume was the stuff of legend around the office. “Let the man make his statement first! Please.”

I quickly ran down the facts of the last twenty-four hours and said what I could about the Bureau’s ballistics report without going into too much detail. After that, it was back to the free-for-all.