Blood in the Water(101)
One of the young officers in the front of the car flipped the siren on, and people began to move back and away. The car inched forward, more and more slowly, more and more insistent. The officer started leaning on the horn as well as blowing the siren. He got them all the way to the gate when there was another obstruction. It was Horace Wingard. He was standing athwart the passage as if he could physically protect it with his own body.
It was an act, but Gregor Demarkian had to admit it was a very good act.
Gregor tapped the young officer on the shoulder and asked him to stop. “I might be able to help with this a little,” he said, “and it’s something we need, anyway.”
“Something we need?” the officer asked.
“Yes,” Gregor said. “I should have thought of it. But I don’t think it will matter. It will only waste time.”
Gregor didn’t know if the officer was naturally uncurious, or if the situation was just too tense to allow for questions and conversation. The officer stopped the car. Men and women swarmed around it, including many reporters with microphones. Gregor opened his door and stepped out, getting it closed just in time to keep a young woman reporter from landing on Larry Farmer’s lap.
“Jesus Christ,” Larry said from inside the car, and then the door was closed.
Reporters closed in around Gregor now, and he had to back up all the way against the police car to keep from getting run over.
“Mr. Demarkian,” one of them yelled, “are you here about the Land financial scandal? Is that really why you were called in by the Pineville Station Police Department?”
This was so ridiculous, Gregor didn’t even try to answer it. If he had been here looking for Alison Land, he wouldn’t have come on the request of the Pineville Station Police Department. That would have been an FBI operation, and they wouldn’t be looking at retired agents to help with it.
“Mr. Demarkian,” another reporter yelled, “do you think Alison Land should be required to pay back the money her husband stole? What about the small individual investors who lost everything they had?”
“Mr. Demarkian! What do you think of Alison Land living in luxury in a place like Waldorf Pines when many of the investors her husband ruined are looking forward to a retirement eating dog food?”
“Mr. Demarkian! When did you first suspect that Alison Land was hiding out in Waldorf Pines, and why didn’t you immediately inform the public of her whereabouts?”
Did they go to journalism school for this? Gregor wondered. Did they really? Tommy Moradanyan Donahue could think of better questions to ask in this situation, and he wasn’t out of elementary school.
He also knew something about jurisdiction, too.
Gregor edged his way toward the gate and Horace Wingard.
“There’s something you’ve forgotten,” Gregor told Horace when he got up next to him.
“What’s that?” Horace said.
“This isn’t the only entrance to Waldorf Pines.”
Horace Wingard looked momentarily appalled. Then he turned his back to the reporters and ran off through the clubhouse gates.
Gregor Demarkian turned back to the mob. A dozen microphones were suddenly shoved into his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “if you’ll take the road you came in on just a little farther along the curve, you’ll find the back entrance to Waldorf Pines. You might want to go and check there. If he’s got any sense, Arthur Heydreich is right now trying to get out that way in an attempt to avoid being arrested for the murder of his wife.”