“Sit here,” the young woman in the hairband told Gregor. Then she nodded at the governor and retreated.
At a federal press conference, there would have been more of a sense of ceremony. Here, although there was a press officer to make introductions and serve as a sort of informal director of the proceedings, he seemed to be mostly making it up as he went along. He stood at the lectern, leaning toward the microphone, until the people in the parking lot started to settle down. Then he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the governor will speak first, followed by a short statement from Gregor Demarkian. When Mr. Demarkian is finished talking, the governor will take questions.”
“Will Mr. Demarkian take questions?” somebody asked.
“Yes,” the press officer said.
“What about somebody from the medical examiner’s office? What about somebody from the police?” somebody else asked.
“The medical examiner’s office has no statement to make at this time,” the press officer said, “and will not have such a statement until Dr. Lee returns from Colorado and can review the evidence. The Washington Police Department also has no statement to make at this time.”
“What about the state police?” a third person asked. “I thought this was being handled by the state police.”
The press officer ignored the question, and the statement, and everything else that was going on in the parking lot. He leaned into the microphone and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the governor.”
The governor stepped up to the lectern, and Gregor let his mind drift. The press officer should have said “the governor of the State of Connecticut” instead of just “the governor.” It would have sounded better. This press conference should have been held inside someplace, at the town hall or in a movie theater. That way it would have been warmer and less chaotic. They should have announced a time limit for questions. It would have helped keep things from getting out of hand.
The governor stepped back. He did not sit down. The press officer went back to the lectern and announced, “Mr. Gregor Demarkian.”
Gregor went up to the lectern. He never took the canned statements he was offered before press conferences, but sometimes he thought he should. He never really knew what to say in situations like this.
“I have been asked,” he said, “by the governor’s office and by the Connecticut State Police, to provide consultation and aid in the investigation into the murder of Kayla Anson, and I have agreed to do so most willingly. I will be serving in an advisory capacity only. I hope that my experience, both in the Federal Bureau of Investigation and more recently as a consultant to police departments faced with difficult homicide investigations, will prove valuable for all the parties concerned in this case.”
Gregor stepped away from the lectern and sat down. He thought he’d sounded more bureaucratic than most bureaucrats. At the very worst, he’d sounded like a pompous ass. He wondered if Bennis was back at the inn, watching this.
The press officer had stepped up to the lectern again. “We’ll bring the governor back and you can start your questions. If you could try to raise your hands instead of calling out, I’d much appreciate it. I—”
There was a sound from behind him, and he turned. So did the governor and Gregor and everybody else on the station steps. The people in the parking lot did not have to turn. The front doors of the station were opening.
“Excuse me,” a woman said—it took Gregor a moment to recognize her as the one who had come to the conference room to tell them that the governor had arrived. She looked, out at the sea of faces in the lot and nearly retreated. Her confusion was as plain as the bold red print on her dress. “Excuse me,” she said again.
The young woman with the hairband rushed up to her. “We’re having a press conference here,” she hissed. “If you need to leave the building, go out to the back. You can’t—”
“But I don’t need to leave the building. I don’t. I need to talk to Mark. I have to talk to Mark. He’s the only one here who can do anything about it.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait,” the girl in the hairband said firmly, pushing the older woman forcefully back into the building. “Right now, we’re having a press conference, and anything short of bloody murder—”
“But that’s just it,” the older woman said, pushing back hard enough so that the younger woman stumbled. “It is bloody murder, it is. It’s another bloody murder and nobody else is on duty right now but Mark and he’s the one I have to talk to. He’s the one I have to talk to right now.”