Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [13]
“No, sir. A homeowner shot a couple of men who had broken into his house.”
“That’s terrible, terrible. People shouldn’t be allowed to have handguns. Those men would still be alive today if Texas just had sensible laws. Barbarians”
“One of the men is alive, sir. The man at the news conference is his lawyer”
The President’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows went up. “You mean …?
“Yes, sir. We’re looking at a lawsuit, at the very least. The man’s attorney is pressuring the local authorities to bring charges against the homeowner who did the shooting.”
The President’s hand slapped down on the desk as he leaned forward in his chair. “My God! Civil rights violations. Gun laws that are too permissive. Vigilantes on a rampage, and Texans at that! Good Lord, Geoff, this is—” “Perfect, I know, yes, sir.” The Chief of Staff beamed. The President stood up and turned around to look out the window of the Oval Office.
It was the first day of a new era, and it was a beautiful morning.
CHAPTER 7
TV satellite trucks from as far away as Dallas/Fort Worth and Houston clogged the street in front of the hospital, and even though Alex turned on the police car’s flashing lights and hit the siren for a squalling second, none of the trucks made a move to get out of the way.
As usual, the media’s rights trumped everybody else’s, at least in the opinion of the media.
Alex gave up, turned onto a side street, and parked there. She could walk back to the hospital quicker than she could get those jackals to move.
She decided to go in the back, rather than running the gauntlet of those perfectly coiffed men and women standing in front of the cameras. She went through the hospital’s kitchen, nodding to the workers there.
“It’s a regular three-ring circus out there, ain’t it, Chief?” one of the women called to her.
Alex smiled and nodded. “It sure is. No shortage of clowns, either.”
That brought an appreciative chuckle from the women.
Alex went through the hospital cafeteria, where several people were eating breakfast, and looked wistfully at the steaming cups of coffee and plates full of food. She’d been in too much of a hurry for breakfast and had settled for a foam cup of coffee from the drive-through window at the Dairy Queen. It wasn’t bad, but it still landed like hot lead in her stomach.
After stepping around a corner in the hallway, she approached the nurses’ station. She recognized one of the women behind the counter and said, “Morning, Joanie. Where’s the famous patient?”
“You mean infamous, Chief. “ The nurse pointed. “All the way down at the end of the hall in 108. That was Officer Delgado’s idea.”
And a good one, too, Alex thought. Best to keep the suspect isolated from the hospital’s other patients.
“I’m surprised the hall isn’t full of reporters,” she commented.
“It was. Clint chased ’em out, and he’s standin’ at the front door to make sure they don’t get back in. The hospital is private property, after all, and Dr. Boone asked Clint to keep them out.”
Alex nodded. Dr. William Boone owned the Home Community Hospital, so he was within his rights to ask that the reporters be removed. They would probably howl about freedom of the press, but it didn’t really matter. Alex knew that if they weren’t acting outraged about that, they’d be acting outraged about something else. It was what the media did.
She went down the hall to Room 108 and pushed the door open, saying, “It’s me, J. P.,” to announce herself to Delgado.
He was sitting in a straight-backed chair at the foot of the bed nearest the door. The other hospital bed in the room was empty and the curtain between the beds was pushed back. It was rare that all the beds in the hospital were occupied.
The patient was hooked up to a couple of IVs and a machine that monitored his vital signs. He glared at Alex, but she could see surprise in his eyes in addition to the hostility. He probably hadn’t expected a woman to be the chief of police.
“I wan’ my lawyer,” he said in accented but passable English.
“I believe you’ve already seen your lawyer, Mr. Navarre,” Alex said as