The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [111]
Ramona smiled, but not at the photographer. The newspaper’s truck bore an advertising slogan, “Everyone Reads It,” and in black spray paint someone had added:
AND WONDERS WHY
By the time an assistant district attorney, the medical examiner, and Lieutenant Sal Molina showed up, the courthouse was about to open for business. A small crowd of lawyers, clerks, judges, and officers scheduled for court appearances had gathered across the street and were scrutinizing her every move, which made her somewhat uneasy.
The ME, a roly-poly man with skinny arms showing below his short-sleeved shirt, went off to declare Potter officially dead. Ramona turned her back on the crowd and briefed Molina and the ADA in a low voice.
“Potter was shot in the chest at what appears to be close range,” she said. “We have no witnesses to the crime and so far, no substantial evidence.”
“Was it a drive-by?” Molina asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ramona replied. “Potter took just one bullet, straight on. If the killer had been firing from a moving vehicle, the round would have most likely hit him at an angle. Plus, a drive-by shooter would have probably emptied his weapon at his target.”
“The shooter could have been parked at the curb.”
“Possibly,” Ramona said. “But if the killer was in a vehicle, I doubt it was a passenger car.”
“Why do you say that?” Molina asked.
“The entry and exit wounds in Potter’s chest and back are almost perfectly aligned,” Ramona answered.
Molina nodded in agreement. “From a car, the killer would have been firing up at Potter. Have you found the bullet?”
“No,” Piño said as she gazed down the street. At least a dozen buildings would have to be checked for the spent round, including an elementary school, an office building, and a resort hotel two blocks away across a major thoroughfare that circled downtown Santa Fe. It would take hours to do the search, probably with no results.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Molina said, reading Piño’s pessimistic expression. Piño was a pretty young woman with even features and soft brown eyes that often fooled people into thinking she could be easily conned or manipulated.
“What if Potter knew his killer?” Barry Foyt, the ADA, asked.
“That would be great,” Molina said. “Otherwise we’ve got either a random shooting or robbery as the possible motive.”
“Was there anything in his pockets?” Foyt asked.
“Just his keys,” Ramona answered, showing the key ring in a plastic bag. “And he’s still wearing his watch, although it’s not an expensive one.”
“So maybe we should rule out robbery as a motive as soon as possible,” Foyt said, inclining his head toward the single-story adobe building that housed Potter’s offices.
“Are you giving permission to search?” Ramona asked.
“Plain view only, for now,” Foyt said, “including his car.”
“You got it,” Ramona said.
“Does he have any employees?” Molina asked, looking at the civilians who had congregated at both ends of the street behind the patrol cars that blocked the intersections. Uniformed officers stood by their vehicles holding the crowd back.
“He has one secretary,” Foyt replied. “I don’t see her here yet.”
“ID her for us when she shows,” Molina said, turning his attention to Piño. “Six detectives are rolling. Let’s get the uniforms started identifying onlookers and taking statements. Assign a detective to search Potter’s office and put one on Potter’s car. Find his wallet. That could help us rule out robbery as a motive. Have the others canvass the neighborhood, and start the techs looking for the bullet.”
“Will do, Lieutenant,” Ramona said. Even with the additional help, it was going to be a busy day. Once a residential neighborhood, the McKenzie District west of the courthouse was now a mixed-use area of professional offices,