He adjusted his aim, then shot the dead man in the head. The gun must have been silenced; it made a soft popping sound, not a loud bang.
Ellie flinched. Her heart was beating so hard, she felt like it would smash through her ribs. She had to get out of there and call the police, before these men saw her and killed her too. She took one last look, memorizing their faces, then turned to tip-toe away.
A rat emerged from beneath the dumpster and scurried over her foot. She jerked backward, barely managing to stop herself from letting out a yelp. But the rat was as surprised as she was. It bolted madly into a nearby heap of beer bottles and soda cans, producing a tremendous clatter.
“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Nagle.
“Someone’s there!” the hit man shouted.
Ellie flung herself forward, a second before she heard another soft pop. The bullet barely missed her head, hitting the brick wall beside her. Chips and dust exploded out, and a sharp pain stung her cheek.
She ran like she’d never run in her life. Sheer terror lent her speed. She heard the men shouting behind her, and heard another soft pop. Her lungs burned as she forced herself to go faster, expecting any second to feel the impact of a bullet in her back. Or to feel a brief explosion of pain in her head, and then nothing ever again.
She burst out of the alley, looked around wildly, and spotted the ambulance. Ellie yanked out her keys, dove for the rear door, wrenched it open, and scrambled into the rear compartment. She heard another soft pop as she slammed the heavy metal door. Ellie flinched, but she felt no pain. She hadn’t been hit.
Then she scrambled forward and slammed her hand into the button that turned on the lights and siren. Bright lights flashed, and the siren screamed.
She hoped that would be enough to scare the murderers away, but she had one more way to make sure. Ellie hit the button that projected her voice outside of the ambulance like a bullhorn. Usually she and Catalina used it to order careless drivers to get out of their way.
“GET AWAY FROM THE AMBULANCE.” Ellie’s voice boomed out, amplified and deepened. “I’VE HIT THE EMERGENCY ALERT. THE SWAT TEAM IS ON ITS WAY.”
There was no emergency alert, unfortunately. But she bet the murderers didn’t know that.
Black spots suddenly danced before her eyes, and she felt her knees give way. She sank down to the floor, dazedly thinking, So this is what it feels like to be so scared that you pass out.
Then she remembered that when she saw patients on the verge of collapsing from shock, she told them to put their head between their knees. Ellie put her head between her knees. Slowly, her vision cleared, though she still felt shaky. She fumbled for the radio button, and finally got it turned on.
“Ellie McNeil here,” she said. “Paramedic on duty at Ambulance Forty-Nine. I’ve just witnessed a murder.”
Ellie sucked down the dregs of her fifth cup of black coffee and glanced at her watch. 1:00 PM. If she’d had a normal night at work, she’d be at home now, fast asleep. If she was a normal person with a normal job, she’d be eating lunch.
Instead, she’d spent the last eight hours at a police station, telling and re-telling her story to multiple sets of detectives, and identifying photos of the men she’d seen. Whoever the murderers were, the police knew about them; the hit man had his photo in one of the books of mug shots, and Mr. Nagle had appeared in an envelope of photos a detective had shown her.
Ellie yawned again, wishing the police had allowed Catalina to stay and keep her company. Catalina had offered, but the police had sent her home. Now Ellie was exhausted and bored. The cops had given her coffee and sandwiches, but she’d been awake for twenty-four hours now, with no sign of being allowed to leave. And they’d been crappy sandwiches and worse coffee.
Worst of all, the last cop who’d spoken to her, Detective Kramer, had confiscated her purse to “take it into evidence.” Then she’d been left alone in the room without even her cell phone to distract her.
To her relief, Detective Kramer returned with her purse and handed it back to her. “Sorry about that. Just procedure.”
Ellie gratefully took it. “Thanks. Can I go home now? You’ve got my number— you can call me whenever you arrest those guys, and I can come in and ID them.”
Detective Kramer rolled his eyes. “Sure you will.”
Ellie stared at him, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”
The detective gave her a startled look, then slowly whistled. “I thought you were putting me on. But you really have no idea who Mr. Nagle is, do you?”
Frustrated, Ellie snapped, “No! Now will you please tell me what’s going on?”
Detective Kramer sat down across from her. “Have you ever seen a movie called The Godfather? Nah, you’re probably too young…”
“Of course I’ve seen it.”
“Nice to know people still watch the classics,” the detective remarked. “Well, Wallace Nagle is the Godfather. He’s the head of organized crime in Santa Martina. No one testifies against him, because—”
“They’d wake up with a horse head in their bed,” Ellie said. She’d thought the night couldn’t get any worse, but her stomach lurched at the thought.
Detective Kramer raised his eyebrows. “They wouldn’t wake up at all. As you saw. Now, I can offer you Witness Protection…”