It was dark outside the huge terminal except for the lights from passing cars on the street and moored boats in the harbor, but Court didn’t mind the dimness—he used it to disappear in a corner by the front wall. He had changed every scrap of his clothing, shaved off his scruffy beard, and approached the area in a cab from across town to avoid walking the streets that he and others had thoroughly shot up early that morning. Still, he was closer to the location of the action than he would like. He’d reluctantly dumped his pistol in the bay just a half hour earlier. He knew he couldn’t run the risk of being caught with the gun, but he knew he was in danger here, back in the city center. Just as he climbed out of his cab a government Lynx helicopter landed up the hill near the Old Town, no doubt delivering investigators or government officials or someone else who needed to see the site for himself or herself. Even now, some thirteen hours after the action, the crime scene would be intact, although the bodies had probably been bagged and carted off to the morgue.
