Lieutenant Powell merely shook his head a bit sadly and started filling out a report. The reinforced police had dealt quickly with the remainder of Cynthia’s Raiders before they could do more than break a few windows. And Cynthia Rhodes herself, faced with the spectacle of a death she might have indirectly caused, was pale and subdued. “It’s all right,” McCall reassured her. “Men like Tanner are born to violence. If it wasn’t here today, it would have been somewhere else tomorrow.” “I suppose so,” she admitted. “But, God, it really shakes you up!” McCall, who’d seen death in most of its guises, merely nodded. Already there were other things on his mind. Xavier Mann had arrived on the scene in the midst of the shooting’s aftermath, half dressed and breathing fire. “McCall, are you behind all this trouble? First these women attack my plant, and then one of my workers is killed by the police! What in hell is happening?” McCall faced the bleary-eyed man. Wearing only trousers and a pyjama top, with a raincoat thrown over his shoulders against the Sunday morning chill, Xavier Mann seemed unaccustomedly vulnerable.
