3rd Degree

Chapter 47

WE WERE WHISKED by police escort from the private air-field outside Portland to the Governor Hotel in the center of town. The Governor was an old restored Western, and this was the worst thing that had ever happened there.

While Molinari conferred with the head of the regional FBI office, I got up to date with Hannah Wood, a local homi-cide inspector, and her partner, Rob Stone.

Molinari gave me time to go over the crime scene, which was definitely grisly. Clearly Propp had let his assailant in. The economist had been shot three times - twice in the chest and a clean-through to the head, the bullet lodg-ing in the floor. But Propp had also been slashed several times, probably with a serrated knife that still lay on the floor.

“Crime team dug this out.” Hannah showed me a bag containing a flattened 9mm bullet. A large gaff hook in a

Baggie was also being held for us.

“Prints?” I asked.

“Partials off the inside doorknob. Probably Propp's. The Swiss consulate's contacted Propp's family back home,” Hannah said. “He had dinner with a friend scheduled last night, then a seven A.M. flight to Vancouver. Other than that, no calls or visitors.”

I put on a pair of gloves, flipped open the briefcase on Propp's bed, and shuffled through his notes. A few books were scattered about, mostly academic stuff.

I went into the bathroom. Propp's toilet case was laid out on the counter. Not much else to go on. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

“Be easier if you could tell us what we're looking for, Lieutenant,” Stone said.

I couldn't. The name August Spies hadn't been released yet. I focused on prints of the crime scene photos that were taped to the mirror. It was an ugly, horrible scene. Blood everywhere. Then the warning: MAI.

The murderers were doing their homework, I was think-ing. They wanted a soapbox. They had it. So where the hell was the speech?

“Listen, Lieutenant,” Hannah said uncomfortably, “it's not too hard to figure out what you and the deputy director are doing up here. That horrible stuff going on in San Francisco? This is connected, isn't it?”

Before I could answer, Molinari came in with Special Agent Thompson. “Seen enough?” he asked me.

“If there are no objections, sir” - the FBI man pulled out his cell phone - “I'll advise the anti-terror desk in Quantico that the killer is on the move.”

“You okay with that, Lieutenant?” Molinari looked toward me.

I shook my head. “No. I don't think so.”

The FBI man shot me a double take. “Run that by me again, Lieutenant?”

“I think you should wait.” I gave weight to each word. “I don't think this murder is related to the others. I'm almost sure of it now.”