Shocked customers watched the paramedics and the arrival of the police. Some started to chatter among themselves. Others moved toward the paramedics, craning their necks to get a better look at the star of this drama. The police officer ordered them to back off.

Two middle-aged men, in nearly matching leather jackets worn over T-shirts advertising a rock group I’d never heard of, demanded to know when they could leave.

“When we’ve taken statements,” the younger officer said. “Stay calm, everybody. Complaining won’t make things go any faster.”

He conferred with the paramedics. I saw the female EMT nod at me. The officer headed in my direction, taking a notebook out of his shirt pocket. When he reached me, I saw the nameplate on his chest identified him as Officer Currie.

With his pencil poised over his notebook, he said, “You were sitting with the guy who got shot?”

“Yes.”

Looking past Officer Currie, I saw the paramedics lifting Roland onto the gurney. They’d put an oxygen mask over his face.

“Officer, you talked to the paramedics-is my friend going to be all right?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“What hospital are they taking him to?”

“I can’t give you that information. Your name, ma’am.”

“Della Carmichael.”

“Address?”

I gave it to him.

“Do you have some ID, ma’am?”

“Of course.” I fumbled in my purse and found my wallet. I opened it to the driver’s license window and showed it to him.

“Remove the license, please, ma’am.”

I did as instructed and watched him study my photo as though he was trying to connect it with someone he’d seen on America’s Most Wanted.

He handed it back to me and nodded toward the direction of the stretcher the paramedics were placing in their van. “And who was he?”

Was?

“Please don’t talk about my friend as though he’s dead!”

“Sorry, ma’am. What is the name of the victim?”

I told him. He didn’t seem to recognize it.

Officer Currie was about to ask another question but I stopped him. “Wait. You should notify Detective Manny Hatch at West Bureau about this. He’s handling a murder case that could be connected to what happened here.”

He cocked his head and frowned at me with doubt, but he used his mobile to call West Bureau.

Twenty minutes later, more police officers had arrived on the scene. They used their vehicles and road flares to shut the street down. The area around the café was marked off with crime scene tape. A team from the Scientific Investigation Division had arrived. The SID technicians were photo-documenting the scene and searching for clues.

Three members of this law enforcement army were taking statements and contact information from the customers and employees of Caffeine an’ Stuff. Two more were questioning the people who had been sitting outside when the shot was fired.

Per Officer Currie’s order, I’d remained at the table and was watching the activity outside through the sunburst of cracks around the bullet hole in the front window. It wasn’t long before I saw a brown Crown Victoria with a red bubble light clapped to its top being let through the police barricade. It slammed to a stop next to Roland’s blue Rolls.

Detective Hatch got out of the Crown Vic. I’d expected to see him because I’d suggested he be called, but I was surprised to see Hugh Weaver with him.

The two detectives stepped carefully around the area where the techs were working and came into the café. They flashed their badges at Officer Currie. A few brief words were exchanged. Hatch pivoted toward me. Weaver’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of surprise when he saw me. The two detectives marched in my direction.

Detective Hatch demanded of me, “What happened?”

Choosing my words carefully to keep Hatch from learning that I was here to try to find out who killed Ingram-and possibly inviting a charge of interfering with a police investigation-I stuck to the barest of facts. “Roland Gray phoned to invite me out to coffee. I met him here.”

“You and that writer hooking up?” Weaver asked bluntly.

“Certainly not.” I said that with a touch of heat. I was hiding my reason for being here, but I didn’t want anyone to think it was romantic. “It was just for coffee. Roland Gray was a guest on my television show earlier tonight. I’m worried about his injury. Where did the medics take him?”

Hatch retrieved that standard law enforcement notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “My questions first. So you agreed to meet Gray for coffee. Who picked this place? You?”

“No, he did. What possible relevance-”

“I’m asking the questions. When you got here, what did you two talk about?”

This was dangerous ground; I had to step carefully. “We were only here for a few minutes. The waiter had just brought our coffee. We didn’t have time for more than a sip.” I let my eyes light up with what I hoped looked like a sudden memory. “Oh, Roland told me he was getting a headache. He started rubbing his forehead. I asked him if he was all right, but that’s when the window cracked. At first I thought someone threw a rock, but then I saw Roland had been hit. Things happened so fast. As I said, I thought that-”

“Yeah, a rock.” Hatch’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “But it was a bullet. Tell me who wants to kill you.”

“What?” My heart lurched with a sudden rush of fear. I froze, unable to think.

“Kill her?” Weaver said.

The sound of Weaver’s voice penetrated the shock that had momentarily paralyzed my brain. “No one has any motive to kill me.”

“Think about it,” Hatch said. “Wednesday night somebody offed a judge at that celebrity thing. Not much more than twenty-four hours later another judge is sitting near where somebody gets shot. Two nights, two judges in the same contest. Maybe the shooter wasn’t aiming at Gray, but at you.”

“We better find out where that third judge is,” Weaver said. “A Frenchwoman. What was her name?”

“Yvette Dupree,” I said.

“Do you know where she is?”

“No, but if one of your officers didn’t get her contact information at the gala, I’m sure Eugene Long knows.”

“Have somebody put a guard on her until I can question her.” Hatch turned back to me and gestured toward the table. “Show me exactly where you were and where Gray was.”

I sat down in the chair I’d occupied. As my mind worked to recreate the scene, my initial fear began to recede. I was sure I hadn’t been the target. While I couldn’t explain why in any rational way, it was a powerful conviction.

“Think about it,” I told Hatch. “Keith Ingram’s throat was slashed, and whoever killed him took a huge risk by doing it in the middle of five hundred people. Even acting under the cover of smoke, it was an enormous gamble. That was an intensely personal murder. Nothing random about it. I’m convinced that whoever killed Ingram intended to shoot at Roland Gray. You should be looking for a link between those two men.”

Hatch’s features twisted into a sneer. “If you’re such a great detective maybe you should be leading this investigation instead of me. Where’d you earn your badge, at the Betty Crocker Police Academy?”

I decided that the “better part of valor” at this moment was to be quiet. Hatch and I locked eyes.

He broke the silence. “As I said before, show me exactly where you and Gray were sitting.”

Tapping the tabletop, I said, “I was here. Roland sat across from me.”

Hatch took Roland’s place and fixed me with a skeptical stare. “Do you always sit up straight like that?”

“Yes, I do. My parents brought us up to have good posture. What you’re really asking is: Was I leaning forward so that my head was close to Roland’s. The answer is no, I wasn’t. And he wasn’t leaning toward me.”