"Goddamn snipers aren't such good shots after all," he said. The next day's headline had read:
SECRETARY OF STATE SAFE, TWO CIVILIANS WOUNDED
The Daily News and other media jumped all over a speculation that the shooting had been an attempt on the secretary's life gone awry and that when the sniper was interrupted by two civilians and sensed capture, he fled.
The Secretary of State immediately flew back to D.C. and a spokesperson issued a statement that the incident was "troubling" but that they would have no comment until the Secret Service had done a full investigation.
When Nick was interviewed by the feds he simply told the truth. On a news hunch, he was looking for someone on the roof when he inadvertently surprised the sniper, who turned and fired at him. The bullet was deflected when it sheared through his left hand and then struck his leg. He could not say that he heard another shot, and he saw no one else on the roof until Detective Hargrave arrived.
Later in the week it was directly from Hargrave that Nick learned that FBI crime-scene technicians had taken over the scene and confirmed his story after finding that the round that pierced Walker's leg and his whiskey bottle matched that found in Mullins's thigh.
Both the detective and the reporter had their own theories on what happened. If they ever sat down and compared scenarios, their versions would not have been much different, but they never did.
Hargrave only called Nick one more time. It was on the day that charges of violating probation were filed against Robert Walker for being in possession of and consuming alcoholic beverages. Hargrave had made sure evidence from that shooting scene was gathered by the Sheriff's Office, including Walker's blood-and-alcohol-soaked pants. He'd also called in a request at the E.R. and had them take a blood-alcohol test immediately. And he personally canvassed all the area liquor stores within a ten-minute radius of Archie's until he found the clerk who'd been selling the whiskey to Walker, to use as a witness.
When Nick's name was released as one of the wounded, he was inundated by members of the media, including old friends, requesting interviews. The managing editor of the Daily News sent a written request, pointing out that since he had not gone through the final "separation from the company" process, he might still be considered an employee with certain obligations. That was a new one on Nick. He'd yet to hear of the management technique of both asking a favor and threatening legal action against an employee at the same time.
To everyone he simply said, "No comment," and meant it. Maybe, when his hand healed and he was able to type without pain again, he might put his own exclusive story together.
But this morning he and Carly were on the living room couch, reading and waiting for a visitor. At the sound of the doorbell, Carly jumped up to answer the door.
"Hi, Lori!" she said to the research assistant who had been the first newsroom person to check on Nick without asking for a quote.
"Hello, Carly," she said, walking in. "What are you and your dad up to this morning?"
"I don't know," the girl said and smiled. "You will have to ask Mr. Secrecy over there."
Nick got up, shaking his head and dangling his car keys in his right hand, a smile on his face. "We're going on a visit."
The girls looked at him and gave in. Both of them had already learned not to rush to help him walk or offer to drive. During the trip the girls talked about their mutual interest in paintings and photographs. Lori told Carly about the access she had to hundreds of photos through the newspaper's archives and her collection of museum tomes like the one about Van Gogh she'd given her.
"Awesome!" was Carly's sophisticated comment and Nick smiled.
After several minutes they turned into a neighborhood in northwest Fort Lauderdale where neither Carly nor Lori had ever been. Both of them looked out with curiosity at the streets and the small, sun-faded homes. On Northwest Tenth, Nick spotted the red geranium on the porch and pulled into the driveway.
"I want you guys to meet Ms. Cotton," he finally said. "She's a very nice lady."
The small black woman was waiting for them just inside the door and Nick made introductions as they were invited in. Ms. Cotton had made a pitcher of lemonade and Carly politely accepted a glass while they sat. Nick watched his daughter's eyes go immediately to the photos of the girls on the wall and stay there, like she was studying them. Their host noticed.
"Those are my girls," Ms. Cotton said directly to Carly. "Your father was very kind to them when they passed away."
Carly looked at her father, anxious over the mention of death, but hiding it well.
"What were their names?" she asked Ms. Cotton.
"Gabriella and Marcellina," she said. "They were artists, the both of them. Would you like to see some of the things I kept?"
Carly's eyes brightened and Ms. Cotton led both her and Lori to a small bedroom in the back. After a minute she returned alone.
"That child is lovely, Mr. Mullins. Is that why you wanted to come by, to show her to me? Because I already knew she was special."
"Maybe," Nick said, not really sure what his motivation was. "Mostly to thank you, ma'am."
He fumbled at his back pocket with his good hand and came up with a white, lace-fringed thank-you card, which he presented to her.
"Whatever for, Mr. Mullins?" she said, looking not at the card, but into his eyes.
Since the last time he was in this house he had not been able to rid himself of the feeling that this woman knew things about him that should have been impossible for her to know.
"For forgiveness," he said.
"Ah," the tiny woman said and turned away to step toward the portraits on her wall. As she did, Nick could see the stack of newspapers on her coffee table. He had no doubt she had read every story of his involvement with the sniper. "You gave some of it to me, in your stories. Now I give it back to you. Somehow, I believe, that is how it spreads."
Nick went quiet. No question had been asked. He didn't know how to respond.
She extended her hand to his, held the bandaged palm lightly and turned toward the interior of the house. "Let's go back, Mr. Mullins, and see what your girls have found."