PANDINI TOWERS, 9:45 P.M.

When Zengo and O’Malley screeched to a halt at Pandini Towers a few minutes later, the chaos inside had already spread to the street. Satellite trucks from all seven Kalamazoo City television news teams jammed the driveway in front of the building. Reporters, their camera operators trailing them, were shoving microphones into the faces of the surging, screaming onlookers, trying to capture the panic of the moment for the benefit of viewers across the city—and, with any luck, nationwide. An assault on the leading candidate for mayor in a major city was big news indeed.

Zengo and O’Malley had to push their way through the crush of reporters to get close to a few beleaguered members of Pandini’s security detail, who seemed to be trying to clear an open path from the main door of the building to an ambulance waiting at the curb. As they moved through, a brash young reporter shoved a microphone in O’Malley’s face.

“Detective!” said the reporter. “Does the Platypus Police Squad have any official comment on the attack on Frank Pandini Jr.?”

O’Malley calmly said “no comment” and kept moving, but Zengo slowed down and eyed the microphone the reporter had extended over the police barricade. He flashed his biggest smile. “First of all, let me assure you that if anyone is trying to bring down Pandini’s campaign, the Platypus Police Squad will get to the bottom of it.”

O’Malley impatiently motioned to Zengo to follow him, but the reporter wasn’t finished.

“Do you have any leads at this time?”

Cameras flashed. From behind Zengo, he could hear O’Malley hiss something, but it was drowned out in the din of people and traffic.

“Well, it’s no secret Frank Pandini has his share of enemies. We don’t have any hard evidence yet, but if you ask me, I think—”

Before he could say more, he was grabbed roughly by the arm and tugged away. O’Malley’s bill was right up in Zengo’s face. “What the heck do you think you’re doing, rookie?”

“Answering a few questions—what did it look like?”

“This isn’t some shoplifting case we’re dealing with here,” O’Malley said. “Look around. These reporters are hungry for any scrap of news that they can turn into a national story. With a case this big, they don’t care about the truth, they only care about what people will read and watch. It’s our job to care about the truth, and so we can’t go off speculating when we don’t even have any facts.” His expression softened. “Until we have something to report, we don’t say a word to a reporter. You need to wise up if you’re going to work a case like this, kid, you get me?”

Zengo was speechless. He’d rarely seen O’Malley this angry. Or this scared. And O’Malley had a point—they hadn’t even examined the crime scene yet. Still, Zengo wasn’t some kid fresh out of the academy anymore. Hadn’t he been the one who exposed KC’s illegal fish ring? And the corruption at the Disaster Dome?

He pulled his arm out of O’Malley’s grip. “I got you.” He made a big show of extending his flipper toward the tower lobby. “Why don’t you lead the way, Detective? I doubt I’d be able to find the front door without following your lead.”

O’Malley ignored his sarcasm and turned toward the tower entrance, but before he could take a step, the door burst open. A stretcher carrying Pandini rolled out. At the sight of him, the crowd gasped.

Pandini, clearly in pain, one arm clutched to his side, nonetheless raised himself up enough to acknowledge the people assembled. “My fellow Kalamazooans!” he called, in a voice that lacked only a small bit of its usual power. “There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s going to take more than a thug with a boomerang to stop me!”

The crowd cheered. Zengo rolled his eyes. Pandini was already using this attack to his advantage.

As Pandini was rolled past Zengo and O’Malley, he signaled for his guard to stop. “I am glad two of KC’s finest are already on the scene,” he said to them. “If you ask me, this is a lot of fuss over nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Pandini,” said O’Malley. “An attack like this would be serious business even if it hadn’t been made on a person like yourself.”

“Spoken like a future police commissioner,” said Pandini. “I’m certainly happy to see you here too, Detective Zengo.” He leaned in close to them. “For a second, I was afraid Plazinski was going to send those clowns Diaz and Lucinni.”

Zengo laughed. He couldn’t help himself. At least Pandini knows talent when he sees it, he thought.

O’Malley smiled as well. “You should get going, Mr. Pandini, but we’d like to talk to some of your guests and staff.”

“Certainly. I’ve already instructed my campaign manager, Irving Myers, to make sure you have access to anything you need. And Detectives”—he looked right at Zengo—“I’d be most grateful if you could wrap this case up with your usual speed and efficiency. I said a few words to the crowd a moment ago because they need to know that I will not be bullied out of this race. But the truth is that this is nothing more than a distraction, and I want it dealt with so that this campaign can get back to talking about things that actually matter to the citizens of Kalamazoo City. They deserve no less.”

For the second time outside Pandini Towers that night, Zengo was speechless. This was certainly a side of Pandini he’d never seen before. “We’ll do our best, sir,” he said.

Pandini nodded, then signaled to his handler and was whisked into the ambulance. Zengo watched until it turned a corner and disappeared.

“Hard guy to read,” O’Malley said from beside him. “Can never tell if he’s being honest, or just telling us what we want to hear.”

“Either way,” said Zengo, still thinking about Pandini’s words, “we’ve got to solve this case.”