St. John’s Hospital was only a block north from the medical examiner’s office on East Broadway Avenue.
John Barber pulled the Pathfinder into the parking lot of the Baptist church across from it, and he and Gannon sat looking through the windshield.
It wasn’t a big facility. To Gannon, it looked more like one of those urgent care medical offices than an actual hospital. Like most other buildings in Jackson, it was trimmed with wood beams for a rustic look.
Gannon looked at the ER entrance sliding doors. He shook his head as he thought about the amount of FBI personnel that were probably in there right now. And more on the way, no doubt.
How do you like that? Gannon thought. He and the good old FBI. What was that Buck Owens cowboy song? Together Again?
He glanced over at John. He wasn’t looking too hot. Ever since he heard about what happened, he was looking like he wanted to kill a few people himself.
“You ever hear of anything like this when you were in the NYPD?” Barber said, squinting. “Cops getting shot on their way to see a body?”
“Cops getting shot, sure,” Gannon said. “But actually at a crime scene? Never.”
Barber nodded.
“Those cars there near the ER entrance look like government to me,” he said.
Me, too, Gannon thought, swallowing.
“How likely you think it is they tell us anything?”
Uh-oh. Here we go, Gannon thought, taking in the thousand-yard stare in Barber’s eyes.
There were people who followed normal channels. Barber wasn’t even close to being one of them.
“If they’re state cops, not likely,” Gannon finally said. “If they’re Feds, no chance at all. What are you thinking?”
“About taking a walk,” Barber said opening his door.