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The Virginia state police shared the building with the Richmond Hill Police Department, less than ten minutes from the hotel and interstate. As the budget for law enforcement was slashed across the state, various agencies had to make do, and merging facilities saved money.
The building was typical of the area and resembled a sprawling bungalow with a double-peaked roof above the entrance. Ringing the parking lots were small shrubs and silver maple trees. Civilian cars filled the front and the side with a couple of cruisers in the rear. All hands were on deck with the officer deaths, regardless of the agency—a nightmare for any department.
Dickinson pulled into the parking lot at twelve-thirty as Noah finished a protein bar and bottle of water. His stomach didn’t care what was happening around him. He needed to eat. Despite the throbbing pain in his wrist and headache, he wanted to avoid the painkillers. Three Advil were swallowed with the last of his water.
“Okay. Ready.”
The front of the station could have decorated the cover of a landscaping magazine. Two maple trees acted as columns to either side of the walkway, and a bronze plaque showed the building was built in 1977. The short grass and garden beds were immaculate, and the American flag was already at half-staff for the fallen officers.
The lobby was almost the same as APPD, with a public access counter and a wall of forms and pamphlets. Richmond PD did not have a receptionist, but the staff sergeant and a rookie officer had a desk on the other side of the ballistic glass.
“Detective Noah Hunter and Sergeant Angie Dickinson. We’re here to sign our statements and verify the witness timeline, if we can, for the accident.”
There was no need to clarify which accident. They were still reeling from the loss. Sergeant Russo’s uniform was dark blue and almost the same as Arrow Point’s. The man was in his fifties and a few inches shorter than Noah with a premature short white beard.
“I’ll buzz you through.”
Russo led them down the hall, past a series of offices, and into the station’s briefing room. The rows of desks and seating inside were for the morning roll call that each station conducts. Officers would get their daily assignments and any be-on-the-lookout (BOLO) alerts that may have changed or updated since their last shift. Sometimes there would be uniform inspections—they would be random as not to be expected.
“The conference room is being used. If you guys don’t mind waiting here, I’ll get Sergeant Chandler.” Russo gestured to the first-row seating and left the door open.
“A little nicer than ours.” Angie looked at the white screen and projector connected to a computer on the podium. There was a section on the wall for the FBI’s most wanted pictures and a large chart for the football pool.
Sergeant Chandler was of average height and stocky, with short dark hair going gray at the temples. He wore a dark blue uniform with a black tie. His prominent chin and sideburns made Noah think of an Irishman, but the accent was pure Boston when he spoke.
“Mark. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” He shook their hands as they introduced themselves. He nodded toward the sling and brace. “How are you doing?”
“They want to stick a cast on me in a few days, but we shall see. Sorry, I couldn’t have been more helpful.”
“We found the truck. It was torched a few miles away. We have a team already checking it out. Pictures of the suspects are out. Some of the videos were good enough, and there’s full media coverage. Right now, we have to hurry up and wait.”
Chandler asked them to follow him to his desk. The small office was near the rear of the station, nestled next to a storeroom and a small kitchenette. He didn’t ask but led them over to the coffee machine and poured them each a cup. The office was small, with barely enough room for a desk and two chairs. Two floating shelves above the desk were packed with training and procedural manuals.
Once they sat, Sergeant Chandler pulled out Noah’s Glock and the MP&9 from the top desk drawer and passed them over, along with the magazines. Angie’s was empty, while his was full. Noah never got a chance to fire. “They’ve been processed and recorded.”
“Do you have any information on the suspect's vehicles?” Angie confirmed the pistol was unloaded and left it on the desk.
Mark sipped the coffee and then shook his head. “Both were reported stolen early this morning.”
“That confirms it. They were working together.” Noah placed the coffee down and picked up the Glock with only one hand.
“Just a second.” Chandler rummaged around in the bottom drawer and pulled out two clip-on holsters. “Neither of you have a conceal permit for Virginia. No issues with open carry, though.”
“Thanks.” Angie loaded Noah’s pistol, and he slid it on his belt. At least his right hand was fine. Things could have been worse.
“Do either of you have any further information about that clusterfuck?” His thick finger tapped the top of the coffee mug while staring them down.
Noah shook his head. “Never seen them before, but I’m sure they were working together. Things were just—”
All three jumped when the detonation shook the building.