"Who?" asked Dean, seeing no one.
"One of the guys at Willoughby's-the one with the gun!" Fred called as he took off at a geriatric jog toward the building. Dean followed on the run, passing him and reaching the door that was already closed.
"He must be here to make sure he killed Atherton!" Fred said, trying to catch his breath. When they entered the building, there was only an empty corridor. The two stood there, both panting.
"How could you be so sure? It must have been 50 yards away and it's dark." Dean walked a short distance down the hall. "You couldn't have gotten a good look."
"Good enough," said Fred in a voice that indicated he didn't like being doubted. "I know what I saw."
But they were unable to confirm or deny. Their brief search halted when a security guard swore no one had passed his way and too many corridors and stairways went in other directions, making further search difficult. Dean located Jonathan Winston and related what Fred had seen but it was clear the FBI officer doubted the identification and gave only a cursory nod and a promise to look into it. He had men posted at the various entrances and assured them no one without proper identification would pass. Fred seethed but reluctantly agreed it was best to call it a night-or rather, a morning. The next day, Dean remembered nothing of the long, early-hour drive back to Parkside.