worked on her, but it was too late,” said Jendlin.
Darla heard a loud humming. Someone from maintenance had turned up the fans in an effort to clear the air.
“Brewsome is a U.S. senator, so I suppose the FBI has some kind of jurisdiction here,” said Jendlin, “but I could use another set of eyes on this if you can spare the time.”
She was swamped. But she and Henry had a fair amount of history, all of it positive. “Okay,” she said. “Can I ask some questions?”
Jendlin nodded. “Ask away,” he said.
Darla took out her recorder. “Whose job was it to set up the microphone for the rally?”
“One of the maintenance men,” said Jendlin. “He put the microphone out and plugged it in yesterday, late in the afternoon, just before he went home for the day. We’re having him checked out to see if there’s anything in his background. Is he a political extremist? Does he have personal issues with the senator, or Ms. Ruskin?”
“Was the room locked last night?”
“The maintenance man secured the East Room when he left. Another one of the maintenance crew came by and unlocked the room this morning, around ten thirty. He didn’t touch the microphone, so we don’t know if it was hot. We’re having him checked out, too. But he’s nearly seventy. On his pickup he has one of these “I’ll have a brew” bumper stickers and he broke down in tears when he found out about the murder.”
Jendlin’s cell chimed and he answered. “Okay,” he said, after a few seconds, “send them in.” He turned to Darla. “Brewsome’s campaign. They want to get the banners for the next rally.”
“What do we know about the convention center security this morning?” asked Darla.
“There was activity here on and off this morning,” said Jendlin. “The convention center was under level-one security. They had a uniformed guard at the main entrance, one at the information desk, and two uniformed guards at the entrance around back.
“There was foot traffic back and forth at the rear entrance starting at about seven thirty a.m. The Central Mississippi High School Science Fair is being held in the second-floor West Room tomorrow morning. Parents and kids were coming and going all morning, dropping off and setting up their exhibits. It was mostly kids and parents together, but not in every case. Some parents came alone and dropped off their kid’s exhibits on their way to work.”
A pair of college-aged kids, wearing Brewsome T-shirts and carrying ladders, hustled into the East Room and set about taking down the I’LL HAVE A BREW banner.
“Don’t you just love politics?” said Darla.
Jendlin frowned. “What was I supposed to say? Brewsome’s a U.S. senator.”
“Did the security cameras record everything this morning?” asked Darla.
“The security people had the video monitor fixed on the rear entrance,” said Jendlin. “They videoed everyone who came and went this morning. It’s a good bet we’ve got a video of the killer’s face. I’ve sent the tape over to the combined-forces data center. Our friend Uther has developed his own facial recognition software. He can compare the faces of everybody who was here with driver’s licenses, photo IDs, with everyone in the country. Within twenty-four hours we’ll have a complete personal history profile of everybody who was in this building this morning. Criminal backgrounds, extreme political activity, hate groups. We’ll start the interview process. In the meantime we’ll set up a media hotline.”
“Good,” said Darla.
“Unfortunately,” said Jendlin, “the convention center’s security cameras weren’t in operation in this room.”
“Someone shut the camera down?”
“It isn’t unusual. If a room is not in use, they shut the eye off. The security guy monitoring the system says it’s easier for him to stay on top of the activity in the rooms that are active if he doesn’t have too many cameras on.”
“Also known as not being able
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