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don't
suppose..."
    "Please let me do this," Cameron said. Leaning carefully over the body, he lifted the left
arm, revealing a fancy sports watch on a gold band. "Is this yours?"
    "It sure as hell is! How on earth did it end up on a dead man?"
    Upton turned to Cameron. "You understand, don't you, that this man is wearing
something that belongs to each of the CFWA Board members? That makes this something very
personal."
    Rena reached out and touched Upton's arm. "Now I understand what you were so
concerned about. Sorry."
    "That's okay."
    Callahan pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "Damn, this gives me the willies! Why
would someone go to all that trouble to steal stuff from all of us, and then dress up a dead man
and dump him here on the floor? I don't like this one bit."
    "I don't either," Cameron said as he looked down at the dead body. By then, a sickening
thought had occurred to him.
    Something of his was missing, too.
    Actually, several somethings.
    He bent down over the body. In the recesses of his mind, he already knew--and
dreaded--what he was going to find. His hands turned clammy as he unwrapped Royce Fontaine's scarf
from the upper torso of the dead man. The gasp of half a dozen voices filled the room as
Cameron's worst fears were confirmed: twisted tightly around the corpse's neck was one of the
two items that had vanished from the Weapons of Mayhem display case.
    The garrotte was no longer missing.
    It had been used to commit a murder.
    Cameron cursed aloud and reached once again for his cell phone.

CHAPTER SIX
    "I know it's snowing outside," Cameron told the dispatcher, "but we've got a homicide
here!" Had he been somewhere private, instead of talking on his cell phone in a room full of
civilians, he might have added that the victim was killed with a weapon supplied by the
Lakewood Police Department. "There must be someone who can--yes, I know. I--yes, I know.
Everybody's busy. You've already told me that!Look," he finally ordered the woman at
the other end of the line, "transfer me upstairs to Lieutenant Brookstone. Yes, Brookstone. I don't
care. Just do it!"
    He waited for a full minute before a gruff voice said, "Brookstone."
    "Lieutenant, this is Mitch Cameron. I'm calling from the Marquis Hotel."
    The lieutenant responded in a tone that was sympathetic but not friendly. "I know. They
told me. You've got a homicide."
    "Right. And it's not the ordinary--"
    "I know the situation. You're on the scene by yourself and you need backup. Any other
day, I'd gladly oblige. But today I can't help you. Period. We've got a hostage situation at the
Heritage Center. Some nut running around with a shotgun, a couple of automatic rifles and God
knows what else. He's holding nearly fifty people and he's threatening to start shooting them, one
by one. I've got every spare officer out there. Plus help from Jefferson County and Denver, at
least the ones who managed to get through all the snow. We expect fatalities. Possibly a lot of
them. And every available tech will be needed afterwards, to clean it up. I know you've got a
murder on your hands, but I can't help you. You're a detective. I'm designating you as the Incident
Commander. Do the best you can on your own. As soon as I can free up some help-- if I
can free up some help--you'll get it. Got it?"
    "Got it," Cameron muttered. The air of finality in the lieutenant's voice made clear that
the conversation was over. "I'll handle it, sir."
    "That's the spirit, Mitch. Hold down the fort until we can send in the cavalry."
    Cameron broke the connection and glared at the phone.
    Upton said, "Problem?"
    "Nothing I can't handle," Cameron snapped. Under the circumstances, he needed to
establish his authority over the situation as quickly as possible.
    "Forgive me for eavesdropping on your phone call, but it sounds like you're going to be
stuck handling this investigation all by yourself."
    Cameron shrugged. "Just for the time being."
    "I told you I used to be a cop," Upton reminded