We were running late to check out of our hotel because my two young girls had demanded to use the pool one last time. I indulged them. The squeals of laughter were worth it. Afterward, we hustled to pack, race out the room and at 11:40 a.m. the elevator doors opened in the lobby of the Hilton in Côte Saint-Luc.
Our path was blocked by staff. There was, a member of staff told us, a shooter. I sent my wife and children back up to our room and, with the dubious conviction of a professional journalist, went to investigate.
My family and I had come to Montreal for a joyful Jewish wedding
Through the glass of the hotel entrance, I saw a male officer lying in the street and female cop with her pistol drawn scanning the area. He had been shot in the abdomen and was clearly in a bad way. I asked the hotel manager to let me out and he looked at me like I was mad. I found a side door and slipped out.
Outside, I saw a crumple of camouflage on the ground. As I moved, I could see a mop of straw brown hair, green tactical pants and black boots. I was later told by a witness that he had been shooting with an old-fashioned hunting rifle. He was clearly dead. More cops arrived and began treating the seriously injured officer.
