Doyle had still been at the picnic, speaking with the parents of one of his students when everybody heard the gunshots. AT least he didn't have to excuse himself because everybody was going the same direction.
When he saw what had happened, he pressed his lips together, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. He wanted to help. He wanted to help, badly.
He also, surprisingly, wanted to visit similar pain upon those men, if such a word could be used for them.
The conflicting emotions kept him in place, face gone white with dread.