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 lift doors opened in the lobby of the Hilton in Côte-des-Neiges district of Montreal.

Our path was blocked by staff. There was, one hotel worker informed 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 Montréal for a joyful Jewish wedding

My family and I had come to Montréal 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 open the locked front door and he looked at me like I was mad. Instead, I found a side door and slipped out.

As I moved towards the scene on the other side of the street, I saw a crumple of camouflage on the ground. A mop of straw brown hair, green tactical trousers and black boots – the shooter. I was later told by a witness that he had been firing at police with an old-fashioned hunting rifle. He was clearly dead. More police arrived and began treating the........

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