5

Captain Farrow’s glasses lay on his desk, perched on top of uneven piles of paperwork. How he ever managed to put his hands on anything when he needed it, Adam couldn’t figure out. An undulating sea of manila folders and white printed paper surrounded the brass pen set that took pride of place at the front of the cheap pressed-board desk. Adam kept his focus on the pens, trying to keep his anger under control.

“This can’t be a surprise to you, Kaminski. You’re a good cop. You know how this works.”

“I know, sir, I do. But this is different.” Adam searched for a way to convince Farrow to keep him on the case. To break just about every rule in the book. Even though he knew if he were in Farrow’s position, he’d be doing exactly the same thing. He ignored the guilt growing in his gut, and the anger rising with it.

“Yeah, it is different. And we need to keep this investigation impartial.”

“But I can do that, Captain. This situation… it’s complicated.”

“This is black and white, Kaminski, you know that as well as I do. I have no choice.”

Adam knew just how black and white it was, but there was always a choice. His jaw worked overtime, biting back the words he really wanted to say. Propelled by his frustration, he stood, pushing himself off the captain’s desk as if he could push the anger and guilt away with it. His fist hit the desk harder than he’d intended. The pen set shifted forward and toppled onto the ground, accompanied by a few stray papers.

“Damn it, Kaminski.” Captain Farrow stood to retrieve his pens, shoving a pile of paper aside to replace it carefully center stage. “Your sister’s involved. What the hell did you expect to happen?”

“She’s not involved, sir. It’s her statue, that’s all. You said yourself she’s not a suspect.” They stood face to face, Adam far too aware that he risked appearing aggressive toward his boss but not willing to back down.

Captain Farrow glanced at Pete, sitting in the second chair facing Farrow’s desk, his eyes moving between Adam and Farrow. “Not yet, is what I said, Kaminski. She’s not a suspect yet. We’re still gathering the facts, putting them together. Let’s wait and see.”

“That’s crazy, sir. There’s no way my sister’s involved in this. No way.”

Pete finally jumped in, standing and stepping between them, his back to the captain. “No way she’s guilty. But she is involved, whether we like it or not.”

Adam’s anger shifted to fear for a moment, but he shook his head and let the anger back in. “You know her.” His voice was quiet, talking only to Pete. “You know this isn’t possible. I can help find the real killer. We’re wasting time considering Julia.”

“Not a chance.” Farrow’s voice was sharp and he held Adam’s eyes without blinking. “You need to stay a mile away from this, Detective Kaminski. Or do I need to put you on administrative leave?”

“I can do this on my own, partner. You gotta trust me, you know I’ll find the truth.”

Adam took a deep breath, staring once more at the brass pen set. Losing his cool was only making the situation worse. One more breath, and he felt the heat draining from his face. “I trust you, Pete.”

He looked over at Pete as he said it, his meaning clear in his eyes. Trust wasn’t the issue here.

Farrow grunted and nodded. “Okay then. Kaminski, you’ll be working for Inspector Murphy on convention preparedness in the Tactical Field Support Division. They need all the help they can get ’til this damn convention is over. There’s a briefing in the federal building on Sixth starting right about…” He glanced at his watch. “Now.” He sat back in his chair, picking up his glasses on the way. Clearly, they were dismissed.

Adam followed Pete out of Farrow’s office, his mind spinning. He trusted Pete, he did. But he couldn’t walk away from this, walk away from Julia.

Pete turned to Adam as he pushed on the door to the stairwell. “It’s a good assignment, partner. You know we need all the manpower we can get helping to make sure things don’t get out of hand with these protests. If things get too bad, we’ll be looking at more than one homicide.”

“I know, you’re right.” He shut his mouth as a colleague passed them heading up, his shiny uniform shoes tapping on the concrete floor. Adam waited until he heard his footsteps on the next half-flight up. “But you know I gotta help Julia, right? Murphy’s got most of the department helping him. And he’s a good inspector, a good cop.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant.”

They pushed out through the door to the small parking lot behind the district headquarters. A row of police vehicles stretched before them, lining the side of the building like sentries ready for battle. One or two still had the gleam of fresh paint and new tires, but most showed the wear and tear of a well-used car.

“I get it. But you need to leave this one alone. If you get involved, you’ll put the case at risk. And that could jeopardize Julia even more.”

He turned his back on Pete, took a step toward the closest vehicle. His face stared back at him in a grotesque mockery from the curved window. He knew Julia was completely innocent in this. Didn’t he?

He shook his head and looked away. If she was innocent, Pete would clear her. But if she were somehow involved… he couldn’t imagine what he would do then.

“Look, you heard the captain, she’s not a suspect yet,” Pete continued. “We just need to track the statue. See how it ended up in Washington Square.”

“You know how it got there. It was taken during the robbery this summer. The one item that wasn’t recovered.”

“So that’s it then. I find out who fenced it, track it ’til I find who ended up with it.”

Adam nodded, thinking. “That’s what I would do.”

“But you won’t, right? You’re going to leave this to me?”

Adam grinned at his partner, wondering if Ranger Matt Thompson would be at the briefing. “You got it, partner. I’ll leave it to you. Go check out this briefing I’m supposed to be at. But you’ll let me know what you find, right? Keep me in the loop?”

Pete looked at Adam, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a grim line. He shook his head. “I can’t do that. You gotta stay out of this. Right?”

Adam grinned again. “Sure, partner. Sure.”

Matt Thompson stopped just before the entrance to the Liberty Bell Center. A teenage boy skulked in front of him, waiting his turn to go through security screening into the building. The boy kept his eyes down, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, picking at something on the ground with the toe of his sneakers. He didn’t seem to care about the rally going on to his left. A middle-aged couple, presumably the boy’s parents, stood directly behind him. They seemed to be trying to get the boy interested in what he was about to see, pointing to the park’s brochure and saying things like “liberty” and “freedom.” But every now and then one of them would glance toward the expanse of grass to their left that made up this part of Independence Mall, their attention only half on their child and his knowledge.

This protest was exactly the sort of thing covered in the briefing he’d just left. Federal and local law enforcement had met to talk about security plans for the interfaith convention scheduled for next week, and the rallies that were sure to accompany it.

Even while the line of people waiting to enter the Liberty Bell Center got longer, the crowd gathering on Independence Mall grew. They had no stage, but a podium had been set up on the paved area on the far side of the mall and the protestors gathered in front of this, waving placards and listening to speaker after speaker. With each speaker, the crowd seemed to grow, to surge not only in size but also in volume.

Another park ranger stepped next to Matt. “Looks like they’re going to need our help after all.”

She used her chin to gesture to the small group of park rangers gathered under the trees across the mall, setting up barricades to close off a section of the path in anticipation of what might happen.

“Maybe. It might still stay peaceful. I don’t know how worked up people get about international food policy.”

Barb laughed. “You never know what’s gonna get folk worked up. And you saw Nancy’s intel. We’re expecting counter-protestors. That neo-Nazi group.”

Matt wasn’t entirely sure what the people in this rally were objecting to. Or fighting for. Or why they’d inspire a counter-protest. But the people gathering were clearly angry, as speaker after speaker talked about the need for more international support to feed the hungry around the world. About the need for religious organizations to coordinate their efforts. And about the problems the world faced whenever politics got in the way of access to healthy food.

As Matt and Barb watched from under the shelter of the Liberty Bell Center, a counter-protestor moved into the group. His head was shaved bald, his tall lanky form draped in a black leather jacket. Matt couldn’t be sure about his age, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. His shouted words slurred together, making them hard to understand, but the swastika painted onto the large cardboard sign he brandished made his position perfectly clear.

Bard shook her head. “Really? Are the neo-Nazis opposed to feeding the hungry?”

“I have no idea,” Matt answered quietly, hearing the man’s angry slurs against Muslims, against Jews, against homosexuals. Against everybody, it seemed.

“Should we stop him?” Barb took a step forward, but Matt put his hand on her arm.

“Not yet, not unless he starts interfering.” Independence Mall was a public place, and that man had as much right to be there as the other protestors. Unless he took actions that interfered with their event, Matt and his colleagues wouldn’t stop him. Regardless of what they thought about his shouted opinions.

As they watched, the neo-Nazi made his way through the crowd toward the podium. People who were in the rally turned away from him with looks of disgust. One looked over at the rangers and pointed at the man, mouthing something. But they all stayed out of his way. No one wanted to engage him. Which was good.

Finally, the neo-Nazi stepped in front of the podium. He lifted his sign into the air, blocking any view of the speaker. All the park rangers moved at once.

Matt and Barb stepped out of the shadows of the Liberty Bell Center and jogged toward the crowd. The rangers coming in from the other side got there first. The action was so smooth, so quiet, visitors waiting in line at the Liberty Bell Center might not even have noticed. With no scuffle or noise, the man was restrained, his sign was taken away from him, and he was brought over to the area the rangers had previously closed off.

Matt and Barb followed their colleagues to the secured area. “We better get used to this,” Barb muttered. “There are gonna be a lot more like this once that convention starts next week.”

Matt nodded his agreement, watching his colleagues take the man’s name, run him through the system, then let him go with a warning.

Barb turned back to watch the ongoing rally. “Still got your eye on that job in Denali, Thompson? Aren’t you going to miss this?” She kept her hands tight around her utility belt, but her eyes took in the green expanse of the mall, the brick-paved paths leading to Independence Hall, which stood proudly at the end of the block.

A fistfight broke out among the protestors. No counter-protestor involved this time, just a disagreement, apparently, within the ranks. Two rangers jogged out to break it up, bringing one of the more aggressive protestors back with them.

Matt grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this town. This history. Even a small group like this knows they’re going to get more attention because they’re standing in front of Independence Hall. Next to the Liberty Bell. Yeah, sure, I’ll miss it.”

As the man who had been picked out of the protest was led to a table to give his name, one of the two rangers with him broke away and approached them. His already stout form was exaggerated by the body armor he wore under his uniform, and his face glistened with sweat. He lifted his ball cap and ran a pudgy hand along his hairline, his blond hair stiff with sweat. “Did I hear you say there’s a job opening at Denali? What job?”

“Thompson’s got his eye on a supervisor position at Denali. Their chief of ops announced his retirement end of the year, so we figure once they fill that position there’ll be an opening for a supervisor.”

“What, and leave all this?” Even as he spoke, a shout rose up. Two more counter-protestors had infiltrated the rally, the fighting this time between members of the rally and two new men carrying swastika-emblazoned signs.

“God, what idiots,” Barb muttered under her breath as she jogged out to intervene.

“Where are these jackasses coming from?” The sweaty ranger, known as Moose, ran his hand over his hair one more time. “It’s like they intentionally organized themselves to draw this out while costing them the least.”

“You’re right about that. They know we’re not going to cite or fine them the first time, so if they come out one or two at a time, they each get off with a warning. Someone in their group must know the routine. And they clearly have funding.”

“Nancy said they accept donations online. Can you believe that? There are people out there willing to give money to hate groups like this, and they solicit out in the open… online… in meetings. Crazy.” Moose fanned his ball cap in front of his face again before putting it back on. The two rangers watched and waited.

Barb jogged back again, leaning against the wall next to Matt. “So you still want that Denali job?”

“Look, there’s something appealing about protecting our great natural parks. Waking up every day to those sunrises, breathing in the fresh air, getting away from the noise and craziness of the city. Tell me you wouldn’t love that, too.”

“You wouldn’t get to deal with scuttling the homeless,” Barb pointed out.

“Or discovering murder victims,” Moose added.

“Yeah.” Matt looked down at his shoes. He had to remember to polish them; they were getting pretty scuffed up. “I guess.”

“What’s bugging you?” Barb nudged him, looking up at him.

“I want to help get that solved. The murder. I want to be a part of that investigation.”

“So do.” Moose leaned both elbows back against the low brick wall behind them, exposing the wet patches staining his uniform dark under his arms. “Talk to John.”

“I will. We’ll see. I spoke to the detective handling the case already.”

“Without going through John? You’re asking for trouble.”

“Just checking in, that’s all. We were both at the briefing, so I said hello. Let him know I’m free to help if he needs it.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.” Moose stood up, pulled his sleeves down. “Look at that jackass. Will you get him or will I?”

“I’m on it.” Matt jogged out onto the Mall.