9

“Ranger Thompson, good morning.” Ian Heyward turned in surprise, responding to Matt’s call.

“Dr. Heyward.” Matt cut across the grass to step into place beside Heyward as he followed the path that ran around the square. The regular inhabitants of the square had already returned. Matt had just woken two, and they were packing up their belongings, moving on for the day. Other than the homeless and Ian Heyward, the square was empty, too early still for commuters or yoga students. “What brings you out so early this morning?”

Heyward turned back to look at the Veriatus. “Just dropped by the office for a book I’d forgotten.”

“Not working today?” Matt’s glance followed Heyward’s. The golden stone building seemed to stand alone, despite being closely bordered by red and gray brick buildings on either side.

Heyward saw Matt’s look. “It’s quite impressive, isn’t it? Have you been inside? We have a world-renowned collection of written works. It’s open to the public for viewing.”

“No such luck.” Matt shook his head.

Heyward glanced at his watch and stopped walking. “Shall I show you around?” His words were polite, but anxiety showed on his face. He lifted his glasses off his nose with the thumb and first finger of his left hand, as if to lift the weight of the lenses for a moment, then replaced them.

“Not this morning, thanks, I’m on duty. But I’d love to take you up on that another time.”

Heyward smiled and nodded. Matt joined him as he resumed his march around the square. He walked with his shoulders hunched over, as if he’d spent too many years leaning over old books. He looked no older than forty, maybe forty-two, but Matt couldn’t help but notice he carried a whiff of that mustiness unique to old places and old things. In contrast, his face was clear and unlined despite his age, a clear sign he hadn’t led a particularly stressful life so far.

Matt matched his brisk pace. “What do you do in there?”

“Oh, this and that.” Heyward patted his tan leather shoulder bag. “I’m the curator, you know. We have a significant collection of books. Quite impressive, really. But today, I’m refamiliarizing myself with Joseph Dennie. For my research, you see.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

“No? That’s too bad. Fascinating person, wrote quite strident objections to certain forms of democracy during the early years of our country.” Heyward’s voice rose a level as he spoke about his research, clearly a subject that excited him, but Matt was glad when he left the description at that and said no more.

The two men walked on without speaking for a moment. Heyward broke the silence. “I heard about Judge Ryan-Mills.” He glanced at Matt, then back at the path ahead of them. A lone jogger was out, running toward them. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that investigation, do you?”

Matt waited until the young woman had passed, then responded. “No, not that I can discuss. What have you heard?”

Heyward shrugged. “Only that he was found dead here in Washington Square. And that he was murdered.”

“That’s about the gist of it. Not much more to tell, really. Philly PD are investigating. It’s tough with all the work going into preparing for the religious convention, you know?”

“Yes, and the fundraising event planned for right here in the square as well.” Matt couldn’t be sure, but he thought Heyward grinned when he added, “A murder can’t be good for fundraising.”

Matt’s radio coughed out a noise. Matt listened to the call, responded with his usual check-in.

Heyward waited until Matt had completed his call, then added, “That’s too bad, you know. About Oliver.”

“You knew him well?”

Heyward frowned and moved his head from side to side. “I don’t know if I would say well. We found ourselves working together recently on the casino issue.”

“I’ve heard about that from a few of the other residents.”

Heyward smiled up at Matt. “I’ve seen you chatting with the ladies. They do cozy up to you, don’t they? Share a lot of gossip?”

Matt laughed. “I guess so. I’m just friendly, is all. But I didn’t know you were involved in fighting the casinos, too.”

“Sure. No one around here wants a casino built. Even if it’s not in our neighborhood, the location they’re planning is close enough, it will affect us. And not in a good way.”

“So you and Judge Ryan-Mills were leading the civic association in its protest against the development?”

“Oliver provided some guidance, yes.” Heyward’s mouth clamped shut.

Matt noted the brevity of his response, but didn’t push it. “Do you have any idea who might have killed him, Dr. Heyward?”

Heyward’s mouth opened again in surprise. “Me? Of course I don’t. How could I?”

Matt shrugged. “You might have seen him fighting with someone?”

“He was a judge, Ranger Thompson. Rich and powerful. No doubt he made many people very angry. That’s the way of it. The reason he didn’t usually want to be involved in the neighborhood. He always said he needed to keep himself separate. Objective. Safe.”

Matt said nothing more, running through the conversation in his mind, preparing the summary he’d share with Adam as soon as he’d finished with Heyward.

Heyward looked over at him. “I’m glad you’re asking these questions. You and the other rangers, you know this neighborhood. The people who live here. I’m glad to know you’re helping on the investigation.”

The phone rang again just as Adam disconnected from his conversation with Matt. He was grateful to Matt for doing the legwork and sharing what he’d found, though he wasn’t sure how useful it was. He pulled his front door shut behind him and stepped onto the uneven brick sidewalk as he saw Julia’s number pop up on the phone.

“Jules, you okay?”

“Finally. Where have you been?” Her anger crashed through the phone as though she were standing in front of him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was trying to reach you all night, you didn’t answer.”

Adam grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t check my phone. Sylvia and I…”

“Oh, God, you’re not fighting again, are you?”

Adam grinned. If Julia only knew what they’d been fighting about.

“Listen, Adam, I need to talk to you. It’s important.” The urgency in Julia’s voice stopped him short. He stepped into the narrow alley that ran along his building, moving away from the noise of the traffic and leaning against one of the picturesque brick townhouses that lined the street.

“What’s going on, what can I do?”

“That judge. Ryan-Mills.”

“I know. I’m sorry I told you like that. But you were going to find out, and I figured it would be better if you heard it from me. Did Pete call you?”

Julia didn’t answer, but Adam heard the rustle of fabric and knew she had tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Yeah, he did. We talked about it. But I didn’t tell him…”

“Tell him what?”

“I knew the judge. I was in his courtroom.”

He stared at the numbers on the cornerstone of the house in front of him, trying to think rationally. 1762. That house had stood here for so many years. Before this country was a country. It had provided shelter and comfort to whatever family had lived here, a family that would’ve had to fight for their home, for their nation. Calmer, he focused his attention back on his sister.

“When? You’ve never been arrested.”

“Not me, a friend of mine. He ran into problems in the park. It’s a national park, so when he had a hearing, it was in federal court.”

“What are you talking about? You’re hanging out with criminals now?”

“Stop it. Just listen. He’s not a criminal. He was smoking a little weed, that’s all. It’s legal in Philly now, you know? But he didn’t realize he was in a national park. He got picked up and got a citation. He had to go to court.”

“You knew the victim…” She had no alibi. The judge was killed with her statue. With her fingerprints all over it. And she had encountered the judge when he was alive.

“But you weren’t on trial, you were there to support a friend, right? So your name won’t show up in his records.”

Julia’s silence spoke volumes. Finally, she cleared her throat. “I never testified, if that’s what you mean.”

“You were scheduled to testify?” Adam’s body went cold. The sounds of the city around him stopped. He could hear his breath, in and out, in and out.

“His lawyer asked me to testify. I was on his list. But I never got a chance. The judge sentenced him without even hearing my testimony.”

“Were you there with him? Were you smoking, too?”

“No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t there. I was just a character witness. He’s a good guy, I swear. I’ve worked with him on a few projects. That’s all I was going to say. But I didn’t get the chance.”

Adam nodded to himself. Not surprising the judge didn’t want to hear her testimony. A case like this was open and shut. Not about the defendant’s character, only about the facts.

“Shit.”

“Adam, I’m sorry. I tried to tell you yesterday.”

“Okay, I know. Did you tell Pete this?”

“I didn’t… I couldn’t.”

Adam pictured the mound of files on Pete’s desk and grew cold, files that yesterday gave him comfort, confidence in Pete’s ability. Pete was skilled and he was fast. Those piles would shrink fast as Pete went through every case. Every name. Adam didn’t have much time.

“Good. Don’t tell anyone, let me handle this.”