It took twenty minutes to walk from the civic association meeting north out of Society Hill, past the national park and through Old City toward Northern Liberties and the loft apartment that also served as Julia’s studio. Whenever it was an option, Adam preferred to walk instead of cabbing it or taking the subway. Philly was an easy town to walk in. Everywhere in the city, but particularly here in the eastern, older sections, eighteenth and nineteenth century buildings lined the sidewalks, interspersed among the newer construction. The sidewalks were alive with residents, tourists, people from other parts of the city coming through to do their shopping or grab a bite to eat. You couldn’t walk down these sidewalks without bumping into someone you knew.
He could see why Julia loved living in this part of town. She thrived on its nightlife, its artistic feel, its avant-garde culture. But Adam couldn’t shake his fears for her, living alone in a building that hardly counted as secure. The break-in and robbery she’d been victim of last year had only confirmed his fears.
Adam passed the third church on his route, one where Benjamin Franklin himself had worshipped, and thought about the neighborhood. The number of old churches spoke volumes about the city and the people who’d lived here over the years. Philadelphia was the only city in the country, in the early years, where anyone of any faith could find a place to worship. It was no real surprise the Interfaith Peace Consortium had chosen to hold their convention here.
There was nothing wrong with this part of the city. It was still welcoming, still beautiful. It had character. Julia just needed to find a safer building. One with a doorman, maybe.
He was half a block away from her building when he saw an old man stepping out of the brick structure, pulling the front door closed firmly behind him. His shoulders were stooped, his hair almost completely gray. For only a second — half a second — something about the man looked familiar, but Adam couldn’t place him.
“Shit.” He spoke the word aloud as his brain clicked in and he realized the old man he was watching was his father. Did he look that old when Adam saw him yesterday? Or was it that seeing him unexpectedly like this, out of context, he saw him for how he really looked. Not how Adam expected him to look. The years were passing, and it showed. Adam picked up his pace to a jog.
“Dad!”
His father had already turned to walk the other direction, but stopped when he heard his voice. “Adam, what brings you up this way?”
“Looking for Julia. She in?”
John Kaminski shook his head. “No such luck. Not sure where she is.” He held up a paper shopping bag. “Your mother wanted me to return this salad spinner to her. I thought I might just leave it outside her door, but then I remembered about that break-in last year...”
“Tell me the front door wasn’t left open again?”
His father nodded, frowning. “She needs to move, Adam. Somewhere safer. I don’t know where, but somewhere safer.”
“I know, Dad, I keep telling her that.” Adam walked beside his father up to the next street, where John would catch the bus that would take him back to Port Richmond. His father was saying something about the salad spinner, but Adam’s mind kept going back to his conversation with Roc.
His alibi didn’t prove anything, that much was obvious. What was he hiding? He’d spent time in prison. His nervousness could simply be a byproduct of dealing with law enforcement all his life. Perhaps he was always nervous around cops. But he was angry, too. He couldn’t hide that. Was he just angry about the way this casino deal was shaping up? Or was it connected to the murder?
“You with me, Adam?”
“Hmm?”
“I said, what’s on your mind, son?” John Kaminski laughed. “There’s clearly something bothering you. And whatever it is, I’m guessing it’s the same thing that upset Julia yesterday.”
Adam acknowledged the truth of what his father was saying with a nod, but didn’t answer the questions he knew his father had. “I’m trying to figure out what my best next move is, that’s all.”
“Next step in what?”
“It’s nothing. Nothing I can talk about.”
“Oh, but you want to talk to Julia about it? Since when do you two keep secrets from your old man?”
“Dad, you’re not helping. I’m working on a case. Julia might have some information that would help.”
“Now hold on there.” John Kaminski stopped walking and turned to face his son. “You’re not getting her mixed up in anything dangerous, are you?”
Adam’s mind had already shifted back to his conversation with Roc, but the anger in his father’s voice startled him back to the present. “Are you angry?” Adam felt his own heat rise. “I’m trying to do my job. You don’t need to worry about Julia. I’m taking care of her, right? What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re not thinking, that’s what I think. Bringing your troubles to her.”
“Yeah, well this time she brought her troubles to me.”
“What are you talking about? What trouble?”
“Look, Dad.” Adam took a breath. A fight with his dad was the last thing he needed. He bit down hard, biting back his anger and his stress, and tried to change the topic of conversation. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I got it handled. Hey, I’m still planning to look more into those letters from Łukasz, you know? See what else I can find about Grandpa.”
John Kaminski stayed silent for a moment more, assessing his son. He knew his dad could read him like a book. He was hoping he’d let this one go. No such luck.
“You do what you gotta do, son.” John turned away from him as he spoke. “I know all I need to know about my father and his father before him. You know” — he turned back to Adam, his face red again — “I don’t know what else you want to learn about your family. I may not have some great fortune to leave you. I’m sorry, my father didn’t smuggle any gold or paintings out of Poland during the war. But we have a proud history. A proud legacy. Don’t you forget that. You should be proud of it, not questioning it. And I’ll tell you what else, you keep pushing me away like this, and I won’t be there when you need me, got it?”
“Dad, I didn’t mean…” But John Kaminski was striding up the sidewalk, ignoring his son’s call.