Pete and Matt looked up with surprise as Adam banged the squad room door shut behind him. The eighteenth century doorframe didn’t provide the satisfying slam Adam had been hoping for.
“What’s up, partner? You okay?”
“I just got suspended.”
Pete shook his head, pursing his lips. “I’m sorry, man, I really am. You knew you were pushing it, though, pursuing this against orders.”
“What, you’re blaming me for this?” The words came out through gritted teeth, and Pete leaned back in his chair away from Adam.
“Calm down, Kaminski. I know you’re upset, but don’t take it out on me.”
Adam glared at Pete, then turned to pace across the far side of the room. He stared once again at the tiny patio behind the old row house, littered with broken windows, old gardening equipment, plants in trays waiting to be planted. It seemed empty. Vacant. Depressed. Why weren’t there more rangers here whenever he came by?
He turned back to the only two men who’d been willing to help him. Matt sat back in his chair, watching him through narrowed eyes, probably waiting for the dynamic to play out. Pete had turned his attention to the table in front of him, pulling out a few case files, reviewing the information.
As he felt his anger subsiding, Adam stopped pacing and leaned against one of the chairs.
“Want to tell me what’s really bugging you?” Pete looked up at him.
Adam glanced at Matt before answering. “I went home early. Since I was suspended and all.” He gave Pete a wry smile.
Pete nodded, eyebrows raised. “And?”
“Sylvia was there. She wasn’t alone.”
Matt’s mouth formed a silent “oh.”
Pete lowered his brow and pulled his hands back from the table until they were tight up against his body, but he didn’t move. “What did you do.” It wasn’t expressed as a question, more of a statement. Of fear. Of doubt.
Adam gave a dry, hacking laugh. “What could I do? I scared the shit out of him and I left. I came here.”
Pete looked back down at the table and shook his head, slowly letting his breath out. God knows how Pete had expected him to react.
“I’m sorry, man, I really am.” Pete glanced at Matt, then turned back to Adam. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then shut it again.
Adam resumed his pacing. Matt watched him for a while, then turned to Pete. “What now?”
“Let him be.” Pete watched Adam for a moment longer, then turned back to Matt. “These payments from Ryan-Mills have gotta be significant.”
Adam stopped pacing. “What payments?”
Pete tapped a printout in front of him. “Multiple large withdrawals from Ryan-Mills’ accounts. Some of them are cash. Plus he wrote several very large checks to someone; it doesn’t say here who.”
“Someone? Or an organization?” Adam leaned over the table to look at the bank statements. “That’s worth looking into, seeing who he was giving his money to. Thomas told me he was concerned about who his father was associating with. Bigoted, that’s how he described him. Maybe Thomas was really upset because his father wasn’t just theorizing, he was supporting the group financially.”
“But why?” Matt asked.
“And even more important, who else knew?” Adam looked down at the statements. “What made you think to look for these?”
Pete shrugged, cast a quick eye over to Matt. “Just something Matt — uh — thought of. And it was a good idea, a good lead.”
“Okay.” Adam looked back and forth between the two of them, but it seemed they had nothing to add to that explanation.
“Tell me again about Harry and Thomas Ryan-Mills.”
“Thomas is active in a number of church and community groups,” Adam answered Matt, leaning heavily on a chair as he spoke. “What d’you think, driven by guilt because he thinks his father is a bad man? Trying to make up for his father’s sins?”
Pete nodded as he shrugged. “Could be. He told you his father had some strange connections.”
“That’s right, they both did, Harry and Thomas, in their own ways.”
“Sounds to me like his sons knew a lot about their father, who he was, who he was paying,” Pete said.
“So what?” Matt asked. “Was Thomas so angry about some club membership he snapped and killed his dad? That doesn’t make sense.”
“You know that would depend on what club we’re talking about. But he wasn’t in town when it happened, anyway,” Adam pointed out.
“So Harry did it, for the same reason?” Matt sounded less convinced.
“That doesn’t sound like Harry, does it?” Pete shook his head.
“Why, what’s your impression of Harry Ryan-Mills?” Adam asked his partner. “What else have you found on him?”
“Just that he’s been suspected of playing outside the rules. You know the stuff: hiding the value of his assets for tax purposes, possible insider trading, that kind of thing. Nothing that’s ever been proven though.”
Adam felt his rage rise, thinking about the inequities exposed in this investigation. The rules that only applied to some people, but not others. Why was he always on the losing side of that divide? He focused on channeling his anger into the investigation. “We have to go back to the beginning. Track that statue. If we can place that statue in somebody’s hands, then we have the murderer.”
“Didn’t you have someone looking into it?”
“Yeah, a friend of—” Adam cut himself off.
“Right.” Pete nodded. “That’s okay, we have other resources. I can track the statue. I’m hoping to get the medical examiner’s report later today with more details on Heyward’s death, too. That should help.”
“Maybe.”
“What, you don’t think they’re connected?” Matt asked in surprise.
“They gotta be connected, I know. But connected doesn’t mean the same killer.”
“So now we have two killers roaming around our neighborhood?”
Adam grinned. “Sorry to break it to you, Matt, but in a city this size you probably got more than two.”
“So what are you thinking?” Pete asked.
“Check out the medical examiner’s report on Heyward. We’ll see if Roc killed him. He probably did, it’s got his fingerprints all over it. But then we need to track the statue and see if Roc killed the judge, too, or if that was a little closer to home.”