Chapter 6
January 22
“Hello, Mr. Lonnrot. Edmund.” Chief Williams greets us by the precinct’s elevator the next morning. He’s not wearing his navy blue uniform today, but is still formal in a starched white shirt and blue tie. “And where is your lovely wife?”
“She had to show apartments this morning,” my dad replies. “Real estate business.”
I’m relieved that my mother isn’t here, ’cause I’m pretty sure she’d be a major wet blanket. She gave us both an extra-big hairy eyeball as we were leaving this morning, as if we were the ones pulling knives out in alleyways.
The chief escorts us up to the third floor and into his office, where we take a seat on a soft, comfortable couch. The room is spacious, with dark wood and important-looking photographs hanging on the walls. Also a plaque from 9/11. Clearly Chief Williams has seen a lot of action.
He sits across from us in a leather chair, twisting a ring on his finger and asking us dumb questions about our health. He has silvery hair and a perma-tan that offsets his shiny white teeth, except the chief doesn’t smile much. Probably too busy and stressed with such an important job.
He seems nervous, which is strange. Surely my father and I do not constitute a high-pressure situation. After fiddling with a pen and commenting on the weather, he gets to the point:
“I’ll just lay it out there for you. We’ve never done this before. It’s inconceivable. But so is your son’s talent. The picture he drew . . . well, let’s just say it was like a photograph. A perfect match to a mug shot that we have from a few years back. Never seen anything like it in my thirty-two years on the force. We have a business proposal for you. For Edmund, actually. If you would be interested.”
“What?” My dad is too stunned to say anything more intelligent.
Chief Williams nods in understanding. “It is an unusual situation, isn’t it? The men you saw in the alley—we suspect that they’re part of a larger group of thieves. Real professionals. We’d like Edmund to help us catch them. We could use his talents.”
Go after professional thieves? Holy cow! But my father is frowning.
The chief holds up a reassuring hand. “There’s no chance of bodily harm. It’s strictly reconnaissance. A surveillance job at various art museums throughout the city. It’s not a violent crime case. Just a potential robbery.” He pauses so my dad can digest this information. When Dad doesn’t speak (because he’s as shocked as I am), the chief continues:
“First, Edmund will have to pass a test, make sure he’s as good as we think he is. And then . . . ten hours a week, perhaps? The days can be flexible around your schedules. We’ll compensate him for his efforts, of course.”
Compensate as in pay? As in, I have a job that will help fund Senate Academy? My heart soars and I almost fall out of my chair. It’s a miracle.
My father sniffs. “Use the taxpayers’ money to pay my son? It doesn’t seem right.”
Come on, Dad! I scream in my head.
“He’ll be doing a civic duty,” the chief replies. “Earning every penny. You can be his chaperone on site, with him at all times. Neither of you will know any details about the case. Minimal risk.”
This is awesome. Jonah is going to flip. I start to twitch in my seat. A squeak of joy escapes my body.
The chief smiles. “I can see that Edmund is onboard.” Leaning closer, he speaks in a low voice to my dad. A sympathetic voice. “Mr. Lonnrot, we understand that you recently lost your job, and that Edmund’s school is quite costly. We’d like to help further the education of such a talented young man.”
“You lost your job?” I blurt out. “I thought you just lost some hours!”
“I did. I got laid off two days ago. It seems the police have up-to-date information.” My dad eyeballs the chief with mild disgust, like the guy has infiltrated his private world. Which he has.
I agree it’s a little creepy that the police know everything about our lives, but I don’t care. I want in on this deal.
As if reading my father’s mind, the chief offers him an apologetic shrug. “We have access to a lot of information. I assure you no further investigation will be conducted in regards to your family.”
The loud tick of the NYPD clock fills the office as I await The Decision. I beg my dad with pleading eyes, mouthing Please over and over.
He crumbles. “It’s not me you have to worry about, Edmund. I will consider this proposal. I think it’s an interesting idea. But first you need to pass the chief’s test. And then . . . there’s Mom.”
I don’t need to tell you which of the two is going to be more challenging.
I turn to the chief. “Let’s have the test. I’m ready.”
“All right. And while you work, I’ll talk to your father about the details and legality issues. I’m sure he has some safety concerns.”
My father nods in agreement, his mustache moving back and forth the way it does when he’s gearing up for an intellectual debate. The chief has no idea what he’s in for. My dad can talk.
Chief Williams leans forward, twirling a pen between his fingers. I can tell he’s excited about this; he wants me to succeed. “And now for the test: There were two other people riding in the elevator with us on our way up here this morning. We planted them there. They are officers whom you have never met before, as far as we know. They work upstairs in the Narcotics Division. If you can . . . conjure them up in that photographic memory of yours and draw accurate sketches of them, then the job is yours.”
“There were two extra people in the elevator? I thought there were three,” my dad says, trying to be helpful. Rookie.
I close my eyes and think of the elevator. A man and a woman. I focus on their faces, their clothing, even the names on their badges. When I open my eyes, there is worry on the chief’s face. Probably thinks I’m not up to the task. I flash him a grin.
“I’ll need a sketchpad and that cool coal pencil that Phil was using last week. I’d be happy to draw a picture of Officers Hopkins and McGrady for you.”
The pen slips from Chief Williams’s hand and falls to the ground when I use their names.
Game on.