by Jane Gorman
“Give me the gun, Towne. Dr. Towne,” Adam added as an afterthought.
Towne grinned and dipped his head in recognition. “Thank you for that. It doesn’t matter anymore. I have no career left. No respect.” He waved the gun vaguely in the direction of the bells. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried… I wrote papers. But… nothing. Even my own daughter won’t return my phone calls.”
“People will listen to you, Dr. Towne. Your daughter will talk to you. You have a position of respect, remember?”
“Yes.” Towne nodded, smiling, his eyes miles away. “I did. Not anymore.” He turned to Adam, his voice businesslike. “I haven’t published anything new, you see. In years. My last three submissions were rejected. Too subjective, they said, not evidence based. Hah!” In the first sign of emotion, spittle shot out with his laugh, hitting the plastic case around the bells, lingering for a minute before starting its descent down the front of the case.
“You don’t want to damage the bells, Dr. Towne. They’re too important to you.” Adam took a step toward Towne, who tensed.
“They are important. You’re right.” He tapped the plastic with his gun. “I couldn’t get through this casing anyway, could I?” He laughed, the laughter growing louder, faster, as he turned his eyes to Adam. “I can’t do anything right, can I?”
With a cry, he threw the gun. Adam jumped, watching the weapon as it hit the ground then grabbing and securing it. While Adam’s focus was on the gun, Towne turned and lunged the other way, back to the stairs that led up to the open tower.
Adam chased after him, two steps at a time. How the hell did that little pudgy man move so fast?
Adam pushed through the door out onto the landing just as Towne launched himself onto the ledge of the open tower, reaching for the open air. The District of Columbia spread out below him, and he paused for a second, as if admiring the view before throwing himself out into it.
Before Towne had even taken a deep breath, the park ranger wrapped his arms firmly around him. He locked his hands around Towne’s waist, dragging him back down to the safety of the platform, spinning as he pulled.
Towne struggled like a madman, twisting and pulling.
As the ranger stumbled, trying to regain his balance, Adam grabbed at Towne. The man twisted again, reaching for the ledge once more.
“Damn it,” Adam swore as he let his right arm swing, knowing he was going to regret this. His fist landed firmly on Towne’s jaw, and the other man went down.
“Cops on the way?” Adam asked the ranger without looking up.
“Be here any second.” The ranger nodded, standing and wiping down his uniform.
“I got you, Towne. You’re safe.” Adam leaned forward and pulled Towne up into a sitting position. He slumped against the middle platform of the tower, his head lolling against his chest, blood trickling from the cut on his jaw.
“I have nothing,” he mumbled into his tie. “Nothing left.”
28
“So is this a Philly technique? Punch out the witness?” Sam smiled as he spoke, but Adam knew it wasn’t a joke.
“I was saving his life, man. He would’ve jumped.” The thin plastic chair creaked under his weight as he turned toward Sam, then looked back down at the floor, trying to ignore the looks he got from others in the hospital waiting area as his voice rose. Why shouldn’t he be upset? It seemed pretty likely to him he had punched an innocent man. A potential witness. Not a good thing.
“Uh-huh.” Sam sat in a plastic chair next to Adam’s. Adam kept his eyes on his hands and didn’t look up. “Get anything good from him? Before you punched him, I mean.”
Adam shrugged. He stood and walked a few feet before turning back to Sam. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Nothing real. The man’s angry, I can tell you that. Pissed as hell.”
“Mad enough to kill?”
Adam nodded. “Definitely.” A movement at the front desk to his right caught his eye, and he turned in time to see John Marshall being escorted back to the treatment rooms. Back to where Towne was currently getting stitches. “What is he doing here?”
“Who?” Sam turned, but Marshall was already out of sight.
“John Marshall. The nurse took him back.” Adam frowned at Sam. “Is he here to see Towne?”
“I don’t know.” Sam stood and let his eyes roam over the waiting room. The reception area. No one else looked familiar. Just a room full of tired, frustrated people, some waiting for friends or family, others waiting for medical attention. “He could be checking up on Towne, I guess.”
“No way.” Adam shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe the senator is concerned?” Sam shrugged. “He came to check up on her colleague. After he was beaten by the police.” Sam was clearly trying to bring the conversation back to what Adam had done, but Adam ignored him.
“Right, because she really comes across as the type to be concerned about a colleague. No. Unless she has an ulterior motive…”
“Kaminski.” Sam waited, then added, “Adam. You need to talk to me. You just punched a witness.”
“What do you want me to say?” Adam looked at him. “The man was going to jump. I hit him to save his life.”
“If he presses charges…” Sam looked away.
“I know, Sam.” Adam shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was angry, I was in a hurry. I need to get home, take care of my sister. I felt like I didn’t have time for that crap, and I reacted. You don’t need to tell me, I screwed up.”
“I know he’s an annoying little man, but he does have connections.” Sam nodded in the direction Marshall had gone. “Senator Marshall, for example.”
“Yeah, I know. I know.” Adam touched his right hand with his left and winced. “So you think she sent Marshall to check up on Towne? Because she’s concerned about him? And God knows she couldn’t afford to be associated with this situation.” Adam laughed under his breath.
“You really have it in for Senator Marshall, don’t you?”
“It’s not that, I swear. She’s keeping something secret. I don’t know what. I’ve got a feeling.” He shook his head. “You know, it seems to me that of everyone involved in this, she’s got the most to lose.”
Sam shrugged and patted Adam on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift. And don’t let your gut lead you too far astray. I know the senator’s a cool character, but she’s had her own grief to deal with. And she deals with it in her own way. Right?”
Adam took a deep breath. “Maybe. Thanks for the offer, but I’m staying here. I need to talk to Towne again. Preferably when he’s not pointing a gun.”
Sam opened his mouth to respond. The ring of Adam’s phone cut off whatever he was about say.
“Kaminski.”
Adam recognized the voice of Deputy Commissioner White. “What the hell’s going on down there?”
“You mean about Towne, sir?”
“Who the hell is Towne? No, I mean about Jay. The young man whose interests you’re supposed to be watching out for?”
“I don’t understand.” Adam sank back into the plastic chair. “What happened?” He looked up at Sam, hovering over him.
“I just got a call from the Kapoors, Kaminski. They’re not happy. Very not happy.”
29
“A blog? Why’re the Kapoors even reading political blogs?”
Adam understood Ramona’s confusion. That had been his first question, too. “They weren’t. A friend of the family saw it, let them know.” He glanced up as Sam’s car pulled away from the hospital entrance, then he headed toward the nearest Metro stop.
“So it’s pretty bad, huh? I’m pulling it up now.” The sound of Ramona’s typing carried over the phone.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the Bureau,” Ramona explained. “I told you, they’re gearing up for an activity this evening and invited us to join them. I’m using an open workstation to file my report, let my captain know the plan.�
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Adam nodded to himself. “D’you find the blog yet?”
“Oh, yes. Political Dish it is.” Ramona paused, presumably reading the page in front of her. “Dark secrets… no surprise he’s dead… did he get what he deserved? This stuff is toxic, Kaminski, no wonder the Kapoors are pissed. And your deputy commissioner. Why would someone write this stuff about Jay?”
“That’s what I need to find out. And that means finding the person behind the blog. Can you help?”
“Um… let’s see.” Ramona’s voice pulled away from the phone, and he could make her out calling someone’s name. He heard a few scuffles, then Ramona’s voice came back on the line. “Okay, Kaminski, I want to introduce you to Don Morris. He’s a tech guy here at the Bureau.”
“What can I do to help?” Morris’ voice was loud and clear. He must have picked the call up on another line.
“I’m trying to find the author of an anonymous blog. Is that something you can do?”
There was a pause — Adam wondered if Ramona and Morris were conferring off line — then Morris’ voice came back on. “Sure, no problem, but it might take some time. I can find the site and geolocate the IP address. Assuming this guy is trying to stay anonymous, we’d need to contact the ISP to get his name. That’s the part that could take awhile, including however long it takes you to get the warrant.”
“Okay, get started.” Ramona had picked up Adam’s urgency.
Adam stopped at the head of the deep escalator that would take him down to the Metro, far below ground. “Listen, Ramona. I’m going down, I’ll be out of touch. How long does Morris think this is going to take? ’Cause I can head over your way if you think we can get the Bureau started on the warrant request.”
“I’m right here, Detective Kaminski, you don’t need to talk about me in the third person.”
“Right, sorry, Morris. So how long will this take?”
“Weelll…” Morris stretched out the word and Adam heard his fingers flying across a keyboard. “Like I said, I can trace the IP address, no problem. In fact, there it is. Yeah, he’s covered up his identity, no surprise. Thing is, we all leave breadcrumbs, don’t we?”
“I have no idea, do we?”
“Sure do. You should pay more attention when you’re online. I just need to follow his trail…” Morris’ words faded into the sound of typing. “Who needs IP-based user identification, anyway?”
Adam took a deep breath. “I need the short version, Morris. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
When Morris didn’t reply, Adam added, “Ramona, you still there?”
“Sure — wait, what?” Ramona cut herself off with her own questions.
“Ramona?” Adam squinted and turned his back to a crowd of people exiting the escalator, his hand over his free ear. “What’s going on?” All he could make out was some muttering from the other end of the phone.
“He says he’s online now. Morris. I mean, Morris says the blogger is online now. On a cell phone.”
“So? What does that mean?”
“It means…” Morris’ calm voice cut into their conversation. “It means I can get you a specific location… better than trying to trace an IP address and no warrant necessary…”
Adam took another breath, squared his shoulders. “Meaning?”
“Give me a sec… I’m just getting it…”
“When you say a specific location, do you mean his actual location?” Adam tried rephrasing his question.
Morris answered, but his mind was clearly following wherever his fingers were going. His voice was soft, singsong. “Wherever he is right now.”
“Just like that? I can meet him face to face?”
“Yep, that’s it,” Morris answered. “It’s that simple. For me, at least, thanks to the FCC and the Supreme Court. Let’s see…”
“He’s nodding, Kaminski.” Ramona’s voice was high and tight. “I think that’s good thing, right, Morris?”
“Yep.” Morris’ voice was low. Calm. “Got him.”
Adam jogged up the steps, beads of sweat forming along his back as he searched the flow of visitors streaming away from the Capitol building. Another beautiful June day in DC. If you weren’t chasing down an anonymous blogger who might or might not know something about a murder.
Morris had pinpointed the blogger’s location to the north end of the Capitol building, a location he could identify down to the second. Now Adam had to find it. He glanced at his cell phone as he jogged, watching his GPS location as he moved.
“Detective Kaminski?”
Adam looked up, surprised to see Jason McFellan coming down the stairs toward him.
“Mr. McFellan, what are you doing here?”
McFellan smiled and waved his hand towards the monumental white building looming at the top of the marble steps. “This is where I work, Detective. That shouldn’t surprise you.”
Adam stopped. Examined the man smiling in front of him. “Jason McFellan. It’s you, isn’t it?”
“What’s me?” The man’s smile was disarming, but not enough to put Adam off.
“You’re the man behind Political Dish.”
“What?” McFellan’s voice held laughter as he walked toward Adam, his arm outstretched. “Don’t be ridiculous, have you read some of that nonsense?”
As he drew closer to Adam, he placed his arm over Adam’s shoulder, leaning his head in to whisper in Adam’s ear. “Keep your voice down, do you want everyone to hear? Do you know what a rumor like that would do to my career?” He lifted his head to glance around. No one seemed to have overheard. “Come, Detective, walk with me.”
Adam shrugged away from McFellan’s arm, but followed him down the steps. Together, they walked toward the reflecting pool.
“I don’t understand. Why would you run something like that blog?” Adam looked over at the man next to him. “You said yourself, if anyone finds out, it would ruin you.”
McFellan smiled, his face relaxed, his arms swinging naturally by his side as he walked. “I don’t know, Detective. Maybe you can tell me. It’s just something I do.” His smile turned into a grin, and Adam felt he was playing against the Cheshire Cat. “Maybe it’s fun.”
Adam shook his head. Looked away. “What do you know about Jay? That was some pretty vile stuff you posted about him.”
“Kapoor?” McFellan shrugged. Frowned. His hands found their way to his pockets. “To tell the truth, I don’t really know much at all. Only the rumors I’ve heard. Lots and lots of rumors.”
“Like what?”
They had reached the reflecting pool, and McFellan turned left, working his way along the edge of the water. “No one wants to speak ill of the dead, Detective. You know that. Sometimes people have things they need to share. Need to get off their chest, you know?”
“And they talk to you? Why, so you can post it on your blog?”
“Hah, hardly.” McFellan’s laugh was soft. Civilized. “They talk to me because I listen. I’m a very good listener, Detective.”
“Then tell me what you’ve heard.” Adam stopped walking, turning to McFellan. “What do you know about Jay’s murder?”
“You’re not listening to me, Kaminski.” McFellan’s voice grew hard. “I’m telling you, I don’t know any more. Everything I heard — everything — I posted on that blog. Just rumors and innuendos. Rumors that matched my own assessment of the guy. That Jay enjoyed keeping secrets. Other people’s secrets.” McFellan turned to continue along the path around the pool.
“Why do you run that blog, McFellan?” Adam asked. “Really?”
McFellan shrugged, his comfortable smile back on his face. Relaxed once again. “Maybe because I’m bored?” He said it like a question, shrugging his shoulder as he spoke. “Maybe I like to live life close to the edge. Things come all too easily sometimes, don’t they, Detective?” He stared out over the pool as he spoke, his face a picture of introspection. “Things were getting boring and I needed a bit of a challenge. Something to spice things up.
Make life dangerous again.”
Adam nodded, listening. “Right.” He pursed his lips. Let his eyes range over the same view McFellan was seeing. “Thing is, I don’t believe a word of that.”
McFellan started and turned, the two men standing face to face, alone among the crowds of tourists that roamed around the Capitol grounds, enjoying the plush grass, the coolness seeping off the reflecting pool.
“And what do you believe, Detective?”
Adam frowned, turning back to face the pool. “It’s just a thought, Mr. McFellan, but I think that maybe, after all these years, you stopped believing the lies you’ve been telling yourself.”
“Hmm.” McFellan’s voice was soft, his smile gone. “And what lies are those?”
One side of Adam’s mouth turned up a fraction. “That you’re only playing by the rules. That you’re not doing anything wrong.” He turned back to McFellan. “In your job, I mean. That’s what you said, right? That you know how to work the system?”
“That’s what I said, yes. I don’t see—”
“Your blog is followed by thousands of people looking for an end to the big-money politics of Washington,” Adam cut him off. “It exposes the payments made by corporations, wealthy individuals, and foreign countries. Payments that determine the course of politics in DC.”
“Yes, Detective.” McFellan voice was dry. “I see you’ve read it.”
Adam shook his head. “I don’t have to. I think I understand you. You’re looking for power. You thrive on power. But you can’t shake the guilt over what you’re doing. Because no matter what you say, you know it’s wrong.”
McFellan laughed under his breath. Turned and kept walking. “Maybe you’re right, Detective. Who knows? Is it for the thrill? Or to appease my guilt? Or both, perhaps?” He ducked his head to one side. “It doesn’t matter why, though, does it? You want to know what I know. And I don’t know anything more than I’ve already told you. Honestly.”
Adam watched him as he spoke. A professional liar. A man who would say anything for money. For power.