A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series

by Jane Gorman

  “She got those from you, I’m fairly certain.” Adam put his arm around his cousin’s shoulder. “And she lives on through you. Through your memory. And your actions.”

  Łukasz nodded again, then shut his eyes.

  “To Basia,” he said quietly, dropping the single flower toward the water.

  Adam watched as it fluttered gently toward the tumultuous surface before he let go of his own. “To Basia.”

  The flowers landed on the water, twirled for a few moments, caught in the eddies that flowed along the surface of the water, then slowly sank, pulled down into the deeper currents.

  “I have to leave tomorrow, cousin.” Adam finally spoke. “I’m going home, back to Philadelphia.”

  Łukasz looked at him. “I am glad you were here, Adam. I thank you. And Basia thanks you, I know she does.”

  Adam smiled. “You’ll be okay, cousin. I’m sure you will. You’ve made quite a name for yourself with this story — again. What will you do now?”

  Łukasz shrugged. “Who knows? Keep writing, I assume. There are others, you know, like Malak. Others who have lied about their past, who have tried to profit off the suffering of others. I have been contacted by some publishers who would like me to write a book about Basia and her death.”

  “Would you do that? Would you want to revisit it?”

  Łukasz looked out over the water, taking a deep breath of the crisp winter air, heavy with the sweet smell of the birch trees and winter grasses growing along the banks. He smiled. “You know, I think I would. I think I would relish the opportunity to help expose more men like Malak.”

  He turned to Adam. “And you, what does your future hold?”

  Adam shrugged. “Back home. Back to work. And maybe…” Adam bit his lip. “Maybe I need to learn a little bit more about my own past. About my great-grandfather.”

  “Do not be upset over those letters, cousin. As Pani Stanko said, they are just one perspective. The perspective I have been told since I was young, that is true.” He frowned and dipped his head. “But nothing about the past is certain. You have learned that while you were here, if nothing else.”

  Adam smiled. Patted Łukasz on the shoulder. “Thank you for that reminder, cousin. You’re right, of course. I need to learn more before passing judgment. Before accepting anyone else’s version of the past.”

  “Hmm…” Łukasz looked from Adam to the slowly darkening city, then back to Adam. “Then you have some more work ahead of you.”

  Adam looked down at the river, watching the water fighting against itself, currents circling currents, never ending. Never stopping. He looked back at Łukasz. “What we’ve done here, it will help me. It will make me stronger. Make me a better cop. I’m sure of that. I know I make some bad choices sometimes… but not this time.” He looked at Łukasz. “I won’t forget you, cousin. We’ll stay in touch.”

  “Of course we will, of course. But now,” he said, pulling his shoulders straighter, “now I am going to visit Basia. To tend to the flowers on her grave. Will you join me, cousin?” He turned to Adam.

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Łukasz. Please know I will be thinking about Basia. I won’t forget her either. Will you forgive me for not joining you?”

  Łukasz laughed. “Of course, cousin. I understand. I imagine you have plans tonight to see a different young woman?”

  Adam smiled. “Good guess.”

  “And we shall see what your future really holds for you.” Łukasz smiled as the two men turned to walk back along the bridge toward the center of Warsaw.

  * * *

  Blue velvet curtains curled around a track on the ceiling, trailing down to the floor, closing off the front door from the rest of the restaurant and blocking out the cold night outside.

  Inside, a bright fire danced in a brick alcove on the side. Well-worn wooden tables filled the space with quiet conversations and the scent of garlic and butter.

  A candle flickered gently on the table between them as Adam and Sylvia leaned toward each other. They were tucked into a corner of the restaurant, each sitting with their back to a wall, their hands touching over the corner of the table between them. A carved wooden panel rose gracefully to Sylvia’s left, cutting them off from the rest of the room, creating a private enclave for a quiet conversation.

  Adam shifted to pick up his wine goblet, swirling the blood-red liquid and inhaling the bittersweet promises that rose as vapors from its surface. “I’m sorry that Malak hurt you, Sylvia, that he lied to you. I know how much you cared about him.”

  Sylvia nodded and raised her eyebrows as if to agree with Adam, but made no sound beyond a soft sigh.

  The coming days and weeks, perhaps months and years, would be difficult for Sylvia. She had tied her future to Malak’s, counting on him to lead the way. And now that career was lost to her.

  She looked up at him over the tendrils of smoke rising from the candle. “I am sad for what Tomek did to me, but I am just as sad about what Poland has lost.” She smiled and shrugged. “He was a great leader, Adam. I know you don’t want to believe that, but he had good ideas. He had ways to make Warsaw richer, more successful, stronger. This would have been good for Warsaw and it would have been good for Poland. Don’t you see that?”

  Adam shook his head. “All I see is that he was a thief, a liar and a killer, Sylvia.”

  She frowned and opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed her lips tightly. After a moment she asked, “Have you found your absolution, Adam? Does stopping Tomek help you fight your own demons?”

  Adam didn’t respond to her question. “How do you still see the good in him, Sylvia? I don’t understand. He was a killer. An informant…” Adam’s voice trailed off, his expression lost.

  “Yes.” Sylvia nodded. “I see that now, too. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to believe it. Not about Tomek.”

  A waiter came to clear away their dinner plates, and they paused in their conversation. When they had both declined dessert or coffee, Sylvia turned back to Adam.

  “It’s not just the loss of this one man, though, you must understand.” Sylvia spoke urgently. “It is the loss of trust. Who can we count on now, when even our great leaders cannot be trusted to have Poland’s best interest at heart?”

  “Malak was never a great leader, Sylvia.” Adam took her hand again. “Just an actor. And he had us all fooled.”

  Sylvia frowned deeply, lines creasing her forehead and wrapping around her mouth. Adam knew she was fighting to keep the tears away and felt his heart breaking for her.

  “He fooled me most of all.” Her voice was harsh, accusatory. She closed her eyes while she spoke. “How could I not have seen this, Adam? How could I not have seen him for what he was?”

  “You knew he was a criminal, Sylvia, you told me yourself.”

  She opened her eyes, the candlelight reflecting off the tears gathering in her perfect blue eyes. “Yes, a criminal, perhaps. But small crimes. Crimes that could hardly even count as corruption. And to what end? To bring lucrative business to Warsaw. To encourage new educational opportunities, new sources of renewable energy. These were not crimes. No, not what I knew.” Sylvia shook her head.

  “They were crimes, Sylvia. You thought you knew all his crimes, so when you saw him lie, or suspected he had a secret, you assumed you knew what that secret was. So you turned a blind eye to it. You assumed you knew him, but you didn’t, did you?”

  “I did not know him.” Sylvia’s voice was a whisper now. “You must believe me, Adam.” She took his hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “You must believe me.”

  Adam looked at her and could see the worry in her eyes, her fears for the future and her need to have him believe her. “I do, Sylvia. I believe you.”

  She smiled then, and Adam’s spirits lifted. It was as if their candle had grown brighter and the nearby fire merrier.

  He put his other hand on top of hers, felt again the thrill of her touch. “I believe you.”

  * * *

>   The plane’s engines roared, warming up as the crew prepared for takeoff. Adam leaned forward slightly in his seat, peering around the henna-red curls of the woman to his left. She turned to smile at him, but his attention was on the tarmac outside the plane. And the clouds looming above.

  The cloud cover looked heavy but white, the fluffy appearance of snow-laden clouds that was becoming more familiar to Adam now. Weather forecasters had assured their audience that morning the snow would come later in the day. Adam felt a little nervous taking off into what could be a serious storm and tried to draw comfort from the fact they would be in the air, high above the clouds before the first snow came.

  In eight hours, he would be back in Philly. Back at home.

  Noticing the red-headed woman still smiling at him, Adam smiled and nodded. Then he turned to the aisle seat on his right.

  Sylvia looked up at him, a smile in her pale blue eyes. “Don’t be nervous,” she said to Adam, seeing the worry in his expression. “We will be fine. We will make it to Philadelphia without problems.”

  He smiled back, drawing comfort from her confidence. What would his family say when he showed up back in Philly with Sylvia? His grandparents would be thrilled, he knew. They had told him enough times that he should find and marry a beautiful Polish girl.

  And what would Pete think? Adam smiled to himself as he pictured Pete’s expression.

  He glanced back out the window. The sun was fully up now, though the colors of the morning light still lingered in the shimmering clouds. As he watched, the clouds seemed to float down toward them. He knew it was just the plane leaving Warsaw.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading A Blind Eye. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it. Of course, writing a book is never a solo effort. I am grateful for all the support I received from my early readers, mentors and friends who took the time to read, comment and critique. Lois Steinberg, Dave Pollan, Alan Ziskin and Doug Weiss for their work as writing group partners; Jack Engelhard for his patient instruction; Marci Spiegle, Ellen Herbert and Jacqueline Donaldson for their review and critiques. I also want to thank the Sisters in Crime and all the Guppies for sharing their wisdom, their experience and, when necessary, their commiserations. Most of all, I want to thank Chuck, for his unwavering belief in my writing.

  Adam Kaminski lives on, in my mind and in the later books in this series. If you liked this book and want to read more, please visit my website to see the other books featuring Adam Kaminski as he steps up to the challenge of catching the killer, no matter where in the world he is.

  To keep up on news about the Adam Kaminski books, sign up for my newsletter or follow me on Twitter or Facebook.

  Continue reading for an excerpt of A Thin Veil, book 2 in the Adam Kaminski mystery series.

  www.janegorman.com

  A Thin Veil

  Sound exploded through the morning air. Grating and angry, it ricocheted off the walls as if trying to scrape a layer off the tawny stones. The roar of the gun hit the group gathered on the mansion’s drive and they dove for the ground at the force of it.

  Only one person hit the ground with the dull thud of death.

  Diplomatic Security Agent Sam Burke and the other agents with him were the first back on their feet. The five agents had ducked at the sound, but turned toward it rather than diving for cover. Each heard it coming from a different direction, scraping off a different wall, spinning up from the trimmed grass below or surging down from the mansion’s tiled roof.

  Agent Sam Burke pulled his weapon and scanned the drive leading back to the house, seeking movement in the shadows behind the hedge or around the corner of the residence. He stood still, focusing on the direction the sound had come from, his grip tight on his gun. With the shot still ringing in his ears, he relied on his eyes for any sign of movement. Two of his colleagues ran to assist those who had fallen while two more chased the sound into the shadows around the house.

  Ambassador Alain Saint-Amand knelt on the path, his hands clasped over his bowed head. One of the agents placed a hand on his back as he spoke, his fingers whispering against the gray silk. “Ambassador, come with me. Quickly.”

  Unfurling gracefully, Saint-Amand grabbed the agent’s arm, his grip puckering the thin polyester. “Run! Run!”

  His cry came out as a hiss, the fear it conveyed carrying almost as loudly as the shot. The two men scuttled, still bent low, toward the heavy oak door and the safety that lay behind it.

  Another agent moved to Senator Lisa Marshall. She lay curled on the ground, her arms bent underneath her, her fingers over her ears. “Senator,” he shouted, as if the silence that followed was as deafening as the shot. “Can you hear me?”

  She turned and nodded, her helmet of blond hair showing gaps in its defenses. Rolling onto her knees, she leaned into the agent as she stood. His arm hovered over her, offering what protection it could. She glanced back as they ran toward the safety that waited behind the oak door. Her eyes focused on the figure still lying on the path behind them. Her face crumpled, she blinked and shook her head, turning back toward the house.

  The agent followed her glance, saw the inert form.

  “Damn.” The swear came out between clenched teeth as he shook his head. “Sam!” he called out, then gestured with his chin toward the path. He said no more, but turned his attention back to the senator and her safety, his top priority.

  Sam scanned the area once more, then turned to focus on the man they had failed to protect. Jay Kapoor lay with one arm flung out, the other crossed in front of his chest. As if defending himself to the last. His charcoal suit was impeccable, his red tie still in a tight knot at his collar. Only the spot of blood blossoming on his white shirt revealed the futility of his optimism when he had dressed that morning.

  Sam put his fingers on the young man’s neck, his dark brown skin jumping out in contrast to Jay’s greenish-yellow hue. He found a weak and slowing pulse. Jay’s chest moved once, then was still. He interlaced his fingers and pressed his hands down over the wound, applying pressure as best he could. When another agent crouched next to him, Sam used the handkerchief he offered to stanch the blood. The spreading pool of red on Jay’s white shirt slowed. Stopped.

  Sam nodded, risking a glance over at his colleague. He could stop the bleeding out with his pressure, but the color of Jay’s skin made it clear there was more internal damage. He had seen wounds like this before. After ten years on the force in DC, Sam knew chances were slim the ambulance already on its way would make it in time.

  Agent Collins, the lead Diplomatic Security agent for this assignment, stepped out of the house. The two remaining agents had returned from their search, one holding a gun wrapped in a white handkerchief. The wail of approaching sirens grew louder as he stepped onto the path. “Sam?”

  Sam didn’t look up, just shook his head. They had failed to protect Jay. The most he could do now was keep him alive until the ambulance got to them. He coughed and found his voice. “Doing what I can, sir. And we can pray.”

  Agent Collins looked at the others. “What’d you find?”

  “Could be the weapon used, sir. Still warm.” An agent indicated the gun. “In a bush to the right of the front door. Techs can confirm, but it looked like it had been thrown there, not dropped.”

  A blue sedan swerved onto the drive from the street, its tires squealing as it turned to the right side of the U-shaped drive, leaving room for the ambulance that was only seconds behind. Diplomatic Security Agent Collins gave final instructions to his team, then moved to meet the FBI.

  The driver of the ambulance kept to the left, the back of the bus angling toward the group clustered on the path. Two medics jumped down. Within minutes, the young man had been strapped to a gurney and carted back to the ambulance. Sirens screaming, it pulled forward around the drive and back out into the street.

  Sam heard Agent Collins conferring with the FBI agents who had arrived, saw his colleagues escorting t
he drivers into the house with the others, knew he had to move, too. But his eyes felt glued to the patch of dark brown pavement at the curve of the drive.

  Without moving his gaze away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

  * * *

  Detective Adam Kaminski jumped for the phone to stop the rattle of its vibration against the nightstand. Next to him in their bed, Sylvia yawned and settled further under the covers, her back towards him.

  He’d been lying awake for half an hour, watching her sleep. Thinking. She’d had her back to him since he woke up. He assumed she always slept like that, curled away from him as far as the bed would let her. When he put a hand out to touch her shoulder, she pulled the blankets up even higher without opening her eyes.

  His expression hardened as he put thoughts of Sylvia out of his mind and glanced at the phone. Surprised by the caller, he slid out of bed and walked into the living room. He had been expecting Sam’s call, but not this early. The delegation wasn’t due in Philly until ten.

  “Sam, what’s up?”

  “It’s not good news, Adam.” Sam’s voice was grim. “The visit’s off, at least for now.”

  Adam caught the tension in Sam’s voice and stopped moving. “What happened?”

  “A shooting. Senator Marshall and Ambassador Saint-Amand are fine. The senator’s aide… he wasn’t so lucky.”

  Adam nodded as he listened. He could hear noises in the background. The all too familiar sounds of a crime scene investigation. “Did you catch the guy?”

  “Not yet,” Sam answered. “We have the weapon.” There was a pause and a muffled sound, as if Sam had put his hand over the phone. “Listen, Adam, I gotta go,” Sam’s voice came back on the line. “I’ll call you later when I know more.”

  The line went dead.

  Adam looked at the phone for a second, then tossed it onto the coffee table and sat back into the futon that served as their living room sofa, running both hands through his thick chestnut hair.