by Davis Bunn
D’Amico slipped into one of the two chairs fronting the chief’s desk. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Bernstein said to Matt, “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand, ma’am.”
“Did I offer you a choice in the matter? No, I did not.” She used thumb and forefinger to lift the pages he had brought. “You want to tell me what I’m looking at here?”
“Confidential FBI files, chief.”
“I can read. I’m talking about the felony this suggests. As in withholding evidence vital to a homicide case.”
D’Amico spoke up then. “The SAC would probably say he passed it over at our first request.”
She glared at the detective. “Did I ask for your help?”
“No, Chief.”
“I’ll thank you to stay mute until I do.”
D’Amico laced his fingers across his chest. “Sure thing.”
“We are two weeks into an unsolved homicide! Why wasn’t I alerted to this analysis before now?”
Matt took his cue from the placid detective seated next to him. “My guess is, the SAC probably didn’t have any more reason to trust you than you do him.”
Her glare was hot enough to bore holes. “I’m ordered not to shoot rookie federal agents in my own office. But I might make an exception in your case.”
D’Amico coughed. Bernstein snarled, “Are you giving me smart?”
“No, Chief. Not me.” D’Amico coughed a second time. “Just bad chicken livers.”
“I’m told they need another information officer down in the front foyer. You keep that up, you’ll see how much I love slapping down officers who think they can give me smart in my own office.” She re-aimed at Matt. “I thought I could rely on you to follow orders, Kelly. That’s what you fibbies are known for, right? Taking handsome classes, being first in the chin-up competition, and following the rulebook?”
“Chief, I—”
“You were ordered to stay downstairs in Records. So what do you do but sneak into an unmarked patrol car and take a drive with an officer on Division One desk detail. Suddenly this same officer goes haring off on a call she should never have answered with a federal ride-along in the car.” Bernstein’s voice rose in stages. “She then drives this unauthorized ride-along into a free-fire zone! Does that sound sane to you?”
“That is absolutely not true.”
“Oh, really. Which part?”
“Ma’am, Officer Morales saved a cop’s life out there.”
“And might have cost us a fibbie’s life in the process. Which isn’t a bad trade, I’ll give you that much.” She shifted papers on her desk to give her hands something to mangle. “Do you have any idea the storm that would have generated? No. Of course you don’t. Because if you had, you’d be downstairs in your safe little cubicle waiting out your time.”
“Officer Morales is an extremely good cop.”
“So now I’m expected to take the word of a green fibbie on which of our cops is stand-up.” Bernstein’s expression tightened further. “Morales is a woman on her way out. And you’ve just moved up her departure date.”
“That is such a total waste.”
“Furthermore, I have a written protest from Lieutenant Calfo in Division One accusing you of abusive and threatening language at a crime scene. He is requesting that I discipline you, Kelly.”
“That’s not how it was at all, Chief. To begin with, we were at the hospital.”
She slammed an open hand down on the sheet. “How and where a lieutenant chooses to address a new recruit is no concern of a rank outsider!”
D’Amico coughed again. Harder this time. Suddenly Bernstein couldn’t decide whom to burn with her gaze. “I’m inclined to take this matter up with the DA’s office.”
D’Amico shook his head. “Bad idea, boss.”
“Oh, is that so. Explain to me why I shouldn’t have this punk ushered off the premises.”
D’Amico pointed out, “He’s brought us vital data we didn’t have.”
“Correction. Poster boy here waltzes in with a bomb-blast analysis we should have had two weeks ago.”
“Skippy’s right, Chief. From their end, it’s we didn’t ask, so they didn’t tell.”
She showed angry astonishment. “You can’t possibly be giving this punk a nickname.”
Matt marveled at his internal state. He had a lifetime’s experience of dealing with unfair rage. If forced to fight, he would. Otherwise, he deflected until his first chance to flee. He had been raised on a constant fare of leaving. But his internal response was always the same, a clenching down. He had a prey’s ability to read signs and prepare for sudden flight.
But not today.
He sat while the major blustered and remained untouched. The only outrage he felt was over Connie. He interrupted, “Officer Morales is an extremely good police officer, and the lieutenant was wrong to get in her face.”
“Pay attention, Kelly. It’s your execution we’re talking about here.”
D’Amico held to his perpetually steady tone. “The SAC has taken a serious risk here, Chief. He’s basically handed another fibbie’s career to us on a plate. Which suggests to me he’s impressed enough with Kelly here to trust him. And us.”
“Let me reinterpret that for you.” Bernstein’s mouth was so tight her lips had disappeared. “Unauthorized federal agents entered my crime scene, and they did so without my permission! They stole evidence. They found information crucial to an unsolved murder. And they withheld it!”
D’Amico merely said to Matt, “The Homeland Security agent collected shards from a tree, right?”
“Yes.”
D’Amico told the chief, “There are no trees inside the tape between the blast site and the side wall.”
“What, you went back and checked this out?”
“I don’t need to. Using plastic fragments collected from a tree beyond our crime scene, their bomb analyst confirmed the blast was caused by a decommissioned claymore.”
Bernstein said, “We’re actually talking about one of the stolen claymores the fibbies claimed were all recovered months ago?”
Matt confirmed, “The information in that file suggests their declaration was incorrect.”
“You mean to tell me the feds actually admitted being wrong about something?”
“The way the SAC put it,” Matt replied, “was that if you let this get out, he has five years to get his revenge.”
This time D’Amico laughed out loud. “Give us a minute alone in here, Kelly.”
He stood and said, “Chief, Officer Morales—”
“I heard you the first time. Door.”
When they were alone, Major Bernstein said, “You’re planning something.”
“I don’t like the feds any more than you do,” D’Amico replied. “But we’re chasing our tails here.”
“You want to bring the kid into this investigation?” Hannah Bernstein shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe I’m hearing you tell me that.”
“Yesterday, without a weapon, he took down an armed assailant. In the process he helped save a cop’s life. When I drove him back from the hospital yesterday, I asked him to replay the scene. You know what he talked most about? How Morales steadied him. Nothing about his own heroics.”
“So he’s had his macho gene removed. So what.” But Bernstein was listening carefully.
“So when I dropped him off, I said if he could come up with some solid goods, I’d try and get him a spot in the investigation.”
“That’s so far over the line that you’re talking to me from the next state.”
“I don’t think so, Chief. And you got to admit, he’s brought in the first new lead we’ve had in two weeks.”
She mulled that over. D’Amico added, “I like him.”
“That’s not what we’re discussing here.”
“I’m still without a partner. What’s the harm?”
“I can’t believe you’re actually siding with him on this.”<
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“While we’re at it, we also need to talk about Officer Morales.”
Bernstein appeared to have been expecting this but still replied, “That’s Division One’s problem.”
“Morales is getting a very bad rap from Hands. You know his rep with women on the force.”
“Wait, I remember now.” Bernstein leaned back in her chair. “Morales. Sure. She’s the one who dissed Hands at roll call.”
“Knowing this guy,” D’Amico replied, “he probably deserved a lot worse.”
“So she’s got a beef. Why is this our problem?”
“Hands is gunning for her, Chief. I’ve asked around. Morales has the makings of a very good cop. She was the other half of yesterday’s lifesaving team.”
“You’re seriously suggesting we should give a rookie a chance in Homicide?”
“We have two open slots in support staff. She’s dying a slow death at the Division One desk. I want her doing real police work.”
“Is this a favor you’re asking, Rabbi?”
“Call it what you want.” D’Amico rose from his chair, knowing he had won. “Thanks, Chief.”
She let him reach the door before asking, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
He paused with his hand on the knob. “Are we talking about the Kelly kid or Officer Morales?”
But Bernstein was already making notes in the margin of her next case file. “You better be sure you know, is all I’m saying.”
D’Amico found the pair of them standing in Ops’ narrow hallway. Connie watched his approach, so anxious she aged a dozen years. D’Amico told her, “We’re good to go, Morales.”
Connie asked in a very small voice, “Are you sure?”
“Major Bernstein has given us the green light.” D’Amico felt her need, young and so hungry she was ready to weep over the chance just to do her job. “You better be good, all the trouble you’re causing me.”
She said solemnly, “Just aim and pull the trigger, Rabbi. I’m gone.”
“For starters, I’d prefer it if you used my name.”
Matt Kelly asked, “Does that work for me too?”
“We’ll see.” D’Amico pointed him into the next cubicle. “This is your new home for the duration. I’ve stuck my neck out for you, Kelly.
I want professionalism and results and speed. We clear?”
“Absolutely.”
“Right. Go see the duty sergeant. Tell him I’ve okayed a pass for you and the fibbie to our evidence room. What’s the analyst’s name again?”
“Allen Pecard. But he’s an outside consultant.”
“Inside, outside, he’s still fed.” D’Amico turned to Connie. “The guys who pulled the armory job are in the federal wing of the Baltimore pen. Find out their names. Dorcas will help you with that. Do a background search. See if there’s a wife or kid or something we can use as a lever.”
“Roger that.”
“Anything else?” D’Amico noticed Matt’s hesitation. “You got something?”
“I’m worried about shaping the words and having them sound as stupid as they feel rocking around in my head.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” D’Amico led them back to his cubicle and pointed Matt into the only chair. He waited while Connie pulled one from across the aisle, then said, “Know the measure of a good cop? One who can trust his gut. I’m not asking you for facts.”
Matt took a breath. “I don’t think my dad was the target.”
“You said that before.” D’Amico settled himself on the corner of his desk. “Explain.”
“Dad is never home that time of day. Never.”
D’Amico looked at the closed file on his desk. He had read the data often enough to scan through the cover. “Your parents left the house together at 6:45 on the morning in question. They attended a breakfast in Annapolis. A photo op in Odenton. Lunch in Glen Burnie. All political events. Your dad took his campaign bus to Cambridge. That’s some ride he’s got, by the way. Your mom taxied to Lexington Market. You met her there. You drove home . . .”
Matt halted D’Amico’s calm procession of events with, “If the attacker knew their routine enough to set the charge on the side door, he’d know their movements.”
“Most bombers are not rocket scientists. They’d count it a success to hit the right house.”
“But this charge was shaped. The rest of the house was left intact. Pecard called that a signature device.”
“Yeah, that’s the word our bomb guys used too.” He turned to Connie and explained, “A signature device is one intended to leave a message.”
Matt went on, “Signature suggests intelligence and planning.”
D’Amico shrugged a maybe. “There was no timer attached to the device.”
“I didn’t see that in the report.”
“They don’t put down what’s absent. Only what they find. No timer. So the guy sets the charge to a wire or something else and he strikes the wrong target. This is not the work of a highly intelligent foe.”
“Maybe.”
“If you got something else, now’s the time.” When Matt hesitated, D’Amico went on, “It’s not my habit to ridicule.”
“I have this image I can’t. . .” The words sounded congealed inside his throat. “I could have dreamed it. I still have a lot of strange impressions from that time.”
“Being that close to death will do it to you. So you have this image from the blast.”
“From before.”
“How do you want to check it out?”
“I was thinking maybe I should talk with Connie and the first officer on the scene.”
“Officer Brodski,” Connie supplied. “He’s stand-up. Very aggressive cop. Loves to be first out.”
“Okay. So why don’t you two get with Brodski, let the kid here run through what he might or might not have seen. See if it sparks something.” D’Amico pushed himself off the wall. “Soon as you’re done there, Morales, find us a lever with one of the armory gang.”
When Brodski was seated in the interview room across the metal table from them, the first thing he said was, “Do I need legal rep?”
Connie was genuinely shocked. “Do I look like Internal Affairs to you?”
“All I know is, one day you’re dragging around here like the division goat.”
“Which I was.”
“The next, you’re over in headquarters and Lieutenant Calfo is the one acting nervous.”
“Hands is scared? Of me?”
“I’d give that a big affirmative.”
Connie’s day just grew a whole lot brighter. Which was good. Because Matt had gone very distant on her. No surprise there. Discussing the incident had her remembering what it had been like, approaching where his mother lay by the shattered brick wall. And she was never going to tell him about that. “This is Agent Matt Kelly.”
“You got your own fibbie detail? Way to go, Morales.” Brodski was a beefy guy going prematurely bald. He crossed his arms, straining the shoulders and arms of his uniform. “Wait a sec. You’re the Kelly kid. Sure, I remember you.”
Connie said to Matt, “You’re up.”
Matt still could not bring himself to look at her directly. “I’d like to ask you both a few questions.”
Brodski broke in. “Are we taping?”
“Come on, get a grip. We’re just three cops here trying to solve a homicide.”
“You just said he’s not a cop.”
The interview rooms were all the same. Concrete floor, whitewashed walls, wire-mesh window in steel door, high ceiling, glaring fluorescents, one-way glass set in one wall. Connie leaned on the narrow table. “Take a good look, Brodski. Does he look like trouble to you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never talked to a fed.”
“Believe me. We’re after answers, not trouble.” She glanced over. Matt was doing his best to hide his unease and failing. She said quietly, “It’s okay, Matt.”
The wound came to his gaze. “Nothing is
right about that day. Not now, not ever.”
“Still, we’ve got to try, right?”
Brodski was watching the exchange with a cop’s awareness. Seeing a lot more than Connie would have liked to show her former Div One officers. But it was too late for that now. She said to Matt, “Ask us your questions.”
“Could you please just walk me through that afternoon?”
Brodski didn’t respond until Connie gave him the nod. “Lemme think. I was first on scene. You know that already. There was a lot going on. I didn’t get backup for, oh, must’ve been close to twenty minutes.”
Connie said, “I was listening to the radio traffic on desk. Brodski was sweating and the dispatch was calling all over the place, going outside division and still couldn’t find a free officer. So I sneaked out, grabbed a set of wheels, and went to help.”
“Right,” Brodski continued. “At first, I thought you were both toast. I mean, you should’ve seen the house. And a couple of cars were smoking out beyond the wall—”
“Three,” Connie corrected. “Two SUVs and a minivan. The ones high enough to catch it over the wall.”
“Whatever. The wall around the door was blown all over the street. Windows in the house across the way were all gone. I could hear your neighbors screaming. I was walking past where you were lying. Then I saw you move. I couldn’t believe it.”
Connie saw the impact this was having on him. “You all right there, Matt?”
He just raised his hand. Don’t ask. “Then what?”
“I got my emergency kit out of the trunk and went to work on you. Your mother—”
“Skip that part,” Connie ordered sharply.
“Connie showed up while I was doing CPR on you. It probably wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t know if there had been any internal damage, and it’s standard ops in those situations. The ambo showed up right after. They hauled you off to, where was it?”
“Maryland General.”
“Sure. Then the fire truck arrived while we were setting up the perimeter tape. Two of the board and I decided not to wait for the fire marshal; he was stuck on some accident site. We were concerned there might be somebody inside. Connie took perimeter and we went for a look. But the house was empty.” Brodski shook his head at the memory. “Man, that was one eerie scene.”