A Thin Veil

by Jane Gorman

  The smaller, brown duck wasn’t giving up his claim to the bread. The fighting intensified. Other tourists turned away and one young boy ran to his mother. He couldn’t look away. He felt drawn to the ducks. He understood their fight. Their need.

  If only he could attack the feds that way. Tear the truth out of them. How far had they gotten in their investigation? Did they know the truth yet? Were they toying with him?

  Not knowing was the hardest part. He leaned forward and grabbed the wooden rail that separated him from the death battle below with both hands, his fingers digging into the damp wood. He couldn’t stand not knowing.

  What if he was the next target? You never knew. It was an eat or be eaten kind of world. Just look at those ducks.

  He felt the fear of the small brown duck as if he were there in the water with him, fighting for his life. He felt the pain. Felt the need to fight back. The need to survive.

  He wouldn’t give up, either.

  He smiled, then saw the look he was getting from a young mother to his right. She pulled her two children closer to her as they passed him. His grin darkened as he looked at the children. His thoughts flashed to his child. Of course she wouldn’t be a child anymore. In her twenties, if he was counting right. He tried not to count.

  The family kept moving. A juggler had set up farther down the boardwalk, and the children ran past the fighting ducks, their focus on the entertainment ahead.

  He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t look away from the ducks. He was in a life-or-death situation, too. He never meant it to go this far. He had no idea how to get out of it. He needed to know more about the investigation.

  She would know, of course. The woman who held his heart, who controlled his future. She would scoff at his fears, as she always did. Thrive on them. Grow stronger because of them.

  He shook his head, trying to shake the fear out of himself. He squeezed his fingers tighter around the wood, catching a splinter in his finger, then pulled tighter around it, feeling it dig its way in. Deeper and deeper. Just like her.

  She would protect him. He was sure of it. She always did. She was always right.

  No winner had emerged yet, but there could be no doubt this was a fight to the end. The brown duck was scrappy. Determined. The black duck was bigger. Stronger.

  He turned away and walked toward the juggler, wrapping his injured finger in his handkerchief as he walked.

  8

  The brick wall that lined the property of the ambassador’s residence rose only three feet high, decorative rather than prohibitive. The iron fence that topped it, a military row of thick, sharp rods, drove the point home.

  Adam approached the closed gate and stepped close to see through to the lawn beyond it.

  A row of black SUVs blocked the curved drive in front of the stone mansion, stretching from the closed iron gates to twenty feet before the grand entrance. Late afternoon sun glinted off the shining vehicles, then lost itself in the thick dark row of bushes that lined the house.

  No yellow crime scene tape marred the elegant landscape, but the drive and yard swarmed with agents. Adam watched as white-suited technicians crawled over the ground around the spot where Jay had fallen and through the bushes where the weapon had been found. One woman in the uniform of the DC Police Department stood near the house entrance, in consultation with a group of men in the uniform of the FBI, the standard dark suit and tie.

  The crime scene seemed to have been tagged with an invisible marker. Despite the absence of tape, the other agents, not dressed for the technical work, stayed away from these areas, moving in broad circles as they walked between the house and their vehicles. They didn’t need the tape to know to stay away from the scientists doing their work.

  Adam picked up voices as radio calls were made to and from the agents, though from where he stood he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

  He stayed on the outside, looking in. Watching. Waiting.

  He’d been on the inside enough times, part of the team reviewing the lay of the land, comparing notes, gaining information as the technicians slowly reached conclusions based on minute trace evidence. Standing here, watching from the outside, was a different experience. He let the feel of the scene sweep over him. The heavy scent of the juniper bushes laden with new needles. The hum of bees in the tall stand of tiger lilies off to the side of the lawn, audible over the distant sound of traffic coming from the main street a couple blocks away. The coolness of the shade as the June sun drowned beneath the tall trees that lined the street and dotted the yard.

  A fresh-faced young man in a dark blue suit broke away from the others near the door and walked toward him. Adam watched him in the same way that he watched the other actors in this drama, only shaking himself out of his reverie as the young man approached the gate and started to speak. It was time to get in on this investigation.

  “Can I help you with something, sir?”

  Adam held out his police badge, sticking his arm through the gate. “Detective Adam Kaminski, Philadelphia PD. I’m looking for Officer Davis, MPDC. I’m supposed to work with him on this case.”

  “Davis?” The young agent’s voice made his doubt clear. He examined Adam’s identification and gave him a quizzical look. “Philadelphia? On this case?”

  “Davis is expecting me.”

  The man raised an eyebrow as he shrugged and turned away from Adam back to the house, calling out as he walked. “Davis!” He turned back to Adam, frowning but nodding. “Stay here.” Then he trotted back to his side of the playing field.

  Adam stayed where he was, standing outside the gate. As if he had any choice.

  Officer Ramona Davis turned when she heard her name. Seeing Adam waiting by the gate, she frowned and tucked her notebook into her back pocket. Glancing at the technicians at work as she passed, she covered the distance between them quickly. Her thick black hair was captured in a knot low on her neck, well below her service cap but the requisite distance above her collar. Walking with the grace of a dancer, she seemed to glide over the lawn. Feminine even in the uniform made for a man.

  She approached the gate and stopped for a moment, then put her hand out. “Ramona Davis. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Adam shook her hand, his arm bent awkwardly through the gate, her grip firm in his.

  Looking at his face, she smiled and shook her head, the laughter that didn’t make it to her mouth visible in her brown eyes. “You were expecting a man, I see.”

  Adam shrugged. “Sorry if I looked surprised, it’s really not relevant.”

  “I know.” Ramona smiled again. “Sam likes to poke fun at people. Else he would have mentioned it.” She looked Adam up and down as she spoke, and he couldn’t help pulling down on his jacket to straighten it.

  “It’s good that you made it over here,” she started to say, then seemed to change tracks. “Though I’m not sure what you think you can learn. It’ll all be in the report.”

  “No doubt. I like to see things firsthand. You understand.” Adam said it as a statement, not a question.

  Ramona nodded her head once in acquiescence and grinned. “Okay, I’ll show you the basics.”

  She pushed a button on the brick column to the side of the drive and Adam heard the click of the gate unlocking. He pushed it open and walked into the garden.

  Ramona turned toward to the house without waiting for him, sweeping her arm to take in the scene in one gesture. She spoke rapidly, as if daring Adam to keep up. “This is the residence of the French Ambassador to the U.S., currently Alain Saint-Amand. It’s owned by the government of France. The delegation was coming out of the main house, there” — she indicated the marble steps at the high curve of the drive — “moving toward vehicles parked right in front. The shot was fired from somewhere close to the house, to the right of the entrance. It caught the group as they were approaching their vehicles.”

  Adam looked out at the scene as he listened to her description, then turned his atten
tion to Ramona. “Someone waiting for the right moment?”

  She shrugged. “Waiting. Or someone who knew their schedule.”

  She touched Adam lightly on the shoulder to indicate that he should follow her, then turned to walk around the perimeter of the yard, keeping up her explanation as they walked.

  Adam kept his eyes trained on the scene in front of him, absorbing every detail so he could recall it later as he needed it, trying to ignore the sense of Ramona walking close beside him. The rustle of her uniform as she moved. The light scent of vanilla that lingered on the air behind her as she walked.

  She had moved on to saying something about the staff at the residence, but Adam still had some more questions about the scene. “Where was the shooter standing, exactly?”

  She bit back what she had been saying and frowned again. “Too soon to know, Detective.” She gave his title an inflection that made it sound more like an insult than a sign of rank.

  Adam took a breath. He wasn’t here to make friends, but he needed her to share information, to let him in to the investigation. “What do we know about his location?”

  “You can see where the weapon was found, in that line of hedges there. It was thrown there, no evidence so far that he was standing there.”

  So at least he understood now why the crime scene techs were moving out through the line of hedges and beyond with their equipment and why the techs on the drive were setting up laser range finders, equipment that might or might not work in the shade of the garden.

  “They should be able to identify the location of the shooter based on the trajectory of the bullet.”

  “Pretty close.” Ramona shrugged. “You know it won’t be exact, but yeah, that will help.”

  They paused in their perambulation of the yard when the front door opened and a man in a bespoke silk suit stepped out. His was not the standard FBI uniform and he was clearly not part of the investigatory team.

  The man paused dramatically on the front steps, one hand over his eyes as if to shade his vision from the few shafts of light that could work their way through the trees’ thick foliage. Completing his scan of the yard, he turned toward a group of agents near the front door. One peeled off from the rest of the group and went to meet him.

  The agent spoke first. “Ambassador, is there something I can help you with? We are still working on our investigation out here.”

  “Yes, I can see that, Agent Hennessy.” The Ambassador’s patrician voice carried across the yard, and Adam and Ramona had no difficulty hearing him. Hennessy’s voice was softer, and Adam focused to make out his words.

  “I need you to stay inside right now, Ambassador. For your own safety.”

  “Pshtt.” The Ambassador made a sound that on anyone but a Frenchman would have seemed impolite and waved away Agent Hennessy’s concern with a well-manicured hand. “I am not afraid. I know that I am safe here. Look around you, I am surrounded by—” He paused as he turned his own eyes in the direction he had suggested for Hennessy, as if evaluating the scene before continuing. “Protection,” he finally finished his sentence, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt that he did not find the presence of the agents comforting. “I must remind you, Agent Hennessy, that this is French property. I cannot have you lingering here any longer than necessary.”

  Hennessy’s mouth firmed, but his response was polite. “I assure you, Ambassador, we will not linger. We need to take a few more measurements of the scene, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  The Ambassador’s hand moved up to his silver mane, though not a hair was out of place. “And I would never dream of slowing that investigation. I simply wanted to assess the current state, so that I could inform my colleagues.”

  “We only need a couple more hours, sir, then the yard will be yours again. Until then…” Hennessy gestured subtly toward the door.

  “Of course, of course. And Agent Hennessy, if there is anything I can offer you in support, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Ambassador Saint-Amand smiled as he turned away from Hennessy. His eye alighted momentarily on Ramona and Adam, then he turned and continued back into the house, the heavy door closing behind him with a sigh.

  Ramona laughed under her breath. “We all have competition, I guess.”

  “Tell me about Agent Hennessy,” Adam asked in a low voice, recognizing an opportunity. “He’s not PD?” The words “like us” didn’t need to be said.

  “Roger Hennessy. He’s in charge of the investigation here at the house,” she answered, also keeping her voice down and looking away from the front of the house as she spoke. “FBI. He wasn’t on the scene when the murder happened. Sam Burke was here. He saw the boy get shot.” She paused, and a wave of pain passed silently over her face, then was gone. “FBI took over as soon as they arrived, of course. They’re working closely with DS on it, since DS still has chief responsibility for the ambassador’s safety.”

  “Is there French security here?”

  Ramona pointed with her chin, her hands steady behind her back. “Just one guy. I don’t know his name yet. He’s been here for about six months, I’m told. His job is to protect the ambassador. He has no jurisdiction in this investigation. Come on.” She once again touched Adam lightly to move him toward the house. He felt the warmth of her touch even after her hand had moved away.

  They continued their walk around the yard, staying to the sides so as not to interfere with the crime scene investigators. As they neared the house, their path took them close up against the dark hedge that ran along the front of the house. The weapon had been found in the partner to this hedge, branching out from the far side of the door. Once again, Adam was struck by the coolness of the yard, the damp darkness of the brown and green hedge despite the warmth of the June afternoon.

  “You know, I’m actually glad you’re here, Kaminski.” Ramona glanced at Adam as she spoke.

  “Really?” He smiled, moving his hand across his face in a futile attempt to hide his dimples. “I didn’t get that impression.”

  “No.” Ramona laughed and Adam could see some of the tension visibly leave her shoulders. “I’m glad that Philly PD sent someone down here.” Even as she spoke, she frowned and shook her head. “I mean, not that we need help from Philly PD. Nothing like that — our friends at DS and FBI can work this case better than anyone.”

  Adam didn’t believe the friends idea for a minute, but he let that slide. “Okay, then what’s your angle?”

  “It’s that you need me as your liaison.” She shrugged. “Simple self-interest, that’s all.”

  “And you want to be involved.”

  Ramona raised her eyebrows. “Every time there’s a back alley murder no one cares about or an overdose, DC police department gets the case. But a high-profile murder… well, in DC that always means the FBI. I’m looking for a way to get in on a case that doesn’t have me running around the Southeast in the middle of the night.”

  Adam had heard stories about the poorer neighborhood of the city and knew what she meant. “So even though you’re assigned as my babysitter, that’s still better for you than sitting the case out, is that it?”

  “Babysitter, yeah.” She put her head to one side. “Don’t expect me to sit back and watch.”

  “I never would.”

  Ramona laughed again. “I’m glad we understand each other, Kaminski. We’ll get on just fine.”

  Adam remembered a time when he had felt that kind of enthusiasm for his cases, and that level of competition. It hadn’t been that long, really, but the years seemed to merge together, one case after another. It was good to be reminded of that kind of purpose and dedication. A focus on catching a killer, no matter what. And it was good that Ramona Davis was finally letting him in.

  “Then tell me about Sam Burke,” he said out loud. “How’d he get you involved in this? What’s your connection to him?”

  “Ah, Sam.” Ramona paused and seemed to be examining the sky over Adam’s right shoulder. “I’ve known him all my life.
At least it seems like that sometimes.”

  “How so?”

  “He was my father’s partner.”

  “Your dad was in Diplomatic Security?”

  “No.” Ramona smiled. “Nothing so fancy. Dad was a cop. A real cop.” She winked with the last statement.

  “Sam was DC police? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep. True blue. For a while, at least. He was a rookie when my dad was in his last years on the force, so they paired up. Dad taught Sam everything he knows.” She looked back at Adam, a wry expression on her face. “Including how to look out for me, apparently.”

  “It can’t be that bad having people like that to watch out for you.”

  “Hey, in this case it’s a good thing. I know you were coming down regardless. I hear the Kapoors insisted.”

  “And apparently have some pull.”

  “Anyone in MPDC could have been paired up with you. Sam’s the point of contact on DS, he made the call to my captain to have me assigned. And here I am.”

  “And here we are,” Adam corrected her.

  “Right… of course.” Her expression gave lie to her words of agreement. “So now you know my story, Kaminski. At some point I might want to hear yours, but how about first we get back to the case at hand?”

  Adam pointed toward the spot on the driveway where Jay had fallen, almost cleared now of the technicians that had been covering it. “The shooter couldn’t have been too far away. Even once we pinpoint his exact location, there aren’t that many places he could have been standing.”

  Ramona moved her eyes around the yard, across the drive, and to the street. “You’re right. No way he was standing on the street, wrong angle. The farthest he could have been was at the edge of the house, firing out toward the drive.”

  “So how’d he miss?” Adam asked.

  Ramona shrugged. “Dumb luck, I guess.”

  Adam shook his head. “Not for Jay.” He put his hand out and focused his eyes, as if taking a shot himself. “Not a chance I would have missed that. You?”

  She eyeballed the shot. “Not a chance.”