“The hell I will,” Powell said, cutting Tyrell off. “Your badge and your weapon.”
Tyrell felt the bottom drop out of his world. “You’re kidding me?”
Powell held out his hand.
“You looked at where we’re standing, Tyrell? You thought about the fact that it might not be your ideas that are crazy but your way of following them? Hand them over or I’ll have departmental charges made against you through Commissioner Devereux.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” Powell said. “But you’ve already made yours by putting yourself where you shouldn’t damned well be.”
Tyrell was about to say something when his train of cognition slammed to a halt. Putting yourself where you shouldn’t damned well be. An image of Daniel Neville’s room at the hospital drifted through the field of his awareness and he gasped as a flood of revelations rushed through his mind.
“Damn, I’ve been an idiot,” he said out loud.
“Smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Powell snapped. “Badge and weapon.”
Tyrell focused again on Powell and handed his service pistol over as an image of Claretta Neville flashed through his mind. You gimme somethin’ to have faith in.
“There’s no way I’m going to walk away from this. I know how the kid died. It ain’t over till it’s over, and the key to it all is Casey Jeffs.”
Captain Powell rubbed his temples with his free hand.
“You want to keep chasing rainbows, Tyrell, then go ahead, but make damned sure neither I nor the commissioner hear a damned thing about it till you can prove something. As far as the department’s concerned you’re suspended until further notice.”
Relieved of his weapon and badge, Tyrell strode past Powell toward the Senate building’s elevators.
* * *
Senator Isaiah Black watched as Detective Tyrell was stripped of his badge and gun before he and the remaining police officers stode away to the elevators. He was thinking deeply about what he had heard when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He lifted it out, and saw the name flashing on the screen. k. patterson.
The senator took a breath, and answered the call.
“Kelvin.”
“Senator,” the pastor replied formally down the line. “I hope that I’m not interrupting anything?”
“No, Pastor, but I’m just on my way out to the rally. What can I do for you?”
The senator heard a sigh down the line before the pastor spoke.
“You were right, of course. I can’t afford not to bridge our differences, especially not at such a critical time in your campaign. America needs you as much as I do, and we will be stronger unified. Perhaps you could stop by the church on your way through? I’d be delighted to join you at the rally, and proclaim our support for your campaign.”
Senator Black struggled to control the broad grin that spread across his face as he glanced at his reflection in the suite’s glass doors, an image of the White House appearing unbidden before him. Detective Tyrell’s image materialized before the reflection, his warning echoing around the senator’s brain. Two guards, that was all he’d need, and he could slip out of the Hart Senate Office Building’s tunnel entrance and avoid the army of journalists camped outside the building.
“I’d be delighted, Pastor. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
FIRST DISTRICT STATION
M STREET SW, WASHINGTON DC
Lopez tossed her case files onto her desk like a spoiled child discarding an old toy and picked up her jacket and car keys. She couldn’t bring herself to hate Captain Powell but she sure as hell hated herself. If she hadn’t reported Tyrell, then none of this would have happened. By now he’d probably be having his ass whipped by Commissioner Devereux, and Lopez herself was headed home with her own tail between her legs.
From where the files had fallen, a picture of Damon Sheviz stared out at her in black and white, his eyes a mischievous cross between those of the enlightened and the fanatic. There was something about the image that made her feel uneasy, something primal.
Beside her Lucas Tyrell’s phone rang suddenly, making her jump. She reached across and picked the receiver up.
“Yeah?”
“Hello,” came a voice that Lopez guessed was probably from the Windy City. “Is Detective Tyrell there?”
“He’s”—Lopez picked her words with care—“off duty right now. Let me take your name and number and I’ll get hold of Tyrell.”
“Of course,” the voice said, “my name’s Douglas Jarvis, Defense Intelligence Agency.”
“And what’s it regarding?”
“It’s regarding a report filed with the ICMP. I’ve been trying to reach Detective Tyrell but he’s