The PowWow

"You have something," she said. Not a question.

"Several somethings," I said. "Starting with a name. The victim is Tess — last name pending confirmation from Naomi, but we have a witness who knew her. The marks on the body are deliberate staging. Exsanguination is complete and unexplained by wound size." I paused. "And the man your campaign staffer described — the consultant — his name is Devin Cross."

Silence on her end. The kind that meant she was writing.

"The witness," she said. "Who is it?"

"Her name is Mara Harrison."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Harrison," she said carefully.

"Yeah."

"As in — "

"Alec Harrison. Mayoral candidate. She's his daughter."

I heard her exhale. Not quite a sigh. The sound of someone watching a pattern get considerably more complicated.

"She's safe," I said. "She's with Jeremiah and Rebecca. She's — she's okay."

"That's good." A beat. "Levi."

"I know."

"This connects the Goth presence at the campaign events directly to — "

"I know, Rachel."

"Which means it's not just a disruption pattern anymore."

"I know." I waited a beat. "Which is why Jacob and I need to talk to Harrison directly. If you could reach out and let him know we're coming, that would — "

"I'll call him," she said. "He's at Riverside Park. Rally this afternoon." A pause that had something careful in it. "Levi."

"Yeah?"

"Good work."

I held that for a second longer than I should have. "Thanks."

She hung up. I looked at the phone for a moment, then put it in my pocket.

Jacob was already at the Highlander.

We pulled out of Jeremiah's street and into the afternoon traffic. The park was twenty minutes, give or take. I gave it about four before I said anything.

"So," I said.

Jacob looked out the passenger window.

"Naomi," I said.

Nothing.

"I'm just saying," I continued, "that for a man who maintains very careful — "

"We should double date," Jacob said. "So you can instruct me."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

Jacob continued looking out the window with the serenity of a man who had just won something and was too dignified to acknowledge it.

I drove the rest of the way in silence, which was probably the most articulate response available to me.

Riverside Park on a rally afternoon was primary colors and noise and the particular organized chaos of political enthusiasm. Signs. Folding tables. A portable stage that had been assembled with more ambition than elegance. A sound system doing its best.

We found a place to park and walked toward the gathered crowd.

I saw Harrison. It was hard not to — he was the one getting ready to speak, working the pre-rally handshakes with the practiced ease of someone who had been doing it long enough that it looked natural. Tall. Silver at the temples. Charcoal grey suit that fit the way expensive suits did, like it had been specifically persuaded into that shape. He had Mara's eyes, I noticed. The same quality in them — perceptive, taking things in — just directed outward at constituents rather than inward at a coffee shop she should have left earlier.

His aide was nearby. Tan slacks. Polo shirt. Headset. Clipboard. Phone to his ear. Standing at the edge of the stage area with the relaxed authority of someone who belonged exactly where he was and knew it. The man was busy too from the looks of it. No one else in a suit other than Harrison, that didn’t bode well.

We moved toward Harrison.

His security — two of them, professional — clocked us early and moved to intercept. I had Rachel's name ready and used it. One of them stepped away, made a call, and came back nodding. Harrison looked over, finished his handshake, and walked toward us with the measured approach of a man who allocated his attention in increments and was currently allocating us approximately forty-five seconds.

"Mr. Harrison," I said. "I'm Levi, this is my brother Jacob. We wanted to let you know personally — your daughter is safe. She's being looked after."

Something moved across his face. Relief, briefly, and then something else took its place — a recalibration, a return to the larger context of the afternoon.

"Good," he said. "That's good to know. I appreciate you telling me." He was already half-turning. "Now I can focus on — "

I felt the irritation arrive before I'd decided what to do with it.

"On the rally," I said.

He looked at me.

"I'm just noting," I said, keeping my voice even, "that most fathers, when told their daughter is safe, spend a little more time on the safe part before moving on to the next thing on the schedule." I paused. "Especially when that daughter has been fairly clearly asking to be noticed for a while."

Harrison's expression tightened. Not angry. The practiced tightening of a man who dealt with difficult conversations by managing them. "I appreciate that. I do. And I agree with you. But I also have a responsibility to save this city that — "

"The city has already been saved," Jacob said.

Harrison looked at him.

"Jesus dying on the cross saved the city. You want to restore it," Jacob finished.

The distinction landed in the silence between them. Harrison absorbed it with the expression of a man who wasn't sure whether he'd been corrected or complimented and didn't entirely like either option.

"You sound like my radical Democrat opponents," he said.

Jacob's expression didn't change. "Rebellious," he said. "The word you're looking for is rebellious." A beat. "Radical means rooted in. The only true radical was Jesus."

Harrison stared at him.

I let it sit for exactly the right amount of time, then said, quietly, mostly to myself but not entirely, "You'd think a conservative candidate who advertises faith, family, and freedom would be a little more attuned to what he proclaims." I paused. "I guess one out of three is a start."

Harrison looked at me. Then at Jacob. Then back at me.

"Thank you for your help," he said. Clipped. Final. "I think we're done here."

"We are," I agreed.

We walked back the way we'd come, through the crowd and the signs and the sound system doing its enthusiastic best. I didn't look back immediately.

When I did, Harrison had already returned to his pre-rally orbit, handshakes and smiles reassembled.

But the aide was watching us.

Not the way a campaign aide watches people leaving an event. Not casual, not incidental. Focused. Still. His phone was still at his ear but whatever conversation was happening on it had clearly become secondary to whatever calculation was happening behind his eyes.

He watched us all the way to the edge of the park.

I filed it and said nothing until we reached the Highlander.

"He was watching us," I said.

Jacob opened the passenger door. "I know."

“I guess he was concerned we rattled his candidate’s cage.”

“Probably,” said Jacob, back to using a dictionary of terms for long-winded responses.

I got in. Started the engine. Sat for a moment.

“He certainly stopped everything he was doing to watch us leave though. Has to mean something, especially with all the things an aide has to take care of.”“Probably.”

Sometimes, I couldn’t shut him up.

I pulled out of the parking space and back into the afternoon.

Behind us, somewhere in the park, a sound system announced that Candidate Harrison was ready to speak.

I thought about Mara's eyes. About the hesitation before she asked to wash the dye out. About Joseph in the pit, overlooked by the people who should have known better.

One out of three.

It wasn't enough.