C11 Chapter 11

Monday, May 12, 1681

It was another frustrating day for Bright Boldmir, a twenty-seven-year-old detective, with black hair and a blue uniform. It had been the same since the Ann Marshall murder case of April 1680. A group of detectives, Boldmir included, had been assigned to investigate the murder, but the Blue Hawks had swooped in and taken over the case. After that, all of his colleagues, as well as some of his superiors involved in the case, were transferred to different stations, far from the capital city. Even the police general, Jad Flightrod, had told him to take vacations and drop the case although he had not been transferred. He felt like he was hiding something from him. He felt betrayed.

Boldmir was the only officer left in the capital who had seen Miss Marshall’s destroyed body; furthermore, little by little, he had lost access to the case files. He considered himself to be a lot more capable than many in the new unit, and he did not understand what made them so different, apart from their title and secrets. Time, frustration and the feeling that something much bigger was controlling everything fed his resentment toward the Blue Hawks, who seemed to have not only taken his friends away from him, but also his job.

"That black hair of yours is going to go gray from so much thinking," said the archives keeper, a gray-haired, keen-eyed old man, during one of his many visits to the basement.

The detective was hovering over a table with various newspapers with reports on the Blue Hawks. Many times he had considered telling other people what he knew, but he never felt that it was the right time. Nobody else seemed to have anything against the Hawks and the unit seemed to have the support of the government and the media. Besides, in the middle of last year, just weeks after the entire detective team had been turned over, almost all of the personnel at the station where he worked were also replaced. The new people did not seem to take their work seriously; they were only worried about what time their shift ended.

"Do you want to go back over the Lowinson case?" asked the archive keeper, picking up a folder from under the counter and putting it on the counter top, getting the detective’s attention. "I found this under some boxes; it was signed by Captain Egan."

His unit’s only open case was that of the ex-politician: Bernard Lowinson, accused of detonating an explosive that destroyed part of the House of Parliament, causing fifteen deaths and forcing an expensive rebuild. There had been rumors of Lowinson’s activities for almost five years, but pinpointing his whereabouts had proved impossible.

"Leave it on the table, I’ll take a look at it later," said the detective, going back to the newspapers.

Boldmir had felt obliged to continue with the case as a way of keeping the spirit of his former unit alive and remembering his friends. However, this was not enough for him, and the fact that his former bosses — the last one, an amateur watchmaker, called Mr. Egan — had surrendered to the enigma, carried more weight.

"By the way," said the archives keeper. "There are some notes on the new Emma Kantor case."

"I know," he answered, as he read the newspapers, leafing through each page.

"And to think that there hadn’t been a murder for some time. On May 5 . . . poor girl. Her two friends are the suspects."

"Jeff Johanstown and Enrique Ortega, I know," said Boldmir without looking up. "The Blue Hawks found them both unconscious in the old Green Almond Library, less than ten feet from the dead body. Johanstown was found with a pistol, which had been shot, in his hand. The other boy was found to the side, near a fallen bookshelf. Emma Kantor apparently bled to death and it is said that they were both blackmailing her."

The archive keeper glanced at him with surprise, and then his expression returned to normal.

"You have a good memory!" he said.

"I need one for my job," Boldmir took a breath and turned around to look at him. "I heard that they removed some of the debris . . . wood and old books, the next day, but I can’t imagine why they would have done that."

"And what was their motive for killing her?"

"If I knew that I wouldn’t be standing here," replied the detective. "Either way, it’s all up to the Hawks now . . . not even the newspapers can agree on a motive, everyone is trying to make money off the case."

"Ah, the Hawks. An order came in from them today requesting that everything pertaining to Emma’s case be sent to their headquarters, with a copy to be sent to the prosecutor’s office."

"Typical," said Boldmir clenching his fist.

"To someone called Rightmiller."

Boldmir, surprised, looked at him intently for a few seconds, before responding.

"Right what?"

Adam Rightmiller, the prosecutor for the case, was one of Boldmir’s old university friends. Along with Aeryn Waterstone, the three of them had been a very close-knit group of friends. That same afternoon, the detective paid a visit to the Green Almond Library. By the time he arrived, the city street lamps were already on. In front of the main entrance, on the path between the library and the plaza facing it, there was an open-sided marquee that was being used as an outdoor office. In the center of the tent there was a table piled with papers and objects, surrounded by a number of Blue Hawks. A lamp hung from the highest part of the roof, located at the center of the structure. As he got closer, he could see that all of them, including two individuals wearing elegant dark suits, were stowing objects in sturdy wooden boxes with padlocks.

At the time the only identifying feature that distinguished them as Blue Hawks was a blue hawk embroidered on a white background on one of their jacket and shirt sleeves. All of the police who had been assigned to this unit had maintained their previous rank, with the difference being that now they usually had more authority than ’normal’ police due to the circumstances and the Blue Hawk’s apparent importance. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that the Hawks were just normal police transferred to a new unit.

As soon as he got close to them all of the Hawks turned to look at him. Before any of them went to stop him, one of them, much taller and burlier than the rest, walked toward Boldmir. With a bald head, blond mustache and aggressive blue eyes, Elmer Bellamy stopped a few yards away from him. They both recognized each other immediately. Bellamy frowned; he still remembered that dreadful phrase: "Are you really a cop?"

For an arrogant person with a family tradition in the military and police like Bellamy, those words, uttered at a meeting two years ago, had damaged his pride and reputation in such a way that it had led to his removal from a detective unit. Bellamy had almost put three rookie police in unnecessary danger — including a young Bright Boldmir — with a risky strategy to trap who they believed to be Bernard Lowinson’s accomplice. The only one to question the plan had been Boldmir. Various high level officials had been there — among them, a relative of Bellamy — and, after listening to Boldmir’s convincing argument, not to mention his closing sentence, the decision to reformulate the plan was made immediately. After that, the Bellamy family was never respected in the same way. That, plus his own family members’ disapproval, had filled Elmer Bellamy with rage, and he had sworn that he would avenge himself.

"What do you want?" Boldmir paused at the question. Bellamy’s sharp voice and bewildered expression made him uneasy. Three Blue Hawks came up behind Bellamy, keeping an eye on the detective.

"I came to speak with Prosecutor Rightmiller," said Boldmir. Elmer Bellamy, without changing his expression, turned around for an instant, looking carefully at each and every one of the men who were organizing the objects in the boxes.

"He’s not here," replied Bellamy, looking at him intently. He turned and walked back toward the tent.

"Is it actually possible that you still haven’t learned what it means to be a policeman?" asked Boldmir. Bellamy, furious, moved forward, stopping right in front of him and looking down at him, due to their considerable height difference.

It would not be the first time that Boldmir had faced someone much bigger than himself. One spring day during his last year of high school he had confronted a pair of thugs almost a foot taller than himself. In the end everything was resolved without getting physical, but he had always believed that if push had come to shove he could have beaten them, although surely not entirely unscathed. This time it was just one person, but he was aware of the danger of things turning violent, and he knew that openly fighting one of them would not be a good idea, so he decided not to confront him.

"I am looking for Prosecutor Adam Rightmiller," said Boldmir, firmly, raising his voice. Almost everyone stopped what they were doing and started to whisper among themselves.

"The prosecutor is not here," answered Bellamy, in the same tone of voice.

Everyone was looking at them. The detective controlled himself. With complete indifference, he took his police cap, which hung from his belt, and placed it on his head. He still knew Adam’s address; even if it were going to be risky, if the Hawks were going to stop him from talking to his friend, he would go and wait for him at his house.

"I will go and find him myself," said Boldmir before turning away and walking back toward the avenue.

Boldmir’s words evoked an enormous sense of irritation in Bellamy. Boldmir was not a Blue Hawk, which meant he had inferior status, but that was not enough. If he could disregard him so easily, it meant that he still thought he was better than Bellamy. Bellamy took a breath to shout at him, but the detective was now quite a distance away.

"Boldmir?" a voice rang out, getting the detective’s attention as well as that of the others present. Bellamy stopped. From among the people around the tent came the prosecutor in an elegant cherry-colored suit, white shirt, cravat around his neck, a medal pinned to his chest, long dark brown hair and square black-rimmed glasses. He was almost the same age as the detective.

Boldmir, hearing a familiar voice, turned around. He recognized his friend, whom he had not seen for a number of months. Bellamy, annoyed, returned to join the other Blue Hawks. He had no authority over the prosecutor. Now that he knew Boldmir had a new objective, he had to rethink his strategy for finding a way to get his revenge.

"Adam," said Boldmir, relieved.

* * *

After the officers had taken away some of the boxes, Bright Boldmir and Adam Rightmiller stood and chatted, there in the makeshift office in the middle of the street. The table, covered with various folders and stacks of paper, was surrounded by boxes and boxes of evidence, which the detective quickly scanned while they discussed everything he knew and why he so disliked the Blue Hawks. When he expressed his interest in the Emma case, Rightmiller understood his reason for paying him a visit.

"Sorry, some of the Hawks have their heads in the clouds," said Adam.

"I have noticed . . ." Boldmir eyes were serious and his friend could see that he was filled with anxiety and frustration.

"How are you going with the House of Parliament bomb case you told me about awhile back?"

"Same as always. Nothing." he said, without changing his expression.

"A few weeks ago they gave me some files about some possible connections that could lead to Bernard Lowinson. One of my contacts in the intelligence department —" he was interrupted.

"That case again," said the detective, listlessly.

"Oh, I thought you cared about it. According to my contact, some people call him ’The Bernocrat’.

"Adam, that case is dead," he caught his eye. He could not believe they gave Lowinson such a ridiculous nickname. "Who knows if I will ever find Lowinson? We haven’t been able to find any convincing evidence. The Emma Kantor case is more important, it’s concrete and nearby. Also, I think I can find something on the Hawks."

"The Hawks?" responded Adam, noting something odd. Boldmir did not say anything. "Ah, that’s right." Adam, after a pause, picked up one of the folders next to him on the table. He quickly checked the contents before handing it over to the detective. "This is the evidence list for the Kantor case, the only one that I’ve been able to see."

Boldmir quickly flipped through the document and spoke without looking up.

"There are some things missing."

"I know. It’s what other prosecutors have told me. The Hawks always take the most important evidence and then they send the report," Adam said, leaning on the table. "I always thought that they were just being paranoid, but I was wrong. It’s as if they are the only ones authorized to accuse and investigate, in that order, of course . . ."

"If they are capable of transferring all the investigators from the first case . . . they are capable of anything."

Adam sighed and looked down before speaking. The detective looked at him seriously.

"I knew you had something on them. Why didn’t you tell me until now?" asked Rightmiller, leaning forward a bit.

"Adam, there are things I can’t share with you until it’s the right time. I am the only person from that group that is still in the city. Do you think I can just go around talking about this? Thankfully they put you in charge of Emma’s case, now I have a friend on the inside."

Adam looked cautiously in both directions before leaning even closer to Boldmir still grasping the edge of the table, and spoke to him in a low voice.

"What are you looking for?"

"I want to bring down the Blue Hawks."

The detective’s answer surprised Adam, who then remembered something that had happened a number of years ago when Boldmir had used a similar phrase. Rightmiller laughed to himself, stood up straight and crossed his arms before responding.

"The way you did with Professor Winston?"

Professor Winston had taught an important subject during Boldmir’s brief time studying Law. The professor was known for his unfair grading method and his disrespectful treatment of students who did not live up to his ’expectations’, many of which were completely unrealistic, things he had never himself achieved, but that for some reason he saw as ’obligatory’ for his students. Boldmir was one of the few students who stood up to him in the middle of class one day. That incident, although it earned him the affection and trust of several people, condemned him to fail the subject along with Adam, who had also become unexpectedly involved in the argument.

"Winston?" Boldmir looked confused for a moment, before smiling nostalgically as he looked to one side. "Oh . . . we both failed that course, didn’t we?"

"Yes." "That was your fault. Only Aeryn passed. I don’t know what she did to get a ninety-five on that first exam."

"Ninety-five?"

"Don’t you remember? That was her grade. On the second exam she got ninety and on the final one she got ninety-five again."

Boldmir thought for a moment and then opened the folder he was holding once more, glancing at the contents before speaking.

"I guess there is more than one reason why you would remember every detail about Aeryn." he commented, looking over the document carefully.

"What . . . are you trying to say?"

"Nothing."

The detective had always enjoyed the chaos he could generate with his words and actions, as Rightmiller knew well. Adam coughed loudly before walking around to the side and speaking.

"Regarding what you are holding there, I am going to do everything I can to unearth something suspicious. Just try to keep out of the way of the Blue Hawks. I know you enjoy it, but it is better not to provoke them."

"I will try my best."

"Good," said Adam, after a pause. All of a sudden his expression changed to one of frustration and sadness. "But don’t ask too much of me." The detective looked at him with concern. "I am a civil servant, remember . . . it’s not like before when we could just do whatever we wanted without any consequences. My neck is on the line, Boldmir . . . I am being watched by a lot of people." He went back toward the table and picked up a copy of the day’s newspaper, handing it to the detective. "And here is the proof."

"A culprit," said Boldmir, reading the headline. With his other hand he returned the folder to his friend.

"Exactly. The people want a culprit." Adam placed the folder on the table. "And they are going to get one."

Boldmir looked at Rightmiller, who took off his glasses and turned to the side, looking worried.

"One of those two boys is going to prison."