Keeper (30 page)

Felice sat on the couch in the command post. The lunch room service had brought sat untouched on the cart in front of her, as she read yet another card and tried to stop crying. Dozens of flowers were in the room, standing in glasses of water and lying on the table and bed. Roses, daisies, carnations, and even some lilies. Most were white, though some of the flowers were pale pink or yellow.

We had screened all the sealed envelopes and the one box for explosives and metal and had come up negative. Felice had held the first envelope without opening it, and I knew she was afraid of what they might call her this time.

But she had opened the envelope anyway and found not a threat or condemnation, but a condolence card.

Dear Doctor Romero:

Please accept our sincerest sympathies for the loss of your daughter. Our prayers are with you at this time, and although we know your pain will never go away entirely, we wish you memories of joy.

Sincerely,

Christian Mothers for Life

Over twenty-five signatures were on the card in different color inks.

Every card was a variation on the first, some longer, some shorter, but all offering support for Dr. Romero’s loss from both the pro-life and pro-choice sides. Additionally, some praised her courage with words of admiration that made her blush when she read them. She opened the box to find a white scarf that had been hand-knitted, embroidered with the words “Common Ground.” His card had said, simply, “May this warm you when you are cold.” The scarf smelled of patchouli, too.

Felice read the last card and set it carefully with the others, saying, “I’d forgotten, you know?” She wiped her eyes with a napkin from the cart, removing her glasses first. Then she blew her nose. “I absolutely did not expect this.”

“This’ll probably happen again at your panel and at your talk,” I said. “When they bring you gifts, hand them directly to me. If it isn’t wrapped, if it’s anything they want you to open then and there, let me handle it.”

“I will,” she said.

Natalie said in my ear,
“We’re ready in the Imperial. ”
 

“Crowell shown up?”

“That’s a negative,”
she said.
“No sign of him. Don’t think he’s coming. ”

“We’re going to take a few minutes to get down there,” I said.

“All right. Then I’ll check three. ”

I grinned. It was our code for using the bathroom. That way if anyone was listening, they wouldn’t know we were suddenly short one person on our detail. “Confirmed,” I said.

“The panel?” Felice asked me.

“It’s time.”

She wiped her eyes again, then put her glasses back on. I helped her into her blazer, and she took my hand when she slipped into it, turning to face me. She said, “Thank you, Atticus.”

“It’s not over yet,” I said.

“I know. But I haven’t ever thanked you, I don’t think. And I want you to know.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “You’re doing fine.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Katie would be proud.”

Natalie came back on, saying,
“I’m check four. ”
 

“Confirmed. Pogo is on the move.”

The panel was titled, “Abortion and Reproductive Rights: Means of Family Planning.” Six people were on the panel, and it was moderated by none other than Madeline, whose last name turned out to be Schramm. It also turned out that she was a full professor of Ethics at NYU. The table on the dais was long, set five feet back from the edge of the platform, with the panelists all seated facing the room. Each person had a microphone, a pad of paper, a pencil, and a glass of water. A full pitcher was placed on either side of the moderator for refills. Dr. Romero sat second in from the left, beside the director of Planned Parenthood for Manhattan on one side, and a man from Social Services on the other. On the other side of Madeline sat Veronica Selby, a professor of religion from some seminary upstate, and an author from Vermont.

I stood about four feet behind Romero, a little to the left. This time, my view of the room was unobstructed, and I could see just about everything. Again Dale and Rubin were covering the exit and entrance, and again, Natalie was floating outside.

The room was packed. People stood at the back and sat on the floor in front of the platform. Before we had started, two Sentinel uniforms had walked through at our request and made certain all the aisles were clear. So far, they had remained that way, and the crowd was remarkably still, paying careful attention.

The dispatcher came over my radio shortly after Romero was seated, saying,
“Mr. Kodiak. be advised we have confirmation of one Sean Rich at the west entrance. ”

“What’s he doing?” I said.

There was a pause, then the dispatcher came back on.
“Working with the protesters. NYPD is watching him. Detective Lozano is here with me. He says Rich appears to be alone. ”

“Keep me informed,” I said.

“Ten-four.”

“All guards,” I said. “Confirm receipt of last conversation.”

Natalie, Rubin, and Dale called in order, each saving they had heard.

“Be on the lookout,” I said.

“Like we’re not already?”
Rubin said. He said it softly enough that the mike almost didn’t pick it up.

“Rubin, repeat please?”

There was a pause.
“Uh, negative, Atticus. Was just giving some guy directions. I’m clear. ”

Forty minutes into the panel, when Madeline was taking questions from the audience, a man in the sixth row suddenly struck the person in the seat next to him.

“Fight,” I said to my mike, and moved directly behind Romero’s seat.

“Got it,”
said Rubin.

The dispatcher came on,
“Units responding. ”

Natalie appeared in the doorway, then started working her way down the aisle. Two Sentinel units followed her in about three seconds later, converging on where the two men were grappling. The people on either side of them had risen and recoiled. No one left the room.

“Gentlemen!” Madeline said. “Gentlemen, stop it!”

Not surprisingly, the two men continued to pummel and tear at each other and then they were being pulled apart by the guards, Natalie supervising. I heard her tell the uniforms to eject the men from the conference.

“NYPD responding,”
the dispatcher said in my ear.

From my left I saw the door behind Dale open and I brought my hands down onto Felice’s shoulders, preparing to sweep the chair out from under her with my foot. Rich with a gun, I thought. Perfect.

“Dale, door,” I said.

He turned and his right hand started back for his gun before he realized he was looking at a cop.

“What the fuck are you doing?”
I heard him say.

The police officer said he was responding to the fight.

“Not through this door you don’t,”
Dale told him. He jerked the cop into the room, then slammed the door.
“Nothing, ”
he told me.

“I see,” I said.

“Going to have to chat with the guards in the hallway,”
he said.

“After Pogo’s secure.”

“Of course.”

I watched the policeman meet up with the two Sentinel uniforms and their angry charges. Spontaneous applause broke out in the audience when they were evicted from the room.

“It’s unfortunate,” Madeline told the crowd. “I think we were all hoping we could make it through this day without any violence. Let’s hope that’s all we’ll have to worry about.”

I let my hands slide off Felice and took two steps back, resuming my position.

Rubin, Dale, and I were walking Felice back to the command post when Natalie came over my radio.

“
Atticus, be advised that I’ve been informed by NYPD that Rich left the premises over an hour ago.
”

“Why the hell wasn’t I notified?”

“Lozano just found out,”
Natalie said.
“Apparently some sergeant on the ground thought that his arrival was the only important thing.
”

“Wonderful.”

We entered the CP, and I walked Felice to the bedroom, where she poured herself a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. Fowler followed us in from the main room.

Dale said, “I’m going to go yell at the guards.”

“You do that.”

Rubin said, “I’m going to watch him yell at the guards.”

“You do that, too.”

They both left, and I sat on the sofa and removed my glasses. I got myself a glass of water from the room service cart, pulled four ibuprofen from my coat, and swallowed them. Shortly after the two pugilists had been dragged from the room, I’d felt the beginnings of a headache start at each of my temples. The ache had slid its way to my forehead by the time we were ready to remove Dr. Romero, and now it was enough to distract me from my sore ankle.

“How you holding up?” Fowler asked me.

I made a face.

He took his notepad out of a pocket and flipped it open, then waited for me to put my glasses back on. He said, “The prints on the stairwell came back. I’ve got an identification for you. Name is Paul Grant. No record, found his prints through the California DMV. Twenty years old, six feet three, two hundred and fourteen pounds. Blue eyes, blond hair. They’re faxing a picture.”

“I don’t know the name,” I said. “Sounds like the right guy, though.”

“There’s no record of a Grant with SOS. We’re looking for other information, and the Bureau office in Los Angeles is sending someone out to his home in Irvine to talk to his parents. Should have more information by the end of the day.”

I nodded and rubbed my temples, thinking. Then I said, “Can you make sure that description gets passed to all the guards, everybody, along with the previous one?”

Fowler nodded. “I’ll do that now.”

“Crowell never showed?” I asked him.

“Not as far as I know. Guess he backed down.”

I didn’t like that. Crowell not showing worried me. Felice’s analysis of his personality had seemed correct. If he was missing as great an opportunity as this, there had to be a good reason. And for Crowell, it seemed to me, a good reason and self-preservation would be identical.

Something was going to come down, I was certain. Grant or no, Bridgett’s theories about SOS aside, Crowell wasn’t going to let this convention end without leaving his mark on it somehow.

Fowler asked, “That all?”

“For now. Thanks.”

He stopped at the door. “You’re almost through this thing,” he said. “Try to relax.”

I didn’t bother to respond.

“. . . simply, a woman’s right to reproductive services. In the deluge of media attention the abortion issue has attracted since
Roe
v.
Wade,
many of us have lost sight of this core point,” Dr. Romero said. “The clinic I run provides a full range of family planning services, from education and counseling to medical services and AIDS testing. “Yes, we perform abortions.

“As we also provide a full range of birth control methods, prenatal care, Pap smears, STD testing, pregnancy planning . . .”

We were in the New York Room now, Dr. Romero on the platform, leaning intently toward the microphone. Her speech was in front of her on the speaker’s podium, but she was hardly referring to it, glancing down at the yellow legal sheets occasionally only for reference. She spoke clearly, committed to having her words heard and understood.

And again, I was on the platform, four feet back from her, off to the right, listening to Natalie’s hot wash in my ear, letting my eyes scan the crowd. Of the five hundred seats that had been set up, all of them were filled, and again people stood at the back of the room and sat on the floor, away from the aisles. The metal cover to the light switches I’d noticed the day before had been replaced, and Rubin stood beside it at his post by the entrance.

This crowd had busy hands, though, many of the people taking notes. Rubin had noted four reporters, and, again, there were multiple photographers. Veronica Selby was in the audience, also, her chair parked on the outside of the second row on my right, the side nearest the entrance.

“Looks like the SOS protest is breaking up outside,”
Natalie said in my ear.

“Confirmed,” I said.    ‘

“
I’m working back to the second floor, ”
she said.
“First floor clear. ”

“Black coat, black tie, ninth row, near the aisle,”
Dale said.
“Reaching in bag
...”

I shifted my gaze, saw the man Dale meant. He was young, blond hair, but not big enough to be Grant and too big to be Barry.

“
Photographer
,” Dale said.
“He’s changing lenses on his camera. ”

I looked away, letting my eyes sweep back to the right quadrant of the room, and then saw a face I knew.

“Mary Werthin is in the audience,” I said softly. “Fourth row, fifth from left, blue floral print dress.”

“Looking
...” Rubin said.
“Hands are clear.”

“Confirm, hands are clear,”
Dale said.
“She has a purse. ”

“Watch her,” I said. “Dispatch, advise Detective Lozano that Mary Werthin is in the audience.”

“Will do,”
the dispatcher said.

“Want me back?”
Natalie asked.

“Negative. Continue float.”

“Confirmed. ”

Mary Werthin was watching Romero, but it didn’t seem that she was listening. Her hair was tied back, and she looked quite young. My immediate concern was more for Felice. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t seen Werthin yet.

“. . . cannot say it is simply an issue of family. It is an unstable word, treacherous and constantly changing,” Dr. Romero was saying. “To maintain that the only family of merit is, by definition, one husband, one wife, and a minimum of one child is ludicrous in this day and age. More to the point, perhaps, it is impractical. The need for family planning services, then . . .”