A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Damn,” he said, hanging up the mike. “If Bob Mongue collars those sons of bitches while I’m chasing down one of Mrs. Bain’s imaginary prowlers, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He shook his head. “This is what a quarter century of police work gets you, Kevin. Keep it in mind.”

Of course, Mrs. Bain was very apologetic when they failed to flush out a burglar. The hardest part on one of her calls was getting away—she kept pressing lemonade and homemade brownies on them. Russ extricated himself and Flynn by promising to have the young officer bring over the incident report in person. They escaped into the squad car, clutching a paper bag of brownies.

“You’re pretty good at that, Chief,” Flynn said. “How do—”

The radio crackled. “Fifteen fifty-seven, this is Dispatch.”

“Dispatch, this is fifteen fifty-seven. Come in.”

“Multiple reports of a disturbance at Riverside Park. One caller described it as a riot.”

Russ stared at the microphone in his hand. “A riot? Over what? Who took second place in the forty-and-over division?”

“Another caller described it as a rowdy demonstration. You better get over there. I’ve sent Noble and Mark, but you’re closer.”

A demonstration. The brownie in his stomach suddenly felt like a small lead brick. “We’re rolling, Dispatch. Keep me informed.”

“Will do. Dispatch out.”

Kevin Flynn was almost beside himself with excitement. “A riot? Are we going to get out the riot gear?”

“No, we’re not going to start lobbing gas grenades into a bunch of runners on the Fourth of July.” He switched on the lights and siren, dreading what he suspected he might see when they got there. BWI…a large open space…plenty of people around…He knew he should have put the elements together before now.

They couldn’t reach the park entrance in the cruiser. Despite blipping the siren to get people out of the way, it was too crowded. He parked and waded through the press of bodies, hauling people out of his way if they didn’t move fast enough, Kevin bobbing along in his wake.

“Two! Four! Six! Eight! We don’t want precipitate!”

All around him, spectators, picnickers, and runners were talking loudly and excitedly, pushing forward for a better view.

“A! B! C! D! Keep your lousy PCB!”

He could see the placards bouncing above the protesters’ heads, seven or eight of them: BAN PCBs and NO DREDGING AND WILL WORK FOR CANCER.”

“In! Out! Up! Down! Don’t contaminate our town!”

Sounded like the goddamned cheers were written by a preschool teacher. There was a scuffle on the platform, which was so jammed with people now that he couldn’t make out what was going on yet. He spotted Noble Entwistle forcing his way through the crowd from the riverbank side of the park.

“Brown! Blue! Gray! Green! Keep our soil and water clean!”

The sounds of a loud argument came from the platform; then the banner with its prominently displayed BWI logos shivered, and both weighted poles holding it toppled over with a loud clang. Aldermen leaped from the back of the structure to escape the tangle of fabric. In the ensuing confusion, the demonstration’s spokesperson thrust herself to the front edge of the small stage, bullhorn pointed toward the spectators. “Parents of Millers Kill! Do you want to risk your children’s health to make a development company in Baltimore rich?”

Russ fought to keep from closing his eyes in denial. There it was, his worst fear, in the flesh.

The remaining people on the platform stood helpless, unwilling to tackle the protester, and who could blame them? A seventy-four-year-old woman’s bones could break mighty easily.

He was within shouting distance now. “Mom!” he bellowed. “Get down from there!”

Chapter Nine

“Good Lord,” Clare said to no one in particular. Behind her, someone shoved forward, causing her to stumble and splash herself and the man in front of her with half the contents of her water bottle. The wet man turned and snarled at her. “I’m so sorry,” Clare said. She plucked her sodden T-shirt away from her goose bump–prickled flesh. She cooled down fast after a run, and all she had wanted to do was collect her official time, get back to her car, and pull on the sweats she had stashed there. Now she was stuck in a gridlock of excited humanity, pinned between the placard-waving protestors in front of her and what seemed like half the population of Millers Kill behind.

“Mom, get down from there!” she heard Russ order.

Mrs. Van Alstyne lowered her megaphone. “You’ll have to come and get me,” she said. The crowd nearby roared with laughter, and Clare could see Russ’s cheeks and ears turn pink.

“I know some of you think we’re doomed to be exposed to PCBs because we’re near Hudson Falls,” Mrs. Van Alstyne said through her megaphone. “I know some of you think the jobs that’ll come out of the new spa are worth a few extra chemicals in the groundwater.”