“Did she ever talk about work? Any of the investigations she ran?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing really. She might’ve bitched about a particular boss or a bad day, but she never got into the specifics.”
“Have you ever heard of the group called The Burning Land?”
“Those assholes? All of us have had to deal with them. Why? Are they suspects?”
“Just being thorough. I’d like to look at them a little closer.”
“I have an aide who keeps track of any group that’s a threat. The Capitol Police also brief us. They tend to have really good insight into these groups.” The congressman turned to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. “They’re protesting on the National Mall today.” The congressman handed me the paper.
It was a map of the mall. Xs marked where groups were protesting or holding rallies. I looked up at the congressman. “Can I keep this?”
He nodded.
“Thank you for the info. I might have a few more questions. But you’ve been very helpful.”
“All I ask is that you find Emily’s killer.”
He didn’t even need to ask that.
Chapter 26
I took the short walk from the Capitol campus, considering what I was hoping to accomplish, as I crossed Union Square past the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial. The Capitol Reflecting Pool spread out behind the bronze and marble statue. I wanted to see these morons with The Burning Land in action. I didn’t want to alert them to my investigation. It was a tightrope to walk.
The temperature had dipped, and I zipped up my light windbreaker. I wasn’t sure there was a reason to confront Jeremy Pugh or anyone from The Burning Land. I had to keep telling myself I only wanted to help the investigation. No matter how much I’d like to punch Jeremy Pugh right in the face, I’d have to wait.
I had to glance at the map once to see exactly where The Burning Land would be positioned on the wide-open fields. Ten minutes later, I was watching the hulking Jeremy Pugh, surrounded by the group’s other members. They looked like children next to him. I could make out a couple of signs among the half dozen protesters. One said, NO POLITICAL PARTIES. The other said, BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME. It seemed redundant, but I wasn’t going to mention it.
Next to the area where The Burning Land was putting on their show, the Wounded Warrior Project had a couple of information tables. They were collecting money and informing anyone who wanted to listen about the organization. I wanted to listen. As I drew closer, I wondered if anyone from The Burning Land would recognize me out of context. I doubted it.
Before anyone noticed me at the table, I slipped a twenty into the WWP’s donation jar. A young man wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a tan leather glove on his left hand stepped up to me. We chatted for a moment, and he told me he was a volunteer who had recently been discharged from the army.
The lean young man, who was a little over six feet tall, still had the short-cropped hair of an Army Ranger. He told me about some of his assignments and training.
I said, “The Wounded Warriors are doing great work.”
The young Ranger said, “Thanks. It has a much more personal meaning to me.”
I stared at him, but he must’ve been used to questioning looks. He didn’t say a word as he raised his left arm and pulled his sleeve up his forearm. It was a metal prosthetic with pistons in a titanium case.
The young man smiled. “I wear the glove even when it’s warm. The prosthetic hasn’t been completely tuned to give me function in two fingers. It also tends to freak out kids.”
“Can I ask how you lost it?”
“Sniper near Bagram Air Base. Took it off from the elbow down. My brother calls me the Terminator because I’m learning to use the arm in a hundred different ways.” The young man cocked his head and looked at me. “What about you? Were you ever in the service?”
“No. I joined the NYPD more than twenty years ago.”
“That’s cool. Anyone who’s doing something in public service deserves credit. Especially cops.”
I enjoyed talking to the young man as people walked past without even glancing at the table. I could also look over at The Burning Land members. There weren’t many of them right now.
I took a risk and said to the young Ranger, “Have you talked to any of the people next to you?”
“The Burning Land? Only for a second when we got here. The big asshole in the Tennessee Titans shirt told us we had to move over because they were expecting more than 200 people to protest. We’ve outnumbered them all day. You looking at them for a crime?”