“Can we verify that with him?”
“He’s at a funeral in Linden. Their phones are off, but dispatch should be able to contact someone attached to the detail.”
Burnham held out a hand. “Key.”
Quentin hesitated. “I told the lieutenant nobody opens that case but him.”
“I’m giving you a lawful instruction to let us inspect it,” Burnham said. “We’re investigating a weapons complaint.”
Quentin looked at Casey, who seemed about to speak, then at the older officer. He did not want to create a bigger problem. “I’ll open the storage room,” he said. “The case itself is latched. I’ll show you what I was given.”
They went to the boathouse. Several guests followed at a respectful distance, including Rowan, who carried his folded copy of the Parks email. Bethany was halfway through changing in the bus; she had not yet heard what was happening. Alma had taken the groom aside to tell him not to bring any fresh trouble to the bride.
Quentin unlocked the outer door and opened the storage room. The black case lay on the shelf exactly where he had placed it. He lifted it to a bench and unfastened the catches.
The contents were plainly ceremonial: polished hilts, protective sleeves, and a set of matched dress sabers arranged in foam. Casey examined them without touching the blades.
“These appear to be dress pieces,” he said. “Consistent with what he told us.”
Burnham stared at the case. He had expected something more ambiguous, something that would justify the tone of Candace’s call. Instead the equipment looked like what it was: formal gear prepared for an event.
“They’re still weapons,” he said.
“They’re secured,” Quentin replied. “And I told you what was here before you opened anything.”
“Turn around,” Burnham said.
Quentin blinked. “For what?”
“For everybody’s safety while we sort it out. Hands behind your back.”
Casey turned toward the senior officer. “Sir, he cooperated. We have the case and the room is secure.”
“Upton. Watch the doorway.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Quentin looked at the two officers, then slowly placed his hands behind his back. He was angry, but he had seen enough people suffer for sudden movements around a frightened officer to understand the value of remaining still. The cuffs closed. A sharp metal pressure settled against his wrist.
“I didn’t threaten anyone,” he said.
“Then this will be quick,” Burnham answered.
It was not quick. Burnham walked him back to the pavilion and seated him beside a picnic table, securing one cuffed wrist to a steel support while he spoke to the caller. Casey stood a step away, uncomfortable with the improvisation and even more uncomfortable with his own silence.
Rowan approached. “Officer, he told you what was in the case. He opened it for you. What’s the reason for restraining him?”
“Step back, sir.”
“I have the wedding confirmation. This is our pavilion until eight.”
“You’re not under arrest,” Burnham said to Rowan. “Don’t make it harder for everybody else.”
Candace’s phone appeared at the edge of the group. She zoomed in on Quentin’s wrists.
“It’s handled, neighbors,” she announced. “See? You call, they come.”
Quentin looked across the grass at the bus. He could see the faint movement of someone behind a curtained window. Bethany was getting ready. She had asked him to keep her wedding free of police business. He had tried. The irony almost made him laugh.
“Please don’t tell my sister yet,” he said to Rowan. “Let her have a few more minutes.”
Rowan looked down at the cuffs. “She needs to know.”
“She needs to be a bride today,” Quentin replied.
Rowan could not bring himself to argue with the hope behind the words. He walked toward the bus to decide how to tell her, and Candace followed him with the camera as though the humiliation belonged to her.
