“Any injuries?” Casey asked.
“None reported.”
“Any description of the people?”
“Several guests at a pavilion. One man with a long case.”
“Sounds like it could be event equipment.”
Burnham glanced at him. “Don’t decide that before you get there.”
“I’m not. I’m asking.”
They drove past an intersection where families were carrying flags and picnic baskets toward a street festival. Firework stands had appeared in every vacant lot. Casey watched two children dart between parked cars and thought about the children the caller had reported near the dock.
“Who is the caller?” he asked.
“Candace Wadsworth. Foundation chair.”
“The woman from the fundraising picture in the lobby?”
“That’s her.”
Casey made a note. “Does she have any special role in park management?”
Burnham looked over more sharply this time. “She’s a longtime resident and a major donor.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
For a moment the car was quiet except for the radio.
“Listen,” Burnham said. “You’re new. Some people make trouble because they don’t know the community. Some people make trouble because they know exactly how much trouble they can cause. Wadsworth isn’t the one we need to worry about.”
“I still want to check the reservation. If it’s an event dispute, Parks might have a calendar.”
“We’re responding to a weapons call, Casey, not a clerical error.”
“Understood.”
Burnham slowed at the park entrance. His phone showed a missed call from Candace. He did not return it. He could see the pavilion now, a cluster of people and folding chairs beneath the trees. No one was running. No one appeared injured. An older woman sat calmly in the middle of a table arrangement, her purple hat visible from the road.
Casey noticed the same things. He also saw a handwritten private-event sign fixed to a post and, beside it, a municipal booking notice near the bins. He wanted to read both.
“Let’s establish what’s actually happening,” he said.
“I know,” Burnham replied, sounding offended that the younger officer had said what both of them should have been thinking.
Candace came toward the car before they had finished parking. She held her phone up, already broadcasting.
“Wes, thank God,” she said. “I’m shaking. Look at my hand.”
Burnham stepped out. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but the man has weapons in the boathouse. He threatened me and refused to open the case.”
“Where is he?”
“Over there. The one in the suit.”
Casey followed her finger. Quentin stood near the table of photographs, speaking to Bethany. He was wearing a clean shirt for the wedding, no jacket yet, and holding a length of ribbon he had been asked to cut. He did not resemble the image Candace had built in her call, although Casey knew appearances were not enough to resolve an allegation.
“Who owns the boathouse?” Casey asked.
“The town,” Candace admitted.
“And who has access today?”
“Apparently these people. That’s the whole problem.”
Burnham walked toward Quentin. Casey followed, switching on his body camera. It was a small movement, ordinary and required, but it would become one of the most important actions taken that afternoon.
Chapter 17: The Case Is Opened
Quentin saw the officers coming and put down the ribbon. His first reaction was relief. Now, he thought, someone could explain the booking to Candace and end the nonsense before his sister’s dress had to come out of its bag.
“Afternoon, officers,” he said. “I imagine you’re here about the case.”
Burnham stopped in front of him. “Where is it?”
“Locked in the boathouse. Ceremonial sabers. Lieutenant Radford brought them at three-fifteen. Honor detail comes at five.”
Casey wrote down the name and time. “Is that Lieutenant Cornell Radford?”
“Yes. He told me to keep them secured until his team arrived.”
