Plenty of folks, Russ thought, but he kept his mouth shut.
Ingraham laughed. “You don’t have to sell me, Jim. If I didn’t believe this place would draw in visitors, I wouldn’t have picked it for the new resort.”
“It is a site with a lot of visual appeal,” Opperman said. “I’ve flown in several potential investors, and I always swing through the mountains and over the surrounding countryside on those trips. Everyone comments about the extraordinary setting.”
“So, you’re definitely going ahead with the construction?” the mayor said.
“Well, like I said at the meeting, we will as long as we don’t have any trouble from the DEP.”
“Good,” Cameron said. He looked as though he was about to say more, but instead, he closed his mouth and nodded.
Russ thought maybe a change of conversation would be in order. “You said you fly, Mr. Opperman?”
“We hire pilots as necessary, but I’m licensed for both our two-engine prop plane and the company helicopter.”
“What type of helicopter?” Russ asked.
“Why?” Ingraham said. “You like to fly, Chief? John could take you up sometime. No problem.”
“No, but thanks. I’ve got a…friend who used to fly, that’s all.”
The noise from the spectators in the park had surrounded them with a constant hum. Now Russ could hear yells and cheers. “They must be coming in,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on how the roads are clearing. Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”
The coed hikers must have headed for greener pastures at some point, because Kevin Flynn was moping about the squad car, looking like a dog left too long outside a store. “Everything okay?” Flynn asked, raising his voice to be heard above the cheers of the crowd around the finish line. Runners were pounding through makeshifts chutes, drenched with sweat despite the cold weather, as a large digital clock displayed their times in tenths of a second.
“No problems yet,” Russ said. He slid into the car, closed the door, and rolled up the window so he could hear Harlene over the noise outside. Flynn hopped in the other door. “Dispatch, this is fifteen fifty-seven.”
“Fifteen fifty-seven, this is Dispatch.”
“The runners are coming in. Make sure those intersections are getting opened up as soon as possible.”
“Roger that.”
“Any news?”
“It’s been pretty quiet so far. There was a fight out to Lockland’s Whispering Pines campground. Somebody pulled out their RV without disconnecting the water and sanitation lines, and Lockland decked the damnfool.”
Kevin snickered. Russ shot him a look. “They get it all sorted out?” Russ asked.
“Yeah, Lyle convinced the RV guy not to press assault charges and Lockland not to press vandalism charges. Lyle said he hadn’t smelled a stink like that since his brother’s cesspool overflowed.”
“Remind me not to complain about sweaty runners. Anything else?”
“We got a call from Bob Mongue over to the state troopers’ headquarters. They’ve got a possible on your red Chevy.”
Russ sat up straighter. “Yeah? Where?”
“The Burgoyne campground on Route Four, south of Whitehall. Big ’ninety-seven pickup with Pennsylvania plates. Good-sized crunch in the right rear.”
“They run the plates?”
“They’re doing it now. Sergeant Mongue’ll call back when they’ve talked with the driver and checked his ID.”
“Raise me as soon as you know anything, Harlene.”
“Will do. I’ve got one more thing for you.”
“Okay.”
“Mrs. Bain called. Thought she saw a man poking around her house, trying to get in.”
“Oh for—” He clenched the microphone and took a deep breath. “How long has it been since her son came for a visit?”
“ ’Bout three months now.”
“Okay. She’s definitely due for a prowler. There’s a copy of the last incident report in the files. Get that out and change the date, will you? That way, it’ll be ready to go when she asks for it.”
“Roger that. Dispatch out.”
“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!”