Page 16 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“The chief is back, and you’re gonna get in trouble,” Hadley sang. Clare chimed in, “Hey la, hey la, the chief is back!”
Russ pinched the bridge of his nose. “I amnotthe chief.” He frowned. “But I am starting to get very interested in what’s going on here.”
7.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5
The Office of the Attorney General was in Albany’s Empire State Plaza, a bleak concrete monstrosity Hadley had toured once as a parent volunteer for Hudson’s fifth-grade field trip. The guide had assured them the architecture was very distinguished, but to her, it looked like a series of Soviet-designed rectangular rockets had set down in the 1950s and were now waiting for a liftoff signal from the gigantic concrete Egg—which resembled a football or a birdbath more than an egg, but no one had asked Hadley for a name suggestion. Her negative impression was reinforcednow by the scant handful of government flunkies crossing the plaza, heads down, coats clutched tight against the buffeting wind.
Inside, the reception area reminded her of a mid-range hotel lobby; overlarge, cold, and decked with blandly inoffensive Winter Holiday décor whose primary virtue was the ability to maintain its plastic perfection year after year after year. Wide rectangular mats, still pristine since Albany hadn’t had a snowfall yet, swallowed her footsteps, making it more surprising when her boot heels suddenly clacked on the highly polished terrazzo flooring.
“Holy crap. This must be like a skating rink when it’s snowing or raining.”
Van Alstyne shook his head. “That’s modernist architecture for you. Never let actual human beings get in the way of a grand vision.”
The receptionist was a fit young man behind a Plexiglas screen that protected him against the wind that swept into the open area each time the doors were open. They walked toward him, and she stood, waiting for the chief to say something, when she caught his glower out of the corner of her eye. Oh. Right. “I’m Officer Hadley Knox of the Millers Kill Police Department? I have an appointment with Doug Harrison in the investigations division?”
The receptionist examined his computer screen, then gestured to a black square decaled to the floor. “Stand here, please.”
“Is it a trapdoor?” She grinned.
The receptionist looked at her flatly. “Please don’t talk while getting your picture taken.”
He pressed a button, there was a whir, and he handed her a visitor’s badge, complete with her name, face, date, and destination. Van Alstyne got the same treatment; his photo looked like the mug shot of a guy caught shooting up a country bar.
“The elevators are around that corner to your left. An operator will key in your floor for you.”
She knew there had been such jobs as elevator operators once—she’d seen it in old movies. In this case, she thought the receptionist meant “operator” as in “Special Forces,” considering the stone-facedman who unlocked the controls and pressed the button for them was wearing a sidearm.
After the door closed in front of them, she glanced around the car. “Are they filming us?”
“Probably.”
“I thought this was an office building for a bunch of lawyers.”
“So was the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City.” He glanced at her sideways. “You do know about the bombing there, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m notthatyoung, Chief.”
“I’m not the—”
She held up her hand. “Okay, okay. What do you want me to call you?”
“Russ?”
“Oh, God, no. No. That’s like calling my dad by his first name.”
“I’m notthatold, Knox.” The elevator door opened, cutting off further terrible suggestions. She just knewMr. Van Alstynewas coming next.
The office looked like every other government office she’d ever seen—indoor-outdoor carpeting, bulk-buy furniture, boring walls. A much friendlier receptionist led them down a hallway hung with headshots of the governor, the state attorney general, and several other old white-guy lawyer types. Doug Harrison, who rose from his desk to greet them, was a middle-aged white-guy lawyer type.
“Officer Knox. And… Mr. Van Alstyne?”
The chief shook his hand. “Until recently, I headed up the Millers Kill PD. Kevin Flynn served under me.”
Harrison took his seat, gesturing toward the visitor chairs. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you about Officer Flynn. He performed well while detailed to our division, and I expected he’d have a bright future in Syracuse.”
“I understand the undercover investigation wrapped up early.” The chief was using his we’re-all-friends-here voice. “Can you tell us why you called it off?”
