Brian Freeman - Marathon

Why?

Because of the look on his face. Because of the backpack he was carrying. Because he was heading for Canal Park.

Because — Michael had no trouble admitting to himself — the man reeked of Islam.

“I told you, I don’t know whether he did it,” Michael said. “He was probably just watching the marathon like us.”

“Okay,” Evan replied. “Can we bring home pizza?”

Michael glanced at the restaurant behind them. “Sorry, bud, it’s closed.”

All the shops were closed. The city was shut down. A handful of parked cars lingered on the street, and the police had stopped to check each one. Everyone was nervous about more bombs.

Two separate police officers had already checked his identification and suggested he take his son and go home. He’d seen another cop pass by ten minutes earlier, and this time, he saw the man grab a radio as he eyed Michael from inside the squad car. Michael could imagine the report: That man on the corner of First, the one with the kid, is still there . On any other day, no one would have cared, but this wasn’t any other day.

Five more minutes passed.

A yellow Avalanche swung wide around the corner and stopped in front of Sammy’s, halfway over the curb. When a tiny Chinese woman hopped down from the dented truck, Michael realized that he knew her. Her black hair fell in bangs across her forehead, and her eyes were hidden behind honey-colored sunglasses. She wore a red leather jacket, tapered black pants, and burgundy boots with block heels. She was a Duluth police detective, and their paths had crossed before.

He could see that she recognized him, too.

“You’re Michael Malville, aren’t you?” she said. “I’m Maggie Bei with the Duluth Police. We met two years ago during the Spitting Devil investigation.”

“Yes, I remember,” Michael replied coolly.

He strained to be polite. He didn’t have fond memories of Maggie Bei or her boss, Jonathan Stride. Two years earlier, a serial killer had terrorized Duluth, targeting victims who all bore an uncanny resemblance to his wife, Alison. When a cloud of suspicion fell over Michael, the investigation had nearly cost him his marriage, and Alison barely escaped with her life. Michael blamed the police.

“You’re Evan, aren’t you?” the detective continued, eyeing Michael’s son. “You were quite the hero back then.”

Evan beamed at being remembered. “I got a badge from the police chief!”

“I know you did. You earned it. So you’re a Walking Dead fan, huh?” She pointed at the boy’s T-shirt.

“You bet!”

“Me, too,” the detective told him. Then she said to Michael, “What are you doing out here, Mr. Malville? My colleagues tell me you’ve been hanging out on this corner for quite a while. We’re encouraging residents to go home and stay home. Just until we’re sure the city is safe.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been watching all the police activity. It’s interesting.”

“Were the two of you in the marathon crowd when the bomb went off?”

“Yeah, and my Dad saw the guy who did it!” Evan shouted.

Michael winced. “Evan, don’t exaggerate. I told you, that’s not true.”

The detective cocked her head. “What exactly did you see, Mr. Malville?”

“I saw a guy with a backpack. He bumped into me.”

“Where was this?”

“Lake and Superior. I saw him heading toward Canal Park. This was like fifteen minutes before the bomb went off. So the timing made me suspicious, that’s all.”

“What did the man look like?” Bei asked.

“I’ve been trying to remember, but it all happened fast. Dark hair. Black jeans, I think, and some kind of colored shirt. I’m pretty sure he had a beard.”

“Pretty sure?”

“I only saw him for a second,” Michael said.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so, but look, I’m not saying he did it. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have the police suspect you of something you didn’t do.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” the detective replied, “and I’m sorry about what happened to you back then.”

“All I’m saying is, I saw him, he had a backpack, and he was heading toward Canal Park.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, he — he looked Muslim, too.”

“Muslim,” Bei said. “Do you mean Middle Eastern?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Michael folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t pretend that doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Bei said nothing. She eyed the empty street. “Okay, I appreciate your sharing this with me, Mr. Malville. If you remember anything more, please call me. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you and Evan head home now.”

Michael felt a cool brush-off in her tone. He knew that he’d committed a politically incorrect sin. He’d dared to say the word Muslim out loud, even though that was what everyone was thinking.

“Whatever you say,” Michael replied.

Bei headed back to her Avalanche, but he could read the tilt of her head, and he watched her checking out the red button prominently displayed on his trench coat. The button that Dawn Basch had handed him personally.

#noexceptions

Serena had already run more than twenty-six miles, but adrenaline, which had kept her going through the marathon, kept her going again. This time it was driven by fear.

An hour had passed. She couldn’t find Cat.

She’d gone up and down Canal Park Drive, checking everyone who had taken refuge in the doorways. She’d described Cat to every cop and every emergency worker she encountered. No one had seen her. She called the girl’s phone again and again, but there was no answer. She had visions of Cat’s phone destroyed by the blast. She pictured Cat, bleeding, injured, hidden in some corner of a building near the lake, unable to summon help.

This was how it was at mass crime scenes. She’d been on the other side of it, as a cop, but she’d never been personally affected. Something terrible happened, and all you could think about was finding the people you loved and making sure they were safe. And always, always, every empty minute without news made you fear the worst.

She watched ambulances come and go, carrying victims to the hospitals. The street was largely empty of civilians now. Only the police stayed behind, taping off the scene and protecting what they could from the weather. The drizzle through which she’d run had turned to a downpour, filling the curbs with rivers that were tinged red. Shrapnel washed downstream. What should have been a day that was electric and alive had become a gray funeral.

And still no Cat.

Serena shared a bond with Cat that was different from what Jonny felt. He saw her as a daughter. Serena saw her as a much younger sister. They’d lived similar lives, both growing up with abuse, both unwanted and alone. Serena had escaped her drug-addicted mother and remade herself as a cop in Las Vegas. She was convinced that Cat could remake herself, too, but nothing came easily for the girl.

When they’d met Cat, she was pregnant. She’d been desperate to keep her child, but in the end, she’d let a Duluth family adopt him and give him a good home. Making the right choice didn’t mean it was the easy choice. Her baby’s new parents had invited Cat to be a part of the child’s life, but so far, she hadn’t even had the courage to visit. Just seeing her son, she said, would tear out her heart.

Helping Cat was the hardest work Serena and Jonny had ever done, but Serena was also convinced that it had brought the two of them together as never before and let them put aside their own pasts and doubts and get married. She felt a debt of gratitude toward the girl that would be impossible to repay.