“Bad stuff, that drug. Very bad.”

Tell me about it. She said, “If you’ve seen COPS, you know what we do.”

“April seventeenth was a whole different ball game.” He sipped the bad coffee anyway. “You in a union? A police union?”

“No, not in Kennesha.”

“I believe in unions, ma’am. I believe in working and I believe in giving everybody a fair shake to climb up the ladder. Like education. School’s an equalizer; a union’s the same. You’re in a union, we give you the basics. You might be happy with that, take your hourly wage and God bless. But you can use it like a diving board, you want to go higher in life.”

“Diving board?”

“Maybe that’s a bad choice. I’m not so creative. You know what I’m accused of?”

“Not the details. A scam involving illegal immigrants.”

“What I’m accused of is giving people forged documentation that’s better than what they can buy on the street. They get jobs in open shops and vote to go union.”

“Is that true?”

“No.” He smiled. “Those’re the accusations. Now, you know how the authorities tipped to my alleged crimes? That lawyer, Emma Feldman, was doing some business deal for a client and she found a large number of legal immigrants were union members-proportionately a lot higher than in most locals around the country. From that, somebody started the rumor that I was selling them forged papers. All their green cards, though, were legit. Issued by the U.S. government.”

Brynn considered this. He seemed credible. But who knew?

“Why?”

“To break the union, that’s why, pure and simple. The rumors start going around that I’m corrupt. That Local Four-oh-eight is a front for terrorists. That I’m encouraging foreigners to take our jobs…Bang, everybody votes to drop out and go open shop.” He was worked up. “Let me explain exactly why I’m being persecuted here. Why people want Stanley Mankewitz out of the picture. Because I don’t hate immigrants. I am all in favor of them. I’d rather employ a dozen Mexicans or Chinese or Bulgarians who come to this country-legally, I’ll add-to work hard, than a hundred lazy born-here citizens any day. So I’m caught right in the middle. The employers hate me because I’m union. My own membership hates me because I promote people who aren’t Amurican.” He drawled the last word, a good ole boy. “So there’s a conspiracy to set me up.”

Brynn sighed, having lost all interest in her soup and the soda, which had been flat to start with, probably as bad as the coffee, though it didn’t stink.

Mankewitz lowered his voice. “Did you know I saved your life on April seventeenth?”

Her attention swung fully to him now. A frown. She didn’t want to show any emotion but couldn’t help herself.

Mankewitz said, “I sent Mr. Jasons there to protect my interest. I knew I didn’t kill Emma Feldman and her husband. I wanted to find out who really did. That could lead me to who was trying to set me up.”

“Please…” she said, giving him a skeptical glance. Her cheek stung and she rearranged her expression.

Mankewitz looked over her shoulder. “James?”

Jasons joined them at the bar, toting a briefcase. He said, “I was in the forest, near that ledge you and that woman and little girl were on. I had a Bushmaster rifle. You were throwing rocks and logs down on those men.”

She asked in a whisper, “That was you?” Jasons didn’t look like he could even hold a gun. “Shooting at us?”

“Near you. Not at. Only to break up the fighting.” Another sip of soda. “I drove to the house at the lake. I said I was a friend of Steve Feldman. I followed your husband and that other deputy into the woods. I wasn’t there to kill anybody. Just the opposite. My orders were to keep everyone alive. Find out who they were. I broke up the fight but I couldn’t track them down to interrogate them.”

Mankewitz said, “We have reason to believe that the rumors about my alleged illegal involvement came from someone in a company called Great Lakes Intermodal Container Service. Mr. Jasons here managed to find some documents-”

“Find?”

“-some documents that suggest that the president of the company was in bad financial shape and trying desperately to kick out the union so he could cut wages and benefits. The head lawyer of Great Lakes provided us with some documents that prove the president was behind the rumors.”

“Did you tell the prosecutor?”

“Unfortunately, this documentation-”

“It was stolen.”

“Well, let’s say it isn’t discoverable under the Federal Rules of Evidence. Now, here’s the situation. Since I have never sold any illegal papers, nobody can prove that I did. So eventually the charges will be dismissed. But rumors can cause as much damage as convictions. That’s what the Great Lakes Containers and the other union shops are hoping for-to ruin me by destroying my reputation and break the union. So I need to stop as many of those rumors as I can. And my number one priority is convincing you that I didn’t kill Emma Feldman.”

“In police school they teach us not to give up when a suspect says, ‘Really, I didn’t do it.’”

Mankewitz pushed the coffee away. “Deputy McKenzie. I know about the shooting seven years ago.”

Brynn froze.

“Your husband.” He looked at Jasons, who said, “Keith Marshall.”

Mankewitz continued, “The official report was accidental discharge, but everybody believed you shot him because he attacked you again. Like he did when he broke your jaw. But since he was wearing his body armor and survived, he could testify that it was accidental.”

“Look-”

“But I know the truth. I know it was your son, not you, who shot Keith, trying to save you.”

No, no…Brynn’s hands were shaking.

Another nod toward Jasons. A file appeared. It was old, limp. She looked at it. Kennesha County Board of Education Archives.

“What’s this?” she gasped.

Mankewitz pointed to a name on the folder. Dr. R. Germain.

It took her a moment to recognize it. He was Joey’s counselor in the third grade. Joey’d been having trouble in school, aggression, refusing to do homework, and had seen the man several times a week. The boy had been further traumatized when the counselor had died of a massive heart attack the night after a session.

“Where did you get it?” Without waiting for an answer she ripped it open with sweating hands.

Oh, my God…

They’d assumed Joey, just five at the time of the shooting, had forgotten, or blocked out, that terrible night when his parents had fought, grappling on the kitchen floor. The boy had run to his parents, screaming. Keith had pushed him away and gone to hit Brynn in the face again.

Joey had pulled her weapon from the holster on her hip and shot his father in the chest, dead center.

They’d pulled in every favor they could and Brynn took the hit for an accidental discharge, which alone nearly ended her career. Everybody figured that she’d shot Keith on purpose-he was known for his temper-but no one suspected Joey.

As she now learned from the report, the boy had given Dr. Germain a coherent and detailed account of what happened that night. Brynn had no idea that Joey recalled the event with such clarity. Apparently, she realized now, the only thing that had saved him from going into foster care-and if a witch hunt had ensued, having Brynn and Keith criminally investigated for endangering a child because of the weapon-was Germain’s death and the file vanishing, unread, into the school archives.

Mankewitz added, “The FBI and Milwaukee PD were close to finding this.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they want you off the case. Their investigation is meant to nail me. Yours is to find out what really happened at Lake Mondac.”

The assistant added, “They’ve been looking into every aspect of your life. They’d use this for leverage to discredit you.” A glance at the file. “Maybe even get you prosecuted and anybody who helped in the cover-up about Keith’s shooting.”