Keeper Read Free Page B

worse. Especially the more recent ones.” 
    “You have any idea where they are coming from?” 
    “Sword of the Silent,” she said. “Jonathan Crowell. If he isn’t writing them, he knows who is.”
    “Jonathan Crowell? Tall white guy with a megaphone?” 
    “That’s him. Very much of the Pensacola crowd. Following in the footsteps of John Burt, Randal Terry, Paul Hill, those people.”
    “I’ve heard of him. I tend to ignore radicals.” 
    “Crowell’s not a radical, Mr. Kodiak. He is a demagogue. He’s an evil man who’s trying to overcome a mediocre life by preaching hate and intolerance disguised with the name of Jesus Christ.” Romero crushed out her cigarette. “That’s the only reason to target this clinic. Rarely has a white man been so concerned about the reproductive rights available to blacks and Hispanics. But Crowell has targeted this clinic quite specifically. We serve the university, but mostly we serve the rest of Harlem. Single mothers are our stock-in-trade. We deal with reproductive services and education here. Abortions are a very small part of what we do. And for Crowell to target us is Crowell targeting nonwhites.”
    “He’s that clearly a racist?” I asked.
    “I’m certain he doesn’t think of himself as one,” Dr. Romero said. “But I believe he is, yes.” She gestured toward the letter in my hands. “Do you think that is a serious threat?”
    “Frankly, no. This sounds more like terrorism than the precursor to an attempt on your life.”
    “I’m used to terrorism, Mr. Kodiak,” Dr. Romero said flatly.
    “Who’s doing the conference security?” I asked.
    “I really don’t know. A friend of mine, Veronica Selby, is handling that end of things. Veronica’s the primary organizer of the conference, and she’s assured me that security will be good.”
    For Dr. Romero’s sake, I hoped she was right. A lot of self-proclaimed security firms are nothing more than fly-by-nights that hand out badges for minimum wage.
    She took the letter back from me and looked it over again. “I’ve lived with letters threatening me, degrading and demeaning me for a long time now,” she said. “But this one frightens me.”
    “I can see why.”
    Dr. Romero leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “I’d like to hire you. I want protection for myself and my daughter, here and at home.”
    “How old is Katie?”
    She was surprised only for a moment. “Sixteen. You’ve met her?”
    “In the waiting room.”
    “What do you think of her?”
    “She’s very sweet,” I said. “She talks to herself a lot.” 
    “Imaginary friends,” Dr. Romero said. “It makes sense, when you think about it. Very few people actually talk to Katie rather than at her, and she finds communication with them quite difficult, too, I think. The people she speaks to understand her completely.”
    “I think you’d be better off with official protection,” I said.
    “I don’t trust the police. I’ve known too many officers who believe abortion is murder. Detective Lozano himself is antichoice.”
    “There’s the FBI,” I said. “Federal marshals, too.”
    She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and went for another cigarette. I wondered if she had always smoked, or if it was a habit she had adopted in response to her work.
    “The agent who’s been assigned to us, Special Agent Fowler, is only interested in pursuing the terrorism approach at this time,” Dr. Romero said. “He is unconvinced that Crowell or Sword of the Silent is after me. Special Agent Fowler does not like conspiracies.” She watched the flame from her lighter for a moment, then set it down on the desk without lighting the cigarette. “Our requests for federal marshals have been turned down, too. We’re told they’re needed more at clinics outside of New York.” Felice Romero reached for the light again, used it, then said, “I want you to do it.”
    “The protection you want is expensive,” I said.
    “Give