Dead Politician Society

Chapter 69: Jonathan

Jonathan’s bill passed easily through Utopian Parliament. Churches would pay property tax and small businesses would get a giant break. He felt almost as elated as if the bill had passed in real life. It was too late to save his mother’s café, but if his proposal could convince his classmates, maybe one day he could do the same in real parliament. Or better yet—he could learn to be a lobbyist. He’d have to go for media training, but how hard could that be?

When class was dismissed, Diane approached him.

“I respect your viewpoint,” she said. “I thought your bill was intelligently drafted. And I’ve never heard you speak so well. You made taxes make sense, which isn’t easy.”

Jonathan studied her. “What’s the catch?”

“I’m going to propose an amendment.”

He glowered at her navy blazer. Was that an oil stain? Couldn’t be. She wouldn’t have had lunch yet, nor would she have left home after breakfast with her outfit less than immaculate. Unless she’d slept somewhere else the night before?

“Don’t you want to hear my idea?” Diane looked hurt, which could only be an act.

“Not unless you’re offering Tylenol with it. Your shrill voice is already giving me a headache.”

He took a step toward the door, but the exit was congested. There were only six or seven students in front of him, but the line moved surprisingly slowly.

When he came to the door he saw a uniformed officer standing with Inspector Morton. Beside them, a folding table held a bunch of bags that he recognized as other students’ knapsacks and laptop carriers and the like. Two more uniformed cops sat at the table and rifled through them. A woman in baggy khakis had her own small desk where she was peering at a cell phone.

“We’ll need your bag, please.” The officer at the door spoke abruptly to Jonathan.

Jonathan faced him. “Can I see a warrant?”

Inspector Morton produced a piece of paper from his breast pocket.

“Fine.” Jonathan handed over his knapsack without reading the warrant. It was unlikely to be a bluff. “What’s this about?”

“You can wait over there.” The officer pointed across the hall, where a group of his classmates had gathered.

“What’s going on?” he asked Clare, who was there.

“I’m not sure.” Clare glanced behind him at the cop action. “They seem interested in anything electronic.”

“They—” Shit. “What do you mean?”

“When they find a laptop or a cell phone, that lady turns it on and does something.”

Jonathan relaxed. His phone was in his jacket pocket and his laptop was at home.

“I’m gonna need your jackets too.” Goddamn Morton. Could that asshole read his mind?

Jonathan and a couple of others who had jackets took them off and placed them onto the pile of bags.

He returned to Clare and said loudly, so Morton and the rest could hear, “This is like airport security minus the social graces.”

“Tell me about it.” Clare’s reply matched his volume. He could see why Jessica liked her.

The officer standing with Morton said, “You can clear out once you have your things back.”

Four or five people had had their bags returned. No one was leaving.

“Move. This isn’t a frat party. We’re not going to hand out beer.” The uniformed officer looked pointedly at Brian, Susannah, and some others.

“The coffee house,” Susannah said to the group as she began to walk away. “I look forward to seeing any and all of you there. Well, maybe not you cops.”

The collective laugh was more raucous than respectful, so Jonathan joined in.

Jessica emerged from the classroom and joined Clare and Jonathan. “This is so weird. They have no leads so they just keep on hassling us.”

“They must have a lead,” Clare said. “Or they wouldn’t have a warrant.”

Jonathan snorted. “Suspicious breathing would be enough for a warrant. This case is so high-profile, they have to be seen to be doing something.”

Clare said goodbye as her bag was returned, said she’d see them in the campus café. Dr. Easton and Diane left the classroom together—which was odd, because didn’t they hate each other? Dr. Easton locked the door behind them.

They were searching Jonathan’s things now. One gave his knapsack the all-clear while the other pulled his iPhone from his inner jacket pocket.

“Wish me luck,” he told Jessica.

Her eyes widened. “Do you need it?”

The woman turned on his phone and attached a cord to his dock connector.

“What’s she doing?” Jessica asked.

“Probably recording the logs. Emails sent, websites visited, that kind of thing.” His eyes darted back and forth between his phone and the woman’s face. She touched the screen. Pressed the buttons.

“So why do you look so worried?”

The woman stopped and held Jonathan’s phone in the air. “Whose is this?”

He could run, but what was the point?

He walked toward the land mine of police officers, tried not to let his voice go as shrill as Diane’s when he said, “It’s mine.”