Marcus stood beside the pavilion watching them.
Anthony approached carrying two bottles of water.
"He's having a good day."
Marcus smiled.
"Best one in a while."
Anthony glanced toward Caleb.
"Danielle would've loved this."
Marcus looked down.
"Yeah."
Anthony waited.
He had known Marcus since high school.
He knew when to talk and when to let the silence exist.
After a moment, Marcus said, "He asked about her this morning."
Anthony nodded.
"He does that sometimes."
"More lately."
"He's getting older. He's trying to understand."
Marcus watched Caleb run across the grass, his red cape streaming behind him.
"I just wish she could see him."
Anthony put a hand on his shoulder.
"She'd be proud of both of you."
Marcus swallowed.
"Thanks, man."
Then Caleb shouted from across the lawn.
"Daddy! Watch this!"
He leaped from a low wooden platform, landing safely on the grass with both arms extended.
Marcus raised his fists.
"Superman!"
The children cheered.
Caleb laughed.
And for a little while, everything was exactly as it should have been.
At 1:17 p.m., a dark police cruiser turned into the park's service entrance.
The driver was Officer Derek Walsh.
He was forty-four years old, stocky, broad-necked, and accustomed to occupying space as though everyone else should move aside.
He wore dark sunglasses, a black baseball cap, a navy police uniform, and a tactical vest.
Beside him sat Officer Ryan Fletcher, a thirty-one-year-old patrol officer who had transferred to the district six months earlier.
Walsh had been with the department for nearly sixteen years.
He liked to remind younger officers of that fact.
He believed experience gave him the right to interpret most situations without explaining his reasoning.
His supervisors had repeatedly described him as forceful, confident, and effective in high-pressure situations.
But there were other descriptions in his personnel file.
Impatient.
Dismissive.
Prone to escalating minor disagreements.
And unusually resistant to civilian complaints.
Those descriptions had rarely affected his assignments.
Walsh had friends among several senior supervisors.
His arrest numbers were high.
His traffic enforcement statistics were strong.
And when residents complained, his reports often portrayed them as argumentative or uncooperative.
That afternoon, he was irritated before he entered the park.
Earlier in the shift, a supervisor had questioned why he had issued a trespassing warning to a teenager sitting outside a convenience store.
Walsh believed the teenager had been disrespectful.
The supervisor had pointed out that sitting on a public bench did not establish trespassing.
The conversation ended badly.
Walsh had spent the next hour complaining about people who questioned police authority.
When he noticed the large birthday gathering beneath the pavilion, his expression hardened.
"Look at that."
Fletcher glanced over.
"What?"
"That party."