City of Darkness

 

https://www.amazon.com/City-Darkness-Al-Lamanda-ebook/dp/B08S41YTP5/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=city+of+darkness&qid=1610297239&s=digital-text&sr=1-3

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Eli Andrew Rico always did his ironing in front of the kitchen window. It faced the park across the street from his Bronx apartment and he liked to watch the kids playing baseball while he ironed.

Today was Sunday and his day off. He was ironing five white shirts for the coming week. White wasn’t a requirement, but it made life a bit simpler if all his shirts for work were the same color.

His apartment was small, but comfortable and the view of the park from the fourth floor was excellent. Today the kids were playing a game of pickup baseball where teams were chosen at random. School was out for the summer and the kids made the most of it. Baseball, touch football, tag sometimes so the girls could play and when a fire hydrant was opened by the fire department it attracted the neighborhood kids by the hundreds.

He thought about a pet for company. The building allowed pets, dogs and cats, but his job took up so many hours it wouldn’t be fair to an animal to be left alone so much of the time.

Eli finished the fifth shirt and hung them neatly in the bedroom closet. In the bathroom, he shaved carefully and then took a shower. The humidity was high so he turned on the bedroom fan and stood before it to air dry rather than towel off.

Then he dressed in white slacks, a pullover shirt, tan socks and loafers. In his right pocket he stuck some folding money, his keys and old Zippo lighter in the left. Handkerchief in the left rear pocket, wallet in the right. Cigarettes in the shirt pocket. To his right ankle, he strapped on the .38 special snub nose revolver. The holster, gun and six extra bullets were heavy but he was used to the weight.

Before he left the apartment, as an afterthought, he tucked the five and a half inch long switchblade knife into his right pocket.

He wore his father’s old watch, the only watch he had ever owned.

The heat and humidity outside was like a slap to the face. He crossed the street and entered the park. Mr. Peru, who sold Italian ices in the summer for as long as Eli could remember was in his usual spot at the gate.

Eli forked over a dime for a cherry flavored snow cone and found a bench to eat it and watch the game in progress. Nobody ever kept score. The games lasted until it was too dark to see the ball. Oftentimes fights broke out and delayed play until someone broke it up and play resumed. Sometimes in the middle of a game a kid got upset with his team and went to play for the other team.

It didn’t matter to Eli who won or lost. The noise of kids playing was like fine music to his ears.

He ate the snow cone until all the cherry syrup was gone and then tossed the paper container into the nearest trash bin. He reclaimed his bench and lit a cigarette. The Zippo had seen better days, but it was thirty-two-years-old and was given to him by his father. He would use it until it no longer functioned and then store it someplace safe.

The heat and humidity wore the kids down and they called the game quits.

Eli stood and left the park. He walked two blocks to the Italian bakery on the corner and picked up two round loaves of bread, the crusty kind. Then he walked back to his apartment to retrieve his car that was parked at the curb.

It was still early, but the drive to his parent’s home in New Jersey took forever. First he had to drive into Manhattan and then to the George Washington Bridge and cross over and drive south to Paramus.

He couldn’t be late. His mother served dinner promptly at six-thirty every night except Sunday. Sunday was five on the nose and you felt her wrath if you were late. His sister Shelly, her husband Robert and their two girls would be there along with Mom and Pop.

His car, a forty-one Ford didn’t have a radio, so he hung a transistor radio from the rearview mirror. He turned it on and played with the dial until he found a ball game. The Yankees were playing Cleveland at home. The Yanks were up eleven to three in the fifth. Red Barber gave a quick recap as the sixth inning began. Joe DiMaggio had a home run and a double and Yogi Berra had two home runs. Unless there were some serious injuries on the team, the Yanks were a shoe-in to win the nineteen forty-nine pennant and World Series.

By the time he reached Manhattan the game was in the seventh inning. He drove north to One Seventy-Ninth Street to the entrance ramp of the bridge. Traffic leading to the ramp was backed up for ten blocks. The game ended as he reached the toll booths. He paid the seventy-five cents toll from the loose change he kept in the ashtray and crossed the bridge.

Seventy-five-cents may seem a lot to cross each way, but it was the longest bridge in the world and hailed as an engineering marvel, so he really didn’t mind the steep toll.

Once on the Jersey side, Eli drove south to Paramus.

Thirty minutes later, he arrived at his parent’s home. The home, a modest, three-bedroom Tudor was the crowning achievement of his parents’  lives. His father, Salvatore, arrived in New York from Italy in 1901 at the age of thirteen. Eli’s grandparents spoke no English and his father just a few words. It was there, at the point they were identified by immigration agents incorrectly that the family name of Riggeo was recorded as Rico.

Eli’s mother, Michele O’Rourke was born in The Bronx and was third generation Irish. Her great-grandfather came over in 1863 and fought in the Civil War. Salvatore and Michele met in 1913 and had to hide their romance from their families because an Italian boy didn’t date an Irish girl without consequences. In 1914, they secretly married and when the marriage became known they were outcast from their families.

It didn’t matter to Salvatore or Michele. They moved to a Bronx apartment and a year later Eli was born. Two years after that, Shelly came along. Salvatore worked for the Transit Authority and helped build tunnels and lay track. Later, he became a motorman and finally a conductor. Michele worked as a telephone operator for thirty-five years and retired just a year ago. Salvatore planned to retire in 1950.

They bought the house in 1939 when the price of homes was dirt cheap.

Shelly moved to Jersey with her  parents. Eli stayed in The Bronx because he was into his second year as a New York City Police Officer.

In late forty-one, Eli took the exam for detective and made the grade the first try. He proved to be a brilliant detective and was on the brink of great things when the Second World War broke out.

He enlisted in the spring of forty-two as did nearly twenty million other men.

Salvatore gave Eli his watch and Zippo lighter that he carried in World War One when he ’d fought in Italy, France and Germany.

Eli returned home in early forty-six and his job, as promised, was waiting for him. The war had depleted resources and by forty-seven he was promoted to homicide as a sergeant and just last year to lieutenant .

Sally, Robert and their kids were already there when Eli arrives at his parent’s home. Robert drove a forty-seven Cadillac, his father a forty-three Ford. He parked behind the Ford, grabbed the bread and prepared himself for the dinner conversations to follow.

Robert would subtly brag about his career as an engineer and how well he was doing financially. Shelly would discretely inquire about Eli’s  dating habits and try to set him up with one of her ‘unmarried friends.’ Ma would tell him for the thousandth time how she would sleep better at night if he had a different career, one that was safer. Pop would want to talk baseball. The Yanks, Giants and Dodgers. It would all go on for hours and nothing would ever get resolved except that everyone would eat too much and burp too much later on.

As Eli walked to the front door, it suddenly opened and his father stepped out.

“Your office called,” he said. “They said it was an emergency.”

 

*****

Eli used the phone in the bedroom to call the office. He spoke to the dispatcher on duty for a few minutes and then hung up.

He went to the living room where the family had gathered.

“I have to go,” he said.

“It’s Sunday,” his mother said.

“I know, Ma,” Eli said. “I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you out,” his father said.

At the door, Salvatore said, “Eli, be careful.”

“And make sure you eat something,” Michelle called after him.

 

Chapter Two

 

The drive back to Manhattan took about an hour. An accident on the GW closed two lanes and heavy Sunday traffic funneled into the remaining open lanes causing a bottleneck.

He fiddled with the radio and found the Giants game. They were losing and ‘Stan the Man’ had just hit a homerun to crack open the game. He lit a cigarette and felt his shirt stick to the seat.

Traffic inched along the bridge.

The back of his shirt was drenched by the time he reached Manhattan. He drove to Broadway and then south and then to Central Park West to the Charter Arms apartment building on 81^st Street.

Eli parked at a hydrant, opened the glove box for the Police on Duty sign and left it on the dashboard. He also took out a small notebook and pen.

The Charter Arms was thirty stories high of luxury living for the city’s elite. Eli had never been inside the building, but had driven past it hundreds of time. The ornate and lavish lobby faced Central Park. The underground parking garage was located on the 81^st Street side of the building.

A guard employed by the building was on duty in a little hut at the entrance to the garage. Eli showed him his badge on the way in. He walked the ramp into the garage and stopped for a moment to observe the scene.

Six police cruisers were parked in somewhat of a circle. A woman sat in back of one of them. An ambulance and the medical examiner’s  wagon were parked beside a Cadillac sedan. The sedan’s driver’s side door was open. A department photographer stood waiting for the word to go to work.

Eli approached the scene.

“Hi, Lieutenant,” a patrolman said.

Eli nodded. “Did anybody touch anything?”

Another patrolman said, “Me and my partner took the call. Nothing was touched.”

Eli nodded again. He walked to the medical examiner, an experienced doctor named Wilson.

“Did you check the body yet?” Eli asked.

“Waiting on you,” Wilson said.

“Go ahead.”

Eli looked at the woman in the back of a patrol car. “Who is she?”

A patrolman stepped forward. “That’s my car, Lieutenant. She’s the maid. She found the body. She says the victim is Roger Tanner, her employer.”

“The maid?” Eli said.

“That’s what she said,” the patrolman said. “Her English isn’t very good. I think she’s a PR .”

Eli walked to the patrol car, opened the rear door and sat beside the maid. He showed her his badge.

“I’m Lieutenant Rico,” he said. “What is your name please?”

“Rosa Garcia.”

“I understand you work for Mr. Tanner,” Eli said as he jotted her name in his notebook.

Rosa nodded her head. “I am the housekeeper,” she said in a thick Spanish accent.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Eli said.

“What happened?”

“Yes, tell me what happened.”

“Mister Tanner, he leave to go play cards like he do every Sunday night and he forget his cigars,” Rosa said.

“His cigars?”

“Si. I mean yes.”

Rosa picked up the leather cigar holder from the seat beside her. “His cigars,” she said.

“What time did he leave the apartment?” Eli asked.

“Four,” Rosa said. “He leave every Sunday at four to play cards.”

“And how did you notice he didn’t take his cigars?”

“Every Sunday I pack his case with six fresh cigars and leave it on the table beside the front door,” Rosa said. “He forget them. I see them there and I rush to the elevator to try and see him before he drive away.”

“What time was that?”

“Four. He always leave at four to go play his cards.”

“So you grabbed the cigars and did what?”

“I go to the hallway to the elevators and I have to wait for the elevator,” Rosa said. “Two, maybe three minutes and then it come. I ride down to garage and see Mister Tanner’s car door open and he on the floor covered in blood.”

“And what did you do?”

“I screamed. What would you do?”

Eli smiled. “Who called the police?”

“I ran up the steps to lobby and tell the guard,” Rosa said.

“Did Mr. Tanner ever forget his cigars before?”

“Si. I mean yes. He forget things all the time. A few times he call from the card game and I go deliver them.”

“Where do you live, Miss Garcia?”

“In the apartment in the maid’s room.”

Eli nodded as he jotted a few more notes. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Rosa nodded.

Eli left the cruiser and went to Wilson. “What do you got?”

“I got a corpse on the floor of a parking garage,” Wilson said.

“Funny,” Eli said. “What killed him and when?”

“One large stab wound to the spleen,” Wilson said.

“Jesus,” Eli said.

“He didn’t die from that, although he would have left untreated,” Wilson said. “His neck is broken. Snapped like a dry twig.”

Eli stared at the body of Roger Tanner for a moment. He was slumped on his left side. “Get his wallet and then go over the body with a fine tooth comb. Prints on the car, whatever. Check everything and I mean everything.”

“Can I photograph the body now?” the photographer said.

“Every angle,” Eli said. “Just don’t touch it.”

“Lieutenant, some reporters are here,” a patrolman said.

“Keep them out,” Eli said. “I want five two-man teams to knock on every door in the building and get statements. I’m taking Miss Garcia up to the apartment. Wait, I want statements from the guard at the garage security booth and from the doorman and like right now. Bring them to the apartment.”

“You got it, Lieutenant,” the officer said.

 

*****

Rosa used her key to unlock the front door to the apartment. She opened the door and stepped inside and held the door for Eli. Before he entered, he glanced down the hall. As with most large apartments there was a servants’  door down the hall.

The living room was as large as or larger than Eli’s entire apartment. It was expensively furnished, including a set of Tiffany lamps.

“Let’s sit on the sofa and talk for a bit,” Eli said.

Rosa took a seat on the twelve-foot-long sofa.

Eli sat near her and opened the notebook.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Tanner?” Eli asked.

“Since nineteen forty-two,” Rosa said.

“Where are you from?”

“Cuba.”

“When did you come to America?”

“I … what is the word … I can’t think,” Rosa said.

“I understand. You’ve just witnessed a terrible crime,” Eli said. “Take your time.”

Rosa nodded. “In Cuba, my family was put into the prison,” she said.

“Why?”

“Politics. They believe in freedom.”

Eli nodded. “I understand. Go on please.”

“I work as housekeeper at hotel in San Juan,” Rosa said. “The man who own the hotel say he own a hotel in New York and I can go there if I want. That’s how I came, to work in the hotel. He sponsor me.”

“And how did you come to work for Mr. Tanner?”

“One of the women at the hotel, she tell me about Mr. Tanner looking for a new housekeeper. She say I should see Mr. Tanner.”

“And you did?”

Rosa nodded.

“He like me and hire me as housekeeper,” Rosa said.

“How old are you, Miss Garcia?” Eli asked.

“Twenty-nine.”

“Did you plan to work for Mr. Tanner much longer?”

“Until I have enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Money saved. I have fifteen thousand dollars in the bank.”

“You have fifteen thousand dollars?”

“Si. Yes. Mr. Tanner, he pay very well. One thousand dollars a month and I live in the apartment. I show you.”

Rosa and Eli stood and she led him to the large kitchen. She opened a door located on the back wall.

“See?” she said.

Eli looked inside the large studio apartment that was well furnished.

“You live here?” Eli asked.

“Si. Yes. I live here. I pay no rent so I save most of my money.”

Eli nodded. “Where does Mr. Tanner keep his cigars?”

“In the cigar room. I show you.”

Rosa took Eli to the den. The walls were lined with well-stocked books. The desk was oak, the chair leather. She opened a door and Eli looked inside. The room was lined with shelves of boxed cigars of every major brand, including Cuban.

“Let’s go back to the sofa,” Eli said.

“I can make coffee you like?”

“That would be fine,” Eli said.

They returned to the kitchen where Rosa made coffee. Eli sat at the table until it was ready and then she filled two cups and sat opposite him.

Eli sampled the coffee. “Good,” he said.

“Is Cuban coffee. I buy at the special store on Broadway.”

“Miss Garcia, what did Mr. Tanner do for work?” Eli asked.

“Mr. Tanner no work,” Rosa said. “He a … how do you say … wealthy.”

“Do you know how he acquired his wealth?”

Rosa shook her head. “He never say about such things.”

“What about friend and girlfriends?”

“Mr. Tanner have many friends. They play cards every Sunday night.”

“Where?”

“The Park Plaza Hotel. They always play in room 1919.”

“At what time?”

“He always leave at four. He get home around one in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

Rosa nodded.

“How long have you and Mr. Tanner been lovers?” Eli asked.

Rosa blushed and her eyes looked away.

“Your room looks as if it hadn’t been slept in for quite a while,” Eli said. “You’re a very pretty woman and the average salary of a live-in housekeeper is around fifty dollars a week. It wasn’t hard to figure it out, Miss Garcia.”

Rosa looked at Eli. “He say one night he very lonely after his wife died,” she said. “He say he want company. At first I not understand.”

“That was when?”

“Five years ago, maybe longer.”

“Well, there is no crime in being lonely,” Eli said. “What about his enemies?”

“He have none I know of,” Rosa said.

The phone rang. Rosa looked at Eli and he nodded. She stood and picked up the wall phone.

“Hello, residence of Mr. Tanner,” she said.

Rose listened for a moment and then said to hold on. She looked at Eli. He stood and took the phone.

“This is Police Lieutenant Eli Rico, who is this please?”

“Michael Breck. Where is Roger?”

“Mister Breck, I’m afraid Mister Tanner is dead,” Eli said.

“Dead? How could he be dead?” Breck asked.

“Somebody murdered him,” Eli said. “Are you at the Park Plaza Hotel?”

“Yes, we’re …”

“Stay until I get there,” Eli said and hung up.

Eli looked at Rosa. “Did Mr. Tanner have a safe?”

Rosa nodded.

“Show me.”

Rosa took Eli to the master bedroom and opened the walk-in closet door. Against the back wall stood a three foot tall safe. He entered the closet and tried the door. It was locked.

“Lieutenant?” a voice called from the living room.

Eli and Rosa returned to the living room.

Two crime scene investigators had arrived.

“Search everything,” Eli said. “Find date books, notes, whatever and have someone from the department open the safe in the bedroom.”

“What I do?” Rosa asked.

“For now, nothing,” Eli said. “Just stay in the apartment and help my men with whatever they need. Okay?”

Rosa nodded.

“And have a uniformed officer stay with Miss Garcia until I return,” Eli said to the two crime scene investigators.

*****

 

Michael Breck answered the hotel room door. Eli had his badge and ID ready and showed it to him.

“I spoke to you on the phone,” Breck said.

Eli entered and Breck closed the door.

“Who do we have here?” Eli asked.

Three men sat at the card table in the center of the room.

“John Potts, William Teal and Steven Roth,” Breck said. “Now will you tell us what in God’s name happened to Roger?”

“Gentlemen, let’s talk,” Eli said.

 

*****

As he rode the elevator to Tanner’s apartment, he scanned his notes. Roger Tanner was thirty-eight-years-old. The four men he played cards with the past decade were, as him, wealthy trust fund heirs. In Tanner’s case, he inherited a trust worth three million, seven hundred dollars.

While it was true that Tanner didn’t work at a regular job, he did have an advisement banker that managed his portfolio closely and he more than doubled his trust fund.

He married his high school sweetheart when they were both twenty-two-years-old. She died in nineteen forty from a freak accident in Central Park. She enjoyed riding her bicycle every morning in the park. It was the weekend of the Fourth of July. Some kids threw a pack of firecrackers in front of a horse-drawn carriage. The horse spooked and raced away from the driver. Horse and bicycle collided. The horse won.

Breck told Eli that Tanner barely left the apartment for close to a year after his wife died. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Tanner enlisted.

Or tried to.

He was deaf in the left ear from a childhood disease and was classified 4F.

He spent the war on the sidelines but did his part with fund raising events and donating money to military causes.

Breck and the others verified Rosa’s story of her employment as far as they knew.

Breck told Eli that he spoke with Tanner recently concerning his relationship with Rosa. Breck said that Tanner was considering asking her to be his wife.

Tanner wasn’t a small man. He stood six feet tall and weighed one hundred and ninety pounds according to his driver’s license information.

So how was he overpowered so easily?

And without a fight.

The elevator door opened and Eli walked to the Tanner apartment. A uniformed officer was in the hallway at the door.

“Is someone inside with her?” Eli asked.

The officer nodded. “Everybody in the building is asking what’s going on?”

“They’ll find out soon enough.”

Eli opened the door and entered the apartment. A uniformed officer was sitting on the sofa and he stood up. “Hi, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Where is Miss Garcia?” Eli asked.

“In the master bedroom,” the officer said. “One second she’s sitting on the sofa calm as a Hindu cow, the next she’s hysterical.”

“See any combat, officer?” Eli asked.

“5^th Infantry.”

“When the battle is over, that’s when you breakdown,” Eli said.

The officer nodded. “Two statements from the guard in the garage and the doorman,” he said. “On the coffee table.”

Eli went into the master bedroom. Rosa wasn’t on the bed or anywhere else. The bathroom door was closed.

“Miss Garcia?” Eli said at the bathroom door.

“The door is no locked,” Rosa said.

Eli opened the door. The bathroom was the size of his kitchen. The marble tub could hold four and was sunken. Rosa sat in the tub up to her neck in bubble bath.

“I’m sorry. Excuse me,” Eli said.

“Is all right,” Rosa said. “Sit on the bench, please.”

There was a bench against the wall. Eli sat and looked at her. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. A glass of wine rested on the tiles floor beside the tub.

Rosa sighed heavily. “What happen now?” she said.

“If you mean tonight, I’ll head over to the office and review what we have,” Eli said. “An officer will stop by tomorrow to escort you to my office to take your statement. I’ll make sure an officer stays in the apartment overnight.”

Rosa nodded. “I will have to find a place to live now,” she said.

“Wait until a lawyer tells you that,” Eli said. “For now you’re my witness and I need you to stay put.”

“I ask myself why this happen,” Rosa said. “Mr. Tanner never hurt nobody.”

“Listen, it’s getting late and I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast,” Eli said.

“Would you like me to cook for you?” Rosa asked.

“That would be nice,” Eli said. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

Eli returned to the living room where the officer was in a chair, reading a newspaper. He stood when Eli entered the room.

“Were you here when forensics left?” Eli said.

“I was. They took everything but the kitchen sink.”

“What time does your shift end?”

“In about an hour.”

“You’re from the four two?”

The officer nodded.

“Head back to your house and tell your captain I asked for an overnight watch,” Eli said. “I’ll wait here until your people show up.”

“One for the hallway?”

“If there’s manpower.”

The officer nodded and left the apartment.

Eli picked up the two reports and went to the kitchen. He used the phone on the wall and called the medical examiner.

Wilson answered after three rings. “Medical Examiner,” Wilson said.

“It’s Eli.”

“I figured you’d call,” Wilson said. “Tanner’s on the slab as we speak.”

“And?”

“Too soon. Stop by in a couple of hours.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Eli hung up and touched the pot of coffee on the stove. It was still warm and he opened a cabinet, removed a mug and filled it. He found an ashtray in a drawer and took it to the table where he lit a cigarette.

How was Tanner overpowered so easily and quickly, he mulled over? From the time he left the apartment to the time Rosa found him was a matter of minutes. He read the reports from the guard in the garage and the doorman.

The guard claimed and his log book verified his statement that no one drove into or left the garage one hour prior to Tanner’s murder. A record of the log showed that seven residents of the building had left and entered the garage prior to four o’clock.

The doorman said that only building residents had left and entered the building during his shift that started at ten am and ended at six pm.

“What would you like?” Rosa asked as she entered the kitchen.

She had changed into white slacks, a yellow blouse and wore slippers. Her dark hair was pinned up. Her face, especially around the eyes was puffy and swollen. She had been crying again.

“Anything would be fine,” Eli said.

“That coffee is old,” Rosa said. “I’ll make fresh.”

Rose emptied the pot and went about making a fresh pot.

“That door there, is that the second entrance to the apartment?” Eli asked and pointed.

“Yes. The servants’ door,” Rosa said.

“Rosa, how is the trash removed?” Eli asked.

“The trash?”

“Yeah, the trash.”

“I leave it in the hall and the … what is the word?”

“The building superintendent,” Eli said.

“Yes. He come and pick it up.”

“What days?”

“Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.”

“Not Sunday.”

“No.”

“Does he live in the building?”

Rosa nodded.

“Can you call him on the phone and ask him to stop by?”

Rosa went to the phone, dialed a number and then spoke in Spanish. She hung up and looked at Eli. “He be right up.”

Eli nodded.

“The coffee take a minute,” Rosa said.

“No hurry.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Eli said.

He stood and went to the living room and opened the door. “I am Victor Sanchez, the super,” Sanchez said in a thick accent.

“Come in,” Eli said.

“I already talk to police before,” Sanchez said.

“I know. I have a few questions though. In the kitchen.”

Eli and Sanchez went to the kitchen.

“Hello, Rosa,” Sanchez said. “I am so sorry about Mr. Tanner.”

Rosa nodded. “Have some coffee with us.”

Eli and Sanchez sat and Rosa filled three cups and then sat next to Eli.

“Mr. Sanchez, tell me about the garbage,” Eli said.

“The garbage?”

“Yes. How do you remove it and where does it go?”

“The tenants leave it outside the servants’ door and I pick it up in a cart and bring it down to the basement and fill the cans,” Sanchez said.

“On Monday, Wednesday and Saturday,” Eli said.

“Yes.”

“If a tenant has something they want to get rid of on say Tuesday or Thursday, what then?” Eli asked.

“They can call me or take it down themselves,” Sanchez said. “The private elevator is never locked.”

“Can you show me?” Eli asked.

“Sure.”

“Rosa, I’ll be right back,” Eli said.

Eli and Sanchez went out to the hallway through the servant’s door in the kitchen. Sanchez led Eli down to the end of the hall where the private elevator was located. Sanchez pushed the call button and after a few seconds the door opened. A large and empty laundry cart was in the elevator car.

Eli and Sanchez got on and Sanchez pushed the button for the basement.

“I keep an empty cart on the elevator for me to use,” Sanchez said. “And for people to put their trash in if they no want to go downstairs.”

The elevator arrived in the basement. The door opened and Eli and Sanchez got off. The basement was large. Thirty garbage cans lined the walls. Workbenches were filled with tools.

Eli pointed to a door.

“Where does that go?” he asked.

“The garage,” Sanchez said.

Eli opened the door and looked into the garage. “Is this door ever locked?”

“Never.”

“How do you bring the cans to the street?” Eli asked.

“Here,” Sanchez said and walked to another door at the end of the basement.

“Is this door ever locked?” Eli asked.

“No, never.”

The door opened to a courtyard. Eli and Sanchez stepped into the courtyard. There was a tunnel that led to the street. They walked the tunnel and it ended at the sidewalk about forty feet to the left of the parking garage.

Eli looked to his left. The guard on duty at the garage wasn’t visible.

“Mr. Sanchez, I suggest that from now on you lock those doors,” Eli said.

 

*****

Eli returned to the apartment to find a large Spanish omelet waiting for him. Rosa had prepared a second, smaller one for herself.

“This is delicious,” Eli said.

“Thank you,” Rosa said.

“I need you to do something for me,” Eli said. “Several things, actually. The first is that you speak to no one concerning Mr. Tanner. The second is when an officer arrives tomorrow to take you downtown to make a statement you be as thorough as possible. The third is you rack your memory for any information you can remember about friends, enemies and whatever. Okay?”

Rosa nodded.

“In all likelihood, I will see you tomorrow,” Eli said.

 

Chapter Three

 

Eli looked at the body of Roger Tanner on the examination table.

“He’s a fit man, isn’t he?” Eli said.

“He was,” Wilson said. “A mite over six feet tall, a solid one ninety one.”

Wilson rolled the body over. “The stab wound on the left side goes directly to the spleen. Painful, mortal given enough time, but not fatal in this instance. His neck is snapped in two like a twig. That’s what killed him and in my opinion, instantly.”

Eli looked at the stab wound.

“What kind of knife?”

“Haven’t identified it yet,” Wilson said. “It’s one I haven’t seen before. It’s at least fifteen inches long, though.”

“I’ll have the lab get on that,” Eli said. “Any other evidence on the body?”

“Clean. Look at the throat, tell me what you see.”

Eli examined Tanner’s throat. It was crushed at the Adam’s apple but there wasn’t a mark on it.

“How is that possible?” Eli asked.

“You tell me,” Wilson said.

“It takes time to crush a man’s throat, even if you’re twice the size of the victim,” Eli said.

“Maybe he stabbed him first to weaken Tanner?” Wilson said.

“Maybe?”

Eli stared off into space for a moment.

“What are you thinking?” Wilson asked.

“Nothing. Call me if you figure out the knife,” Eli said. “The lab boys will be by later to take a look.”

 

*****

Eli called Art Howe, the captain of his division   and asked him to meet him in the office. Howe was a tough, no nonsense cop with thirty years on the job. He fought in Germany and France in the First World War and was as fearless as he was fair-minded.

While Howe looked at the crime scene photos, Eli drew a little diagram on a legal pad.

“The killer enters through the street tunnel that leads to the basement where the garbage cans are stored,” Eli said. “He opens the door to the parking garage, kills Tanner and slips out the same  way sight unseen.”

“This fucking city,” Howe said.

“The killer knew exactly where Tanner would be and exactly at what time,” Eli said. “That took some planning.”

“What do we have on the victim?” Howe asked.

Eli gave him the rundown on what he had so far.

“This is going to take some legwork, Eli,” Howe said. “A guy worth seven million doesn’t walk through life without some enemies and a lot of friends.”

“Agreed,” Eli said.

“What about the murder weapon?” Howe asked.

“The murder weapon was the killer’s hands,” Eli said. “The stab to the spleen didn’t kill him, a broken windpipe did.”

Howe sat on the edge of Eli’s desk.

“The press?” Howe asked.

“Nothing yet.”

“I’ll call a press conference in the morning,” Howe said.

“Will you need help on this one?” Howe asked.

“If I do, I’ll pull Jack Bannon and Tyler,” Eli said.

“The City doesn’t like its millionaires getting murdered, Eli,” Howe said. “Solve this one.”

“I’ll do my best, Art,” Eli said.

Howe stood up. “Do more than your best,” he said. “Do a miracle.”

 

*****

After Howe left, Eli sat in his chair and mulled things over in his mind. The killer knew Tanner’s habits. That required surveillance and lots of it.

Unless he was close enough to Tanner that he was familiar with Tanner’s regular routines.

The killer didn’t use a gun because in the confines of the underground garage a shot would have sounded like a bazooka and alerted the guard.

Motive?

There had to be a motive.

The phone rang and Eli picked it up. “Lieutenant Rico.”

“It’s Roscoe in the lab. We got the safe open.”

“Be right there.”

 

*****

The crime lab was located in the basement. Roscoe was the lead crime scene investigator, a twenty plus year veteran.

The contents of the safe were spread out on a table.

Eli looked at them.

“Jesus Christ,” he said.

“And then some,” Roscoe said. “Let’s start with the cash. Fifty thousand in stacks of ten thousand a stack. One ring box containing one wedding and engagement ring. Some pretty expensive women’s jewelry. An insurance policy for two million dollars. His…”

“Wait,” Eli said. “Who is the beneficiary?”

“Rosa Garcia,” Roscoe said. “As of a month ago. Prior to that it was blank.”

“Blank?”

“That’s what I said, Lieutenant. Blank.”

“What else?”

“His portfolio of investments and statements,” Roscoe said. “He was worth close to eight million dollars. Bank records of transactions, that kind of stuff. One key that I believe is for a bank safe deposit box.”

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“What bank?”

“Manhattan First, according to the stamp.”

“Let me have the key,” Eli said.

Roscoe gave him the key.

“I’ll take the insurance policy, bank records and rings,” Eli said. “I’ll have my guys bag the rest into evidence.”

Roscoe nodded. “Anything else?”

“You can count on that,” Eli said.

 

*****

Eli read the insurance policy at his desk. Tanner purchased the policy five years ago, but hadn’t included a beneficiary until recently when he added Rosa Garcia’s name.

His initial thoughts on the rings proved incorrect. His first reaction was the rings belonged to Tanner’s wife and he saved them as keepsakes. However, the rings were new, less than two months old and purchased at Tiffany’s for six thousand dollars according to the receipt folded inside the box.

“Six grand?” Eli said aloud. “It takes me ten months to make six grand.”

He read through the financial reports. Most of it didn’t make sense to him. A lot of buying and selling of stocks and commodities. He would have to get in touch with the financial banker to spell it all out.

Eli made a note of the banker’s name. Leo Carson Jr. His office was on Park Avenue South.

Eli stood for a moment and stretched. He lit a cigarette and went to the window. A wino was asleep on a bench across the street in the tiny park that faced headquarters.

There was a knock on the door and a detective named Tyler entered carrying a cardboard box. “The stuff we gathered from Tanner’s apartment,” he said and set it on Eli’s desk.

“Anything interesting?” Eli asked.

Tyler shrugged.

“Okay, thanks,” Eli said.

Tyler left the office and closed the door.

Eli emptied the box on his desk. There were two date books. One for business, the other personal. The business date book had regular appointments with Carson Jr., along with appointments with a real estate agency. There was no name, just the name of the agency. The West Side Real Estate Agency, located on West 57^th Street.

In the personal date book, Tanner wrote everything down. Everything from haircuts to trips to his shirt maker to what brands of cigars he wanted to buy.

It was apparent to Eli that Tanner forgot more than his cigars on a regular basis and needed to write everything down to remind himself.

Eli opened the photo album. There were dozens of family photos of his parents and his wife. Nothing unusual and nothing out of the ordinary.

He picked up the large envelope marked contents of pockets and dumped it. One thousand dollars in twenty dollar bills rolled and held in place with a rubber band. Five hundred dollars in his wallet. His driver’s license and a New York City issued gun permit. His checkbook with one hundred thousand dollars in the account. A gold Zippo lighter, the real thing.

Eli picked up the phone and called the squad room. Tyler picked up.

“Hey, get in here,” Eli said.

Tyler came in a few seconds later.

“His car keys, where are they?” Eli asked.

“They weren’t on the body or in the car,” Tyler said. “Or on the ground.”

“He has a gun permit, does he own a gun?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“Find out.”

“It’s ten o’clock at night,” Tyler said.

“In the morning then.”

Tyler nodded and returned to the squad room.

Eli took his chair and lit a fresh cigarette.

Who wanted to kill this Guy?

What was the motive?

Where are his keys?

Where is his gun?

Eli picked up the phone and called Wilson.

“Don’t you ever go home?” Wilson said.

“On his body, did you find a set of keys?” Eli asked.

“If I had I would have already given them to you,” Wilson said.

“Thanks.”

Eli hung up the phone.

‘In the morning then’ sounded like a good idea.

---

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081PRPRLR

EVERGREEN

By

Al Lamanda

Copyright by Al Lamanda

Prologue

The darkness of her confinement was as if she had suddenly gone blind, it was that dark.

The first instinct was to panic. No amount of training can overcome that initial response. What the training does, however, is help you fight through the panic and allow clear thinking to emerge.

She could feel the sides of her confinement with her hands. They were made of wood. The air was damp and smelled stale. She slowed her breathing to sips because she didn’t know how much air was available and needed to conserve what there was or risk suffocating.

She reached up and touched the ceiling. It was also made of wood and maybe a foot above her face.

She swallowed the terror in her chest and tried to remember how this came to pass and couldn’t. The last thing she remembered was …

Her utility belt, it was still around her waist.

She felt for her weapon and it was in the holster on her right hip. On her left hip was the two-battery Maglite she always carried and she withdrew it from the sheath. Her hands shook a bit as she clicked it on.

Immediately she recognized her confinement.

She was inside a cheap pine coffin.

Jesus Christ, she had been buried alive.

Chapter One

As she rode the ferry back to Newport, Claire Evergreen replayed the job interview in her mind and decided that she wouldn’t get the position.

The mayor of Smokey Point, Carl Walker, who also served as town manager, a squirrelly little man who reminded Claire of the pointy haired office manager in the Dilbert cartoon didn’t like her. She could see it right off, the way he looked at her with distain that he was going to be a problem.

The other four members of the town council seemed fine with her, but she could tell Walker was going to do his best to poison their votes.

She caught the ferry out of Newport and arrived at Smokey Point thirty minutes early. She wore a pants suit and flats, the flats because at five foot nine and one half inches tall, she could appear overpowering in two-inch heels.

It was just her luck Walker stood five foot four inches tall. She could see he would have an immediate problem with her height. The other members of the council seemed to like her well enough though, so maybe she had a shot after all.

The interview took place in the town hall, a small building where public meetings were held.

Each member of the council had her resume and cover letter.

Walker opened the interview.

“Miss Evergreen, thank you for coming and for being prompt,” he said. “I know you came a long way to be here this morning.”

The five members of the council sat at a long table. Claire sat in a chair facing them. It was awkward to say the least.

“Now then, as you are aware of the position you are interviewing for is sheriff of Smokey Point. Our previous sheriff, Matthew Holt retired after eight years of loyal and distinguished service. When you spoke with Mrs. Maxwell, you told her you were interested in one year of employment. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Claire said. “My suspension with the Rhode Island State Police is for one year. I would like to return to work after that if possible.”

“Perhaps you see this position as a fill-in, something to do while you wait to return to the Rhode Island State Police?” Walker said.

“I didn’t say that and I certainly don’t,” Claire said.

Perhaps she had said that a bit too harsh, but she was not about to have this squirrelly little man put words in her mouth.

“But you have no plans to make this position your career,” Walker said.

“No,” Claire said. “I do not. I specifically stated my intent of one year employment in the position while I wait for my suspension to conclude.”

“And if were to hire you in one year we would be right back where we are now, seeking a suitable sheriff for our town,” Walker said.

“Not necessarily,” Claire said. “If during my one year tenure I was able to elevate one of the three deputies and get him or her ready to assume the role of sheriff, you would have a ready-made replacement for when my time is up.”

Claire could see the other members of the council, especially Mitzi Maxwell, the lone woman on the council, appreciated her remark.

Walker wasn’t sold.

“In which case we would be short one deputy and right before season,” he said.

“I would think it easier to find a qualified deputy than a sheriff, especially if I were to begin accepting applications for one month before my departure,” Clair said.

Walker glared at her.

Well, fuck him, Claire thought.

“Miss Evergreen, it is Miss, isn’t it?” Walker said.

“Yes,” Claire said.

“Would you explain to us how your suspension came about?” Walker asked.

“I explained all that in my letter,” Claire said.

“I know, but I was wondering why a state trooper assigned to homicide was making a traffic stop,” Walker said.

“Because I’m in homicide doesn’t mean I should ignore all other facets of the law,” Claire said.

“Yes, but please elaborate for us on what happened,” Walker said.

Claire stared at Walker for a moment, analyzing his ‘gotcha moment’, and then decided screw it and said, “I just worked a double shift on a particularly gruesome murder investigation. A woman in Kranston put her baby in a pillowcase and smashed him against the side of a building, so I was not in a good mood to begin with. It was after midnight and I was driving home on 95 when a drunk driver cuts me off and waltzes across four lanes. I hit the wailer and …”

“Wailer?” Walker said.

“The siren and lights,” Claire said. “And I pull him over. He blows a 2.4 and is staggering drunk. He resisted arrest and grabbed my right tit and insisted I perform oral sex on him. When I went to put the cuffs on him he tried to bite me on the neck so I tazed him and threw him in the back of my car.”

“That seems a bit excessive to me,” Walker said.

Enough with this twerp, Clair thought. “I take it that you’ve never had a drunk grab your tit, call you a bitch and ask you for a blowjob then,” she said.

Mitzi Maxwell all but burst out laughing and the other three men on the council had to hide their smiles.

“Miss Evergreen, your language,” Walker said.

“If I offended I apologize,” Claire said.

“Could you …?” Walker said.

“Miss Evergreen, are you prepared to start work immediately?” Mitzi asked.

“I am,” Claire said. “I have a tenant ready to sublet my apartment for one year standing by. I could be ready by next Monday.”

“Your qualifications speak volumes,” Mitzi said. “I for one have little doubt you would make an excellent sheriff of Smoky Point.”

Walker seemed highly annoyed and glared at Mitzi.

“Miss Evergreen, were you aware at the time that the man you tazed was a Congressman home from Washington on a two-week break?” Walker asked.

“I was not,” Claire said.

“Should you have been?”

“New York State has twenty-seven Congressmen and two Senators; would you recognize every one of them on a dark highway especially if they were drunk?” Claire asked.

“Probably not,” Walker said. “In your opinion was your suspension due to excessive force or because the Congressman pulled some strings to have you punished?”

“My captain said it was because I showed poor judgment in how I handled the situation,” Claire said.

“In what way?” Walker said.

“My captain said I should have given him a blowjob,” Claire said.

Mitzi and the other three men burst out laughing.

“I think we are done here,” Walker said.

“May I say something?” Claire asked.

“Go ahead,” Walker said.

“I suppose I could ride out my suspension and collect unemployment and maybe even take a few college courses,” Claire said. “But I feel the genuine need to protect and serve. That is my calling if you will. I am very good at my job or I wouldn’t have made homicide before the age of thirty-five. Had I known the Congressman was a Congressman, it wouldn’t have made any difference. The man was drunk on a public highway and could have killed himself or worse, somebody else. Ask yourself if you would tolerate that in Smoky Point.”

“Thank you, Miss Evergreen,” Walker said. “That will be all for now.”

So when she finally arrived back in her apartment just before midnight, the last thing Claire expected to hear on her voice mailbox on her home phone was Mitzi Maxwell offering her the position of Sheriff of Smoky Point.

Chapter Two

“What’s a Smoky Point?” Captain Dugan asked when Claire told him the news.

“It’s a small vacation town on the tip of Long Island in New York,” Claire said.

“Sounds exciting,” Dugan said.

“I didn’t ask to be suspended on a bullshit charge trumped up by some drunken Congressman,” Claire said.

“Do you know how much punch a twelve-term Congressman who sits on five Congressional committees has?” Dugan said.

“Enough to blow three times the legal limit on I 95 and get away with it,” Claire said.

“He didn’t … he hasn’t gotten away with anything,” Dugan said.

“Has he been suspended from Congress for one year?” Claire asked.

Dugan looked at her.

“Call me if you need help?” he said.

“In Smoky Point, help with what?” Claire asked.

*****

Claire packed all of her clothes into several large boxes that fit into the back seat and trunk of her car. She left all furniture and appliances as is for her sublet tenant, a businessman on a one-year job transfer.

Her seven-year-old Angora cat Snowball didn’t like being placed into a carrier but having two legs instead of four made Claire the boss.

Snowball meowed her annoyance the first hundred miles of the drive. At a pit stop in Hartford, Claire decided enough was enough and let the cat out and Snowball slept peacefully on the floor in back the rest of the way.

She reached the George Washington Bridge around five in the afternoon and skirted her way onto the Grand Central Parkway and onto Long Island where she found out just how long of an island it really was.

One hundred and eighteen miles long to be exact and much of it at bumper-to-bumper. The last ten miles on a state road before a sign greeted her with Welcome to Smoky Point.

It was eight o’clock in the evening when Claire parked in front of a small office on Main Street. Mitzi Maxwell Real Estate Agent the letterhead on the door read. Besides being the only real estate agent in town, Mitzi was also the Town Clerk at the town office where Carl Walker’s office was located.

Mitzi was a firecracker of a woman, around fifty with burning red hair and a plump figure the way men like.

“A long drive,” Mitzi said when Claire entered the tiny office.

“Very,” Claire said.

“Sit for a minute and we’ll talk,” Mitzi said.

Claire took the chair opposite Mitzi’s desk.

“The vote was four to one to hire you,” Mitzi said. “Walker being the lone no.”

“I figured,” Claire said.

“Don’t let it bother you. Carl hasn’t been laid in years since his wife ran off with an interstate trucker,” Mitzi said. “It made him distrustful of women.”

“Sure,” Claire said.

“Do you want me to fill you in on your staff or wait and see for yourself?”

“Wait and see.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Mitzi said. “Follow me to the house I told you about on the phone.”

*****

Claire followed Mitzi’s Town Car for about a mile where the house for rent overlooked the ocean.

“It’s small,” Mitzi said as she unlocked the front door. “Two bedrooms, kitchen, living room, one and a half baths and two-car garage.”

“My apartment back in Providence is small,” Claire said. “To that this is a castle. What is the rent?”

“How much is the rent on your apartment?”

“Nine hundred a month.”

“And you sublet it for what?”

“Twelve hundred.”

“The rent is three hundred a month,” Mitzi said.

“How is that possible?” Claire asked.

“I own this house,” Mitzi said. “The rent is what I say it is.”

“Okay then, deal.”

“Good. You’ll find coffee and fresh milk in the kitchen. I’ll make some while you bring your stuff in and we can chat for a bit.”

*****

“You see dear, it may not look like much right now, but come Memorial Day when the boardwalk and amusement park opens and the charter fishing and beaches kicks in, Smoky Point will explode and it will stay busy right up to Labor Day and beyond to Columbus Day. After that we get a lull until leaf peeping starts and we hop again for another two weeks. Come November we return to our cocoons until spring. In four weeks, twenty-one B&B’s will open as well as four motels by the ocean and one resort. Shops, stores and places to eat will triple. We have eleven bars that stay open year-round on what we call Alcoholics Alley, but that number will double. In short, you will earn the thirty-eight-thousand a year we are paying you.”

Claire sipped her coffee.

Snowball jumped onto Mitzi’s lap and Mitzi said, “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

“Snowball,” Claire said.

Mitzi stroked snowball and said, “Divorced, huh?”

“Twice.”

“Ouch. I’m a three-timer myself. First thing a divorced woman does is get a cat and buy a copy of Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

Claire grinned and sipped more coffee. It was fair to say that she liked Mitzi Maxwell from the start.

“What about uniforms?” Claire asked.

“Your predecessor wore plain clothing,” Mitzi said. “As sheriff, you have that option.”

“I’ll order a few sets and keep them in the rotation,” Claire said.

“Well, it’s late and I have a dozen rental properties to show to tourists jumpstarting the season,” Mitzi said. She stood and Snowball jumped off her lap. “Good luck and call if you need anything.”

“I do need one thing,” Claire said. “Where is the Sheriff’s Department located?”

*****

After choosing the smaller of the two bedrooms because it had the full bathroom and more comfortable bed, Clair unpacked her clothing and made the bed with fresh linen she found in the linen closet.

There was an alarm clock on the bedside table and she set it for six even though she knew she wouldn’t need it.

Then she filled a glass with water and set it by the clock.

Claire hated the idea of pajamas and wore usually just panties and a tank top to sleep in, even on the coldest winter nights. Tonight was no exception even though the temperature had dropped considerably since sundown.

She cracked the window for the fresh air and also for the sound of the ocean.

Then she removed her Glock .40 pistol from its holster and set it under the second pillow as was her custom.

From where Snowball came Claire couldn’t say, but the moment she turned off the light and got into bed, there she was by her side.

Claire rubbed her ears for a few seconds and Snowball purred loudly.

“Like our new home?” Claire asked.

Snowball curled into a ball and closed her eyes against Claire’s stomach.

“Me, too,” Claire said.

Chapter Three

Claire wore dark blue jeans, a grey tee-shirt and a corduroy sports jacket to conceal her utility belt when she left in the morning and drove around town for a daylight look-see at the what’s-what.

She found a donut shop on the main drag and stopped for a large container of coffee. She took it to the beach and parked in the lot to watch the sun rise slowly over the ocean.

It was a chilly morning around forty-five degrees. Fog rolled in off the ocean creating a hauntingly beautiful picture.

When she finished the coffee, Claire returned to her car and after a few wrong turns, found the Sheriff’s Department on Elm Street next door to the library.

Two white cruisers and a Volkswagen sedan were parked out front.

Claire parked next to the Volkswagen and sat for a few minutes.

Hardly anyone was on the streets, but it was just past seven in the morning so what did she expect? Even Providence was no hotspot of activity so early in the morning.

She watched a man walking his dog and a woman walking her dog and a newspaper delivery truck go by and then another woman and dog.

A few kids walking to school passed by and then a school bus stopped to pick them up.

At seven-thirty Claire left her car with her briefcase and entered the office.

There were three desks in the main room of the department. A separate office with a glass window and door was directly behind the last desk.

At the closest desk sat a deputy in his mid to late forties.

“You must be James Turley,” Claire said to him.

At the second desk sat a deputy in his twenties.

“And you’re Roger Knox, but I was told you like to be called Shortstop,” Claire said.

Claire looked at the woman at the third desk. She was in her mid-forties.

“And you have to be Rose Bailey,” Claire said.

“And you are?” Turley asked.

“Your new boss,” Claire said.

Knox appeared stunned.

Rose smiled.

Turley looked at Claire as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“I assume that’s my office so one at a time, let’s go get acquainted,” Claire said. “Who wants to go first?”

*****

Rose had made a pot of coffee and Claire found a clean mug on her desk with the inscription Smoky Point Sheriff’s Department inscribed in gold lettering on it. She sipped from the mug as she read Turley’s file.

Turley sat in a chair and quietly watched her read.

Finally Claire closed the file and looked at him.

“I was wondering why a forty-seven-year-old man was content to be a deputy in a small town, but I understand after reading your file,” she said. “Tell me about the shooting. How did it go down?”

“It was a routine traffic stop on the LIE,” Turley said. “Night shift, one in the morning, the driver of an SUV is doing eighty-five in a construction site posted for fifty. I approached the vehicle and the man behind the wheel shot me in the right knee with a .22 caliber pistol and then drove away.”

“Sixteen years with the state police, rank of sergeant, six commendations and it’s over in the blink of an eye,” Claire said.

“I was in rehab for a year,” Turley said. “The knee was shattered and replaced, but I walk with such a limp I was forced to take a disability pension.”

“I didn’t see much of a limp when you walked in here,” Claire said.

“I wear a brace under my pants,” Turley said.

Claire nodded. “How did you wind up here?”

“I sat around for a year doing nothing,” Turley said. “I decided to get back into the game, work if I could and contribute to my pension for as long as possible. I really loved being a trooper. I don’t love being a deputy, but at least my hat is still in the ring.”

“Can you pull your weight?” Claire asked.

“I’ve lasted five years,” Turley said.

“Okay,” Claire said.

*****

“Why are you called Shortstop?” Claire asked.

“I played shortstop in high school and college,” Knox said. “Tore my rotor cuff in my third year and that was that. Nobody wants a shortstop that throws like a little girl.”

Claire looked at Knox.

“Oh, no offense,” Knox said.

“None taken,” Claire said. “I don’t throw like a little girl.”

Knox grinned.

“Three years with Smoky Point, you’re only twenty-eight, why are you still here?” Claire said.

“I’m waiting to be called by the state police,” Knox said. “Probably next year and in the meantime I keep a foot in the door as a deputy.”

“What if you don’t get called?” Claire asked.

“Why wouldn’t I get called?” Knox said with a grin.

He was boyishly handsome with blue eyes and sandy hair, tall and fit and probably scored well with the women Claire assessed.

“How did you score on the tests?” Claire asked.

“Good,” Knox said. “Not great but good. I figure another year in the Point.”

*****

“Twelve years as an EMT, what made you switch over?” Claire asked Rose.

“My husband left me for a younger, prettier woman,” Rose said. “I needed a job with a more regular schedule. I took the one hundred and twenty hours at the academy and Sheriff Holt was kind enough to give me a chance.”

“Seven years in?”

Rose nodded.

“You’re only forty-five, Rose,” Claire said. “You have a long way to go. Are you happy being a deputy in a small town or is there more below the surface?”

“My oldest is in college. My middle daughter is a senior and the youngest is a freshman,” Rose said. “I got the house and child support. The child support ends when my youngest graduates college. Ask me that question again in seven years.”

Claire picked up her briefcase and removed a folder and set it on the desk.

“That’s my file,” she said. “I’d like the three of you to read it carefully and then ask me anything you’d like.”

*****

Claire gave them fifteen minutes and then returned to the squad room, filled her mug with coffee and looked at her three deputies.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?” Knox said.

“Questions,” Claire said. “For me.”

“Did you really taze a Congressman?” Knox asked.

“I did.”

“I remember seeing that on the news,” Turley said. “As I recall he would have dropped charges if you apologized.”

“Why would I apologize for enforcing the law if that’s what I’m paid to do?” Claire said.

“You only plan to do one year?” Turley said.

“Unless the Rhode Island State Police for some reason fires me after my suspension is up,” Claire said. “In which case I’ll probably stay a while longer.”

“Five shootings in fourteen years is a bit high, isn’t it?” Turley said. “I never drew my gun once in the line of duty.”

“Somebody shoots at me, I shoot back,” Claire said.

“What about policy and schedules?” Knox asked.

“How do you work it now?” Claire asked.

“Two of us works days, one of us works nights and Rose works dispatch unless needed in the field,” Knox said.

“Who is on tonight?” Claire asked.

“Me,” Knox said.

“I suggest you go home right after this meeting and get some sleep then,” Claire said.

“Who has the VW?” Claire asked.

“I do,” Rose said.

“Have a radio and wailer?”

“It does.”

“One thing we need to be clear about,” Claire said. “You’re all going to want to make helpful suggestions on how we do things. Give me advice on what works and what doesn’t. Please don’t. Turley, you have dispatch. Rose, you come with me.”

*****

“What goes on around here, Rose? What am I up against come Memorial Day?” Claire asked.

“A lot of drunk and disorderly on the beach, a lot of bar fights especially when the motorcycle enthusiasts show up and more than our fair share of drugs,” Rose said. “Sometimes Sheriff Holt would ask for help from the County Sheriff or State Police and sometimes he would even get it.”

“Take me to Alcoholics Alley,” Claire said.

About a mile from the office, Rose turned down a side street, made an immediate left and parked at the corner.

Claire counted twenty-three bars that lined both sides of the street.

“Next?” Rose asked.

“Boardwalk and amusement park and stop at the donut shop, I want to grab some coffee,” Claire said.

*****

They sat on a bench a hundred feet from the ocean. A stone wall a mile long was at their backs. Every thirty feet there was a break in the wall allowing access to the sand. A quarter mile on their left the amusement park was quiet and isolated. A stiff breeze off the water made the fifty-five degree temperature feel like forty.

They sipped coffee from donut shop containers.

“Aren’t you cold?” Rose asked as she turned up the collar of her uniform jacket.

“I don’t think about it,” Claire said.

Rose sipped some coffee. “It’s freezing. It’s not supposed to be this cold this close to May.”

“How often do you go in the field, Rose?” Claire asked.

“Not as often as I’d like to,” Rose said. “Maybe a dozen times over the course of the summer.”

“Unless it’s all hands on deck, count on none,” Claire said.

“I don’t understand. I’m competent enough to …”

“Our budget doesn’t allow for a detective,” Claire said. “So from now on you are my investigator. If, in the course of an investigation you need to go out, go. But no more sitting on your ass waiting for the phone to ring. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Claire sipped some coffee.

Rose sipped some coffee.

“What are you going to tell Turley and Shortstop?” Rose asked.

“Turley is a field man,” Claire said. “I doubt he would have ever made detective. Knox is one step away from being a security guard at a bank. I’ll tell them you’re my investigator and that’s that.”

“How did you make detective in homicide at so young an age?” Rose asked.

“By working harder than anybody else,” Claire said. “Why do you think I’m divorced twice by the age of forty?”

“Anyplace else you want to see?” Rose said. “Because I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Let’s drive around,” Claire said. “I want to feel the town.”

*****

“Tell me about Holt,” Claire said as Rose drove around town.

“Matt was … I mean is a good man,” Rose said. “I don’t know if you read his file, but he quit the New York City Police Department after twenty-two years when his wife died. He sat around for two years raising his two sons and them came aboard eight years ago as sheriff after they were grown.”

“Why did he quit?”

“He said thirty years was enough,” Rose said. “He said he wanted to enjoy his pension while he was still young enough to spend it.”

“Let’s grab some lunch and then head back,” Claire said.

*****

Turley was on the phone when Claire and Rose returned to the office.

“Yes, I realize I’m not Rose, Mr. Cassedy,” Turley said into the phone. “But is there something I can help you with?”

Rose went to her desk.

Claire stood beside Turley’s desk.

“No, sir, I don’t think it’s possible that Rose could call you back to say hello, but I’ll tell her,” Turley said and hung up.

“And that was about?” Claire said.

“Mr. Cassedy is eighty-seven-years-old and is in love with Rose,” Turley said. “He calls every day to hear her voice.”

“Cute,” Claire said. “Rose, bring me everything.”

Claire went into her office and sat at her desk.

Rose appeared in the doorway.

“What do you mean by everything?” Rose asked.

“Start with all arrest reports from last year,” Claire said.

*****

Claire read arrest reports cover-to-cover until, at five o’clock, Turley knocked on her door.

“It’s five o’clock,” he said. “I’ve been here ten hours. Unless you need me I’m clocking out.”

Claire nodded.

“Rose?”

“She stays until six when Short comes on.”

“Goodnight then,” Claire said.

After Turley left, Claire stood and went to the squad room where Rose was at her desk writing a report.

“Do you usually stay until six?” Claire asked.

Rose nodded. “Until the night watch shows up. That way he can work until at least two.”

“And from two until eight?”

“Whoever worked the day shift takes the call at home.”

Claire sat on the edge of Rose’s desk.

“Last summer there was an average of two arrests a day for drunk and disorderly on the beach, one bar fight a night and at least two arrests a week for drug possession,” Claire said. “Not pot but cocaine and heroin. The bar fights usually are between motorcycle gangs. Are they responsible for the drugs?”

“Holt believed so but was never able to make a case, against them” Rose said.

“I want you to start an investigation tomorrow,” Claire said. “I’d like you to go back five years and check for priors on all motorcycle gang members arrested for drugs. Possession and intent to sell. Somebody is bringing drugs to the beach and it’s up to us to stop it. Build me a case, Rose.”

Rose looked at Claire.

“My fingerprints are in my file,” Claire said. “Tomorrow get me a license to carry permit. The sheriff should be able to legally conceal, don’t you think?”

Rose nodded.

“Go home,” Claire said. “I’ll stick around and wait for Short.”

*****

Claire was still reading the arrest log when Knox arrived at five to six. He had a paper bag and a thermos of coffee and set them on his desk.

Her door was open and he poked his nose in and said, “Where’s Rose?”

“I sent her home early,” Claire said. “Short, sit for a minute.”

There was a small sofa against the wall and Knox sat there rather than the hard chairs opposite the desk.

“Hey, do you know why they named it Smoky Point?” Knox asked.

“Because when the fog rolls in off the ocean at sunrise it resembles smoke,” Claire said. “Just a guess.”

Knox looked at her.

“A lot of drug related arrests last summer,” Claire said.

“It’s to be expected with so many college kids and teenagers around the beach and park,” Knox said.

“What did Sheriff Holt try to do about it?” Claire asked.

“Name it and he tried it,” Knox said. “Parked cruisers at the beach and amusement park, traffic stops, investigations into motorcycle gangs, even borrowed a couple of female deputies from county to work undercover at the beach. Nothing worked.”

“How is it every college kid and moron on the beach couldn’t identify where they purchased the drugs?” Claire asked. “Some guy, a dude and this guy at the beach doesn’t get it done in my or any book for that matter.”

“Like I said, we tried everything,” Knox said. “Matt even had us walk the beach in uniform.”

“Do you know where Holt is? I’d like to give him a call.”

“He lives near Wading River on the beach,” Knox said. “His address and number are in the files.”

“I’ll find it,” Claire said. “I’m going to read a while so go about your business.”

Knox stood up and turned to the door, hesitated and looked back. “What should I call you? I mean Sheriff Holt preferred to be called Matt.”

“Claire. Call me Claire.”

Knox nodded. “Okay, Claire. I’ll be at my desk.”

Claire read for another hour before calling it a night.

Knox was on the phone when she entered the squad room.

“Mrs. Parker, your son is twenty-seven-years-old, I don’t think we can actually say he ran away from home,” Knox said. “If he doesn’t show up in twenty-four hours you can file a missing person’s report. Yes, I keep an eye out for him. Goodnight.”

Knox hung up and looked at Claire.

“She calls once a month when her son goes off on a bender,” he said.

“Is there a market I can pick up some things at?” Claire asked.

“Two blocks east and one block to the north is Food City,” Knox said. “It’s open until midnight.”

“Thanks.”

Claire went to her office for her jacket and as she returned to the squad room, Mitzi Maxwell was coming through the door.

“I was driving by and thought I recognized your car,” Mitzi said.

“I was just heading out,” Claire said. “To the food market actually.”

“Well, as long as I’m here why not have dinner?” Mitzi said. “You can hit the market on the way home.”

Claire slipped on her jacket. “Let’s go,” she said.

Chapter Four

Mitzi held up her glass of white wine and said, “Cheers.”

Claire lightly touched Mitzi’s glass with her own and each woman took a small sip of wine.

“The council agreed to give you a few days burn-in time before calling a meeting,” Mitzi said.

“Make it sooner than later,” Claire said. “I’d like to discuss budgets and a few other things.”

“I’ll talk to Carl tomorrow,” Mitzi said.

“Thank you.”

“So what do you think of your staff?” Mitzi asked. “Be honest.”

“I don’t know them yet, know their capabilities,” Claire said. “Ask me that again in two weeks and I’ll be able to provide an honest answer.”

“Fair enough,” Mitzi said.

A waiter approached the table. “Have you decided yet?” he asked.

“Walter, bring me the house salad,” Mitzi said. “You know how I like it.”

“And the lady?”

“Walter, this is Claire Evergreen, our new sheriff,” Mitzi said.

“A pleasure,” Walter said.

“I think I’ll go with the same,” Claire said.

“Very good,” Walter said and left the table.

“So Claire, what is the origin of your name?” Mitzi asked. “Evergreen is such an unusual name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“As the family story goes, my great-grandfather came over from Scandinavia in nineteen-eleven and when he went through Ellis Island no one could pronounce his name,” Claire said. “To the clerk checking him in it sounded like the word evergreen so that’s what he wrote on my great-grandfather’s papers.”

“What a wonderful story,” Mitzi said. “Any idea what it really is?”

“Something I can’t pronounce,” Claire said.

“And the house is?”

“Perfectly fine,” Claire said. “I slept like a baby listening to the ocean.”

Mitzi smiled. “Good.”

Walter returned with the salads.

“Save room for dessert,” Mitzi said. “They have a wonderful cheesecake here.”

“Can you tell me something?” Claire said. “Off the record if you’d like.”

“If I can.”

“What was Sheriff Holt like?”

“In what way?”

“As a sheriff and as a person.”

“I’m afraid Carl is the one to ask about his duties as sheriff,” Mitzi said. “The sheriff reports directly to the town manager. I thought he was highly competent if not a little bored there at the end. He’s a big fisherman and if you ask me would rather be on his boat fishing than anyplace else.”

“My dad is like that,” Claire said. “After my mom passed, he moved down to the Keys and bought a little charter boat and takes guests out fishing almost every day.”

“Sounds like your dad and Matthew would get along just fine,” Mitzi said. “And the first dinner is always on me.”

*****

Claire walked through her front door carrying two large shopping bags. Snowball was already in place and waiting to greet her.

Claire put down the bags and picked up the cat. She gave Snowball several kisses and scratched behind her ears and then set her down.

“To the kitchen,” Claire said.

At the counter, Claire unpacked the groceries. Cat litter, cat food, milk, coffee, eggs, butter bacon and bread.

After filling Snowball’s food bowl and changing out her water, Claire went to the bedroom and took a twenty minute, blazing hot shower, something she did even on hot summer days.

Afterward she put on shorts and tank-top and a lightweight robe.

Snowball was already on the bed waiting.

Claire propped up the pillows and allowed Snowball to take up residence on her stomach.

Stroking Snowball’s ears, Claire said, “I’m not so sure about this place.”

Snowball purred and began kneading Claire’s stomach.

“Why?” Claire said. “Because one deputy walks like a duck, another is one step above brainless and the third is a middle-aged woman who probably never fired the gun she doesn’t wear.”

Snowball rubbed her face against Claire’s hand.

“Oh, that’s right. We’re women too, aren’t we?” Claire said.

Snowball turned over and Claire rubbed her back.

“Well, I am anyway,” Claire said. “You’ve been spayed, although for all the action I’ve been getting lately I might as well be, too.”

Claire gently moved Snowball off her stomach and stood up. “Be right back,” she said.

She went to the kitchen for a glass of water and set it on the nightstand. Then she placed her Glock .40 under the spare pillow and turned off the lamp.

Claire and Snowball were asleep within minutes.

*****

Before the alarm went off at six am, Claire was out of bed and in the kitchen making coffee.

While the coffee brewed, she returned to the bedroom, dropped to the floor and did thirty-five pushups. She rested for two minutes and then did another thirty-five. Immediately, Claire turned and did thirty-five sit-ups, followed by thirty-five stomach crunches and then held a plank for a count of one twenty. Then she did another thirty-five sit-ups and thirty-five crunches.

Snowball, as she usually did whenever Claire went through this routine, watched quietly from the bed.

When she finally stood up, Claire went to a cardboard box against the wall and removed the pull-up bar that attached to a door frame and hung it on the bathroom door.

Then she went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee and took it to the backyard where a small table and chairs faced the ocean. It was a chilly morning and she had to wear a robe, but the fresh, cold air along with the caffeine was the jumpstart she needed to go on to stage two.

Coffee finished, Claire slipped into a jogging suit with well-worn running shoes and walked down to the sand. The waves crashed as fog rolled in. She checked her watch and started a twenty-minute run at waters edge.

After twenty-minutes, she turned around and ran home.

The procedure ended at the bathroom where she stripped down and did three sets of ten reps of pull-ups on the bar. After the final rep she jumped into the shower.

Claire performed this workout three times a week without fail.

She felt she owed it to the tax payer that paid her salary to be able to, if necessary, outrun the bad guy.

After dressing in jeans, dark blue denim shirt and steel-toe boots, Claire fixed some toast with scrambled eggs and ate at the kitchen table.

She left fresh food and water for Snowball, slipped on her holster and left for work.

Chapter Five

Rose and Turley were already in the office when Claire arrived.

Rose had a stack of reports on her desk and was making notes on a pad.

Turley was reading a copy of Newsday.

“Morning Claire,” Turley said.

“Morning,” Claire said.

“Short brought in a drunk last night,” Turley said. “He’s in the cage.”

“Show me,” Claire said.

Turley stood and Claire followed him to the door next to the bathroom. He opened the door and down a short hallway was the ‘cage.’ Large enough to hold a dozen, the cage was basically one large jail cell with six bunk bed type cots.

A middle-aged man was sleeping in one of the lower cots.

“Deputy Turley, can you run on that leg?” Claire asked.

“Can I … how do you mean?” Turley asked.

“I mean if you had to chase a suspect, can you do it? Can you run?”

“Well I don’t … I mean I’ve never tried,” Turley said.

“So if you and Short were on foot and chasing a suspect you believed to be armed you wouldn’t be able to pursue the suspect and Short would be on his own,” Claire said. “Facing a possibly armed and dangerous suspect.”

Turley looked at Claire.

“I didn’t ask to get shot,” he said.

“I didn’t ask you if you asked to get shot,” Claire said. “I asked you if you could run.”

Turley sighed. “No, probably not.”

“How many more years did you figure on working?”

“Three. At least three.”

“I’ll get you the three, but on my terms,” Claire said. “Agreed?”

Turley nodded.

“Now what do we have for weapons around here?” Claire asked.

Opposite the cage was a locked closet. Turley used a key to unlock the door.

“Four pistol grip shotguns and two vests,” Claire said. “Anything in the cruisers?”

“No.”

“From now on one shotgun for each cruiser,” Claire said. “Fully loaded and extra ammunition in the glove box.”

Turley removed one shotgun and a box of ammunition from the closet and locked the door.

Rose still had her nose dug in reports when they returned to the squad room. She looked up and watched Turley leave the building with the shotgun.

“Rose, do you own a gun?” Claire asked.

“I do.”

“Where is it?”

“Home.”

“What is it?”

“Smith and Wesson .40.”

“Last time you fired it?”

“Who said I fired it?”

“From now on you wear it at all times while on duty.”

Turley returned and Claire looked at him.

“What range do you practice at?” she asked.

“Suffolk Rod and Gun Club,” Turley said.

“What time will Short be here?” Claire asked.

“Usually around two after a night shift,” Rose said.

“Do we have petty cash?” Claire asked.

“About one hundred dollars,” Rose said.

“At noon, I want the both of you to head over to the range and fire a minimum of one hundred rounds,” Claire said. “More if you have to, but you don’t come back until Rose can put seven out of ten in the black. Take what you need for practice ammo from petty cash.”

“What about calls?” Turley asked.

“I think I can handle a few hours alone,” Claire said.

*****

At her desk, Claire studied budget reports for several hours. Forty thousand dollars was allocated for summer manpower.

She called Rose to the office.

“Last summer there were five part time deputies,” Claire said. “Call over to the police academy and see if you can line up four top-class graduating deputies who wouldn’t mind making ten grand for three month’s work.”

“Just four?”

“I’d rather pay a bit extra per man and get a better quality deputy.”

“I’ll make the calls,” Rose said and returned to her desk.

After closing the files, Claire dug out the phone number left for Matthew Holt. She dialed the number and he answered after three rings.

“Matt Holt,” he said.

“Mr. Holt, this is your replacement calling, Claire Evergreen,” Claire said.

After a short pause, Holt said, “It’s snowing in hell then.”

“I …excuse me?” Claire said.

“Carl Walker approved a woman as sheriff,” Holt said.

“Yes, yes he did, but it was a four to one vote,” Claire said.

“Should I guess who the ‘no’ was?” Holt said.

“No need,” Claire said. “So why I’m calling is I’d like to know if you have some free time tomorrow. I’d like your input on a few things if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you fish?”

“No, no I don’t.”

“Do you eat?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Make it around one. Know where I live?”

“I have the address. I’ll find it.”

“One o’clock then.”

“I’ll be there.”

Claire hung up just as Rose knocked on the open door and entered. “It’s noon. Jim and I are headed over to the range now. I took fifty from petty cash for practice ammo. Also, I put in a call to the academy.”

“Get receipts,” Claire said. “Oh, who delivers?”

*****

Claire was eating noodles with chicken dumplings from The China Rose restaurant a few blocks from the office when Knox reported for his shift.

Claire met him at his desk.

“I cut your drunk lose with a desk appearance ticket for court,” she said.

“Where are Rose and Jim?” Knox asked.

“I sent them to the range so Rose can practice,” Claire said.

“Rose?”

“She’s a deputy, isn’t she?”

The phone rang and Knox answered it.

Rose returned to her desk and a few seconds later, Knox stuck his head in the door.

“Bar fight at the Palace,” he said.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Claire said.

“It’s Dwayne and his wife,” Knox said. “He’s a …”

“Tell me about it on the way,” Claire said.

“You’re going with me?” Knox said.

*****

The Palace was anything but. One of the eleven bars open year round, it was a dark and gloomy dive of a place.

Dwayne Haywood was beating the crap out of the bartender when Claire and Knox arrived.

A woman sat at a table with a bloody lip and a quickly closing black eye.

Otherwise the place was empty.

Knox grabbed Dwayne from behind and yanked him off the bartender and the bartender fell to the floor.

“Get the fuck offa me,” Dwayne yelled.

“Dammit, Dwayne, this is the third time this month you …” Knox said.

Dwayne, a former semi-pro football player and a good two hundred and fifty pounds shoved Knox backward.

Knox grabbed Dwayne and they started wrestling against the bar.

Claire looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m that idiot’s wife.”

“He do that to you?”

The woman nodded.

“He thinks I’m having an affair with the bartender.”

“Are you?”

“It’s his first day.”

Claire looked at the fallen bartender. He was a bloody mess. “Probably his last, too,” she said.

Dwayne had Knox in a headlock and was screaming, “Nobody fucks my wife but me. Nobody.”

“Every town has one,” Claire said.

She tapped Dwayne on the shoulder and he released Knox and turned around. The second Dwayne was facing her; Claire kicked him in the balls with her right steel-toe boot.

Dwayne gasped, grabbed his sack and slumped over to the floor.

Knox and Dwayne’s wife stared at Claire.

“Cuff this asshole and toss him in the cruiser,” Claire said.

*****

“You’re going to need medical attention,” Claire said to Dwayne’s wife.

“I’m alright. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.”

Her name was Sally and she was the waitress at the Palace. She was seated on the sofa in Claire’s office.

“Not this time,” Claire said. “And not anymore.”

“You don’t understand how mean Dwayne can get,” Sally said.

“How long have you been married to this idiot?” Claire asked.

“Since we graduated high school ten years ago,” Sally said. “Dwayne was going to be a big football star. Had a tryout with the Jets over at Hofstra. He blew out his right knee and that was that.”

“Well, Dwayne is going to jail,” Claire said.

“What for?” Sally asked.

“Domestic violence, assault and battery for openers,” Claire said.

“Dwayne can’t go to know jail. He has a job.”

“I hope they hold it for him,” Claire said. “He’ll be gone for at least one year.”

“A year?” Sally said. “Dwayne can’t do no year. I won’t press charges.”

“That’s not up to you,” Claire said. “That’s up to me.”

Knox tapped on the door and opened it.

“Claire, county boys are here for Dwayne,” he said.

“I’ll be right out,” Claire said.

She stood and said, “Sally, you wait right there.”

Claire went to the squad room where two county deputies were talking to Knox.

“Transport to county,” one of the deputies said.

“In the cage,” Claire said.

“I’ll get him,” Knox said and opened the door to the backroom.

“You’re new,” one of the county deputies said.

“Claire Evergreen. Sheriff Holt’s replacement,” Claire said.

Knox returned with Dwayne in cuffs.

“I want a lawyer,” Dwayne said. “This fucking bitch kicked me in the balls.”

“Twice,” Claire said and kicked Dwayne in the balls again.

“Jesus,” Knox said.

As the county deputies and Knox carried Dwayne out to their van, Claire returned to her office.

“The bartender is really hurt,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t count of seeing Dwayne for a year or more. Go home and tend to those bruises.”

“What about … what do you call it … bail?” Sally said.

“Tomorrow, if you’d like, drive to the county sheriff’s department and when he’s arraigned ask his lawyer if he can post bail,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t count on it though.”

“Did you have to kick him again?” Sally asked.

“No,” Claire said. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

*****

Claire was engrossed in writing her report and didn’t notice Rose and Turley until she heard their voices and looked up from her desk.

She grabbed her empty mug and went to the squad room and filled it at the coffee maker. “How did it go at the range?” she said.

“Sixty-four out of one hundred in the black,” Turley said.

“Good enough, but keep practicing,” Claire said to Rose. “And from now on you wear your piece on duty.”

“Short tells us you took down that idiot Dwayne at the Palace,” Turley said.

“Twice,” Rose said.

“His wife will stick by him though,” Claire said. “She doesn’t know any better.”

Claire sat on the edge of Rose’s desk.

“Last summer the majority of the arrests for drunk and disorderly and drugs came between four in the afternoon and ten at night,” she said. “Something like eighty percent.”

“That’s when the beaches, amusement park and bars are at the busiest,” Turley said. “The amusement park closes at midnight and most of the beach crowd leaves at dark. The bars give us most of the trouble.”

“They usually do,” Claire said. “Alcohol and stupidity don’t mix.”

The phone rang and Knox answered the call.

“Rose,” Claire said as she returned to her office.

Rose followed Claire and Claire closed the door.

“I noticed that quite a few arrests at the bars came from out of town bikers,” Claire said as she sat behind her desk.

Rose took the sofa. “Drunken bar fights and bikers are synonymous,” she said.

“That’s true everywhere,” Claire said.

“Even in small towns,” Rose said.

“I wonder if you noticed that the out of town bikers always seem to get arrested around the first of the month?” Claire asked.

“I … no, I didn’t,” Rose said. “I’m still doing research.”

“It just strikes me odd that gangs from Rhode Island and Massachusetts always seem to be around the first of the month and then disappear,” Claire said. “They must ride the ferry down for a good time, blow off steam and then head back.”

“Must,” Rose said.

“Why the bother?” Claire asked.

“I don’t follow.”

“There are dozens of town in Rhode Island and Mass where these assholes can go to let off steam. Why bother with a long, boring ferry ride to a nowhere town on Long Island?” Claire said. “Any why the first of the month all summer?”

“Maybe that’s when they get their checks?” Rose said.

Claire grinned.

“Keep up the research,” she said.

Rose stood and returned to the squad room.

A minute later, Rose poked her head in the door.

“Mitzi Maxwell on line one,” she said.

Claire picked up her phone.

“This is Claire,” she said.

“The council wants to meet at ten tomorrow morning. Okay?” Mitzi said.

“I’ll be there,” Rose said.

“We serve bagels and coffee,” Mitzi said.

“Not donuts?”

Mitzi laughed and then hung up.

Claire went out to the squad room. Turley and Knox were on a call. “I’m meeting with the town council tomorrow at ten. After that I’ll be meeting with your former boss at one. I probably won’t be in the office until four. Take down my cell number and give it to Turley and Short when they return.”

“Are you taking off?” Rose asked.

“I am,” Claire said. “Who covers tonight?”

“Turley.”

“Are you free for dinner?” Claire asked. “I’d like to talk to you away from the office.”

“I’m free.”

“Make it seven-thirty.” Claire said.

Chapter Six

Rose rang Claire’s doorbell exactly at seven-thirty. She had gone home, took a shower and changed, picked up a bottle of wine and even wore her weapon under her blazer.

From inside, Claire yelled that the door was open.

Rose opened the door and entered the living room. She was immediately struck with the aroma of something wonderful cooking in the kitchen. She followed her nose.

Claire was in the kitchen stirring something in a large Wok with a wood spoon. A pot with boiling water was on a back-burner.

“Smells good,” Rose said.

“White or red?” Claire said as she looked over her shoulder.

“White.”

“Good. Open it and pour us a glass,” Claire said. “Dinner in five minutes.”

*****

Claire made a stir-fry of chicken, beef, several different vegetables and brown noodles and all of it was delicious.

“I’m stuffed,” Rose said. “And is your cat eating noodles?”

“Yes. She loves noodles,” Claire said. “And boiled potatoes for some reason.”

“So we talked about the weather, life on Long Island, why you became a cop, my divorce, your two ex-husbands and how much you enjoy cooking but don’t do enough of it unless you have company,” Rose said. “You’re taking the long way around the barn getting to the point.”

Claire took a sip of wine, set the glass aside and tapped her lap. Immediately, Snowball hopped on and began to knead.

“Cut that out, it hurts,” Claire said. She looked at Rose. “When you work homicide you develop a certain flair for details that doesn’t go away when you stop chasing murderers.”

Snowball rubbed Clair’s stomach and Claire scratched her ears. The cat purred loudly and settled in.

“Details are always at the forefront of every murder investigation,” Claire continued. “And every other type of crime you can think of. It always comes down to the details. So … when I see arrest reports on Rhode Island and Massachusetts motorcycle gangs in Smoky Point my details meter goes off. I know those gangs and some of the members. They are hard-core to the bone. Drug runners, killers for hire, gun smugglers and a host of other suspicions. I ask myself what in the world are these badass bikers doing in Smoky Point?”

“I don’t … I have no answer,” Rose said.

“Me neither,” Claire said. “That’s the problem.”

“I can continue with the stats report and see where that goes,” Rose said.

“I want you to and more,” Claire said. “I want to know what these assholes are doing here and why the first of the month.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me this at the office?” Rose asked.

“You’re doing this quietly,” Claire said. “Not that I don’t trust the boys, but I don’t trust the boy’s egos so to speak.”

Rose nodded. “Men and their fragile egos,” she said.

“I’ll be making some changes and I don’t want to damage the egos anymore than I have to. Agreed?”

“What changes?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Claire said. “Some will depend on how things go at the council meeting. Others will depend on what kind of deputies you can get me from the academy.”

“Maybe I’ll take a drive there instead of waiting on a call?” Rose said. “Do some recruiting in person.”

“Good. Do it. Tomorrow.”

“What shall I tell the egos?”

“Nothing. That’s my job,” Claire said. “Head over to the academy in the morning and I’ll be in the office by nine.”

Rose nodded.

“Do you really think something is going on with those bikers?” she asked. “Other than them being biker assholes I mean.”

“I doubt they come down for the amusement park,” Claire said. “Details and gut instinct, Rose. It always comes down to that.”

*****

Rose drove home somewhat in a fog. She was used to pretty much being ignored by Holt, Short and Turley and now she had more responsibility in two days than all her previous years combined.

The question rolling around in her mind was a coin toss. Was this newfound confidence in her abilities the result of Clair being biased toward women, or actual belief in her as a deputy?

She should have asked Claire point blank.

The thing was she was enjoying the confidence Claire placed in her. If the answer was biased, maybe she didn’t really want to know.

*****

Claire finished the last bit of the wine Rose brought while she soaked in a hot tub full of bubble bath.

Snowball watched her from the closed lid on the toilet seat.

Claire sipped some wine and looked at Snowball.

“I’m sure you have an opinion on all this,” Claire said.

Snowball yawned.

“Yes, I agree,” Claire said.