Under normal circumstances I would have come here for an interview with Jim John Jenkins, the mayor, and Buddy Ferguson, the town manager. They’d come to me instead, explaining that the captain of the department expected to get the chief’s job, but they felt it was time to bring in new blood. Strangely the town manager had appeared to be more on board with that idea than the mayor.
Reading between the lines, I got the impression they wanted someone from a big-city police department with no ties to their corner of the world. “We’re looking for experience, forward thinking, and common sense,” Buddy Ferguson had said. “Someone who can bring tried and proven ideas to our police department.”
It had sounded like their police department needed fixing, which was something I was good at. The mayor had told me during my interview that they’d narrowed the applicants down to three: me, a cop from Raleigh, North Carolina, and one from Dallas, Texas.
Since they didn’t want their captain to know they were looking elsewhere until they made a decision, they’d come north, all bug-eyed when I’d taken them on a tour of my Chicago police precinct. My spidey senses said there was more to the story where my new captain was concerned.
Truthfully, when I’d sent them my resume after seeing the opening posted on a site specializing in law enforcement positions, I hadn’t expected to hear back from them. But I did, and here I was. Now that I had the job, I looked forward to digging in.
The photo announcing my appointment that ran in the paper here was of a younger, somewhat heavier me. I’d lost about twenty pounds in the last two years since Christine. That came from losing interest in food, but I was starting to find my taste buds again. To make this surprise visit interesting, I slipped on a ball cap and a pair of reading glasses. A glance in the rearview mirror told me that I didn’t look much like the photo.
“Let’s go see what I’ve gotten myself into,” I murmured as I approached the door. It was a few minutes past ten, and I figured there’d be a shift change at eleven. Stepping inside, I stopped and scanned the empty lobby. Shouldn’t there be someone stationed at the counter?
Laughter bellowed from down the hallway, and I followed the sound, noticing as I passed the counter that there were some files spread out on the desk behind it. I stopped, picked one up, and thumbed through it. It was the arrest record for one Hank Sands. The other files were the same, arrest records on various people. I glanced around again. Anyone could come in right now and walk off with these. As I’d suspected, I had my work cut out for me.
Another burst of laughter had me continuing my search for the source. I took the files with me. At the first open door I came to, I peeked in. It was the dispatchers’ room, and one dispatcher sat with his back to me, the other desk empty. I listened to his conversation for a moment as he gave someone instructions to put ice on a swollen ankle, and then to call their doctor. It struck me how different that was from listening to a roomful of dispatchers in Chicago. That was definitely a welcome change.
“Damn it, Moody, I know you’re fucking cheating.”
The loud voice carried down the hallway, and I continued on my way. Before I reached my destination, I came to another open door and looked in. It was a good-sized room with about a dozen cubicles. All were empty except one where a blond man in his late thirties sat, flipping through a file. He looked up, studied me for a few seconds, then picked up a pair of glasses and put them on. From under a neat stack of folders he pulled out a newspaper, eyed it, then me.
“Chief,” he said, standing.
I awarded him three points, which put him three points ahead of the clowns down the hall making all the ruckus. “Detective Lanier,” I answered, and only got a miniscule tell from the slight widening of his eyes that he was surprised I knew his name. I’d done my homework and knew the names and faces of all my cops.
He darted a glance at the wall. “We weren’t expecting you until Monday.”
Obviously, considering the party going on in what I was pretty sure was my new office. I moved to his desk, perching on the end. “Working on anything interesting?”
“An old cold case,” he said, sitting.
Give my only detective another point. Unless they worked for a big department and were assigned that responsibility, cops didn’t have to dig into cold cases and most didn’t have the time. Since time issues didn’t seem to be a problem here, it appeared my detective was taking the initiative to keep himself occupied. I liked that.
“Any new leads?”
He shrugged as he removed his glasses and set them aside. Intelligent blue eyes met mine. “Not really, but something’s bugging me about this one. Just have to figure out what.”
If something’s bothering a smart detective, someone needs to start worrying, namely the killer. “When I get settled, let’s go over it. Two minds are better than one and all that.” Another round of laughter and more swearing reached my ears. I glanced at the wall, wishing I could see through it and get my bearings before I descended on the ones starting off on the wrong foot with me.
Lanier, apparently pretending not to hear them, said, “That would be great. Welcome, by the way.”
“Thanks. Good to be here.” I turned my gaze back to him. “What am I going to find when I walk in there?”
“A whole lot you’re not going to like. I think it’s time for me to be somewhere else.” He put his glasses into a case, opened his drawer and removed a set of keys, then stood. “You going to be around anymore before Monday?”
“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.”
I followed him out, turning right when he turned left. As I neared the end of the hall, I inhaled the strong aroma of a cigar. Before going any further, I backtracked to the outside door to confirm that I had seen a NO SMOKING sign. I had. Still carrying the files I’d picked up, I headed for my prey.
The next to last door I came to was marked as the interrogation room, and I walked past it. When I was able to see into the last room without entering, I stopped and observed four of my cops sitting around my desk playing poker. Captain Moody sat in my chair, a fat cigar hanging from his mouth as he dealt cards with the expertise of a Vegas dealer. In front of each man but one was a tumbler filled with golden liquid.
“We really shouldn’t be here,” said the one without a drink who I pegged as Tommy Evans, my youngest officer and newest to the department. “I heard the chief’s in town. What if he decides to come by?”
I gave Tommy half a point, deciding there was hope for him.
“Fuck the chief,” Moody said, balancing his cigar on the edge of my desk, then sucking up the last of his drink, which I guessed to be whiskey.
It was time to rattle their cages. Changing my mind about playing games with them, I removed my ball cap and glasses.
