4th of July

Chapter 58

I PARKED THE EXPLORER in the “guest” spot outside the gray-shingled barracks-style police station. Chief Stark got out of his vehicle and crunched across the gravel toward the building without once looking back to see if I was following him.

So much for professional courtesy.

The first thing I noticed inside the chief’s office was the framed motto behind his desk: Do the right thing and do it well. Then I took in the mess: piles of papers over every surface, old fax and copy machines, cockeyed, dusty photos on the wall of Stark posing with dead animals. Half a cheese sandwich on a file cabinet.

The chief took off his jacket, exposing a massive chest and monster-size arms. He hung the jacket on a hook behind the door.

“Sit down, Lieutenant. I keep hearing about you,” said the chief, riffling through a stack of phone messages. He hadn’t given me eye contact since the Daltry house. I took a motorcycle helmet off a side chair, put it on the floor, and sat down.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“Sorry?”

“What the hell gives you the right to come into my backyard and start poking around?” he said, drilling me with his eyes. “You’re on restricted duty, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

“With all due respect, Chief, I don’t get your point.”

“Don’t screw with me, Boxer. Your rep as a loose cannon precedes you. Maybe you shot those kids without cause —”

“Hey, look —”

“Maybe you got scared, lost your nerve, whatever. And that would make you a dangerous cop. Get that?”

I got the message, all right. The guy outranked me, and a report from him that I had violated police procedures or disobeyed direct orders could hurt me. Still, I kept my expression neutral.

“I think these recent murders link up with an old homicide of mine,” I said. “The killer’s signature looks the same. We might be able to help each other.”

“Don’t use the we word with me, Boxer. You’re benched. Don’t mess with my crime scenes. Leave my witnesses alone. Take some walks. Read a book. Get a grip. Whatever. Just stay out of my hair.”

When I spoke again, my voice was so taut an aerialist could’ve cartwheeled across it to the other side of the room.

“You know, Chief, in your place, all I’d be thinking about is this psychopath wandering your streets. Thinking, How can I shut him down for good? I might even welcome a decorated homicide inspector who wanted to help out. But I guess we think differently.”

My little speech set the chief back a blink or two, so I seized the opportunity to get out with my dignity.

“You know how to reach me,” I said, and marched out of the police station.

I could almost hear my lawyer whispering in my ear. Relax. Keep a low profile. Nuts, Yuki. Why not advise me to take up the harp?

I revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.