Trouble in Paradise

Thirty-One

“Harry Smith,” Macklin said when he came into Jesse’s office. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Happy to,” Jesse said.

He stood while they shook hands. Macklin’s grip was stronger than Jesse had expected from a guy who looked like an amateur golfer. Macklin took a chair across the desk from him.

“Here’s the deal, chief. I’m thinking about buying property on Stiles Island. I don’t need to tell you that I’m looking at a good-sized investment if I do.”

“Good-sized,” Jesse said.

“So I’m trying to size up the whole town, not just the island.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t mind, do you, me talking to you?”

“I don’t mind,” Jesse said.

“How’s the crime situation?”

“Good,” Jesse said.

“You mean, there isn’t much,” Macklin said.

“A lot of the time, there isn’t any.”

Macklin smiled.

“So what do you guys do?”

“Write traffic tickets. Keep the kids from loitering. Had a case of arson a while ago.”

“Really?” Macklin said. “Jewish lightning?”

“No, teenage kids with a grudge.”

“You catch them?”

“Yeah.”

“Cops one, teenagers nothing,” Macklin said. “Heard you had some trouble year or so ago.”

“Yeah, couple of murders.”

“Crimes of passion?”

“You could say that.”

“You catch the guy?”

“Yeah.”

Macklin smiled again.

“Cops two,” he said.

Jesse was quiet.

“You got a big force?” Macklin said.

“No. Twelve officers and me.”

“Four per shift,” Macklin said.

“That’s how the math works.”

“You been chief long?”

“Long enough,” Jesse said.

“Work your way up from the ranks?”

“No.”

“Came from another department.”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Elsewhere.”

Macklin leaned back a little and studied Jesse.

“You’re a pretty quiet guy,” Macklin said.

“True.”

“Probably the right way to be,” Macklin said. “Me, I’m a talker. My wife’s always telling me to quiet down.”

Jesse didn’t say anything. He seemed attentive. Macklin sensed no hostility in him. He was just quiet. There was no way to know what went on behind his eyes.

“How’s the security on Stiles?” Macklin said.

“Secure,” Jesse said.

“They got their own security force, I see.”

“Um-hmm.”

“They tied in with you guys?”

“You need to talk to them.”

Macklin nodded slowly, as if confirming a long-held assumption. He stood with a wide smile and put out his hand. Jesse shook it.

“I’m encouraged, chief,” Macklin said. “You can usually count on a man who doesn’t say more than he has to.”

Jesse smiled. Macklin smiled back and left.

In the car with Faye, Macklin was silent.

“How’d it go?” Faye said as she drove up Summer Street. “You find out what you wanted to know?”

“I got a read on the chief,” Macklin said. “Which is what I wanted, I guess.”

Faye slowed the car as they passed a couple of kids on bicycles.

“But?”

“But he’s not what I wanted him to be,” Macklin said.

Faye braked at the stop sign on Beach Street, looked carefully both ways, and drove on.

“So what is he?”

“I don’t know,” Macklin said. “But he’s not a shit-kicker.”

“Well,” Faye said, “neither are you.”

Macklin patted Faye’s thigh for a moment and smiled.

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”