Page 7 of Rest In Pink

Okay, I guess I am a bit morbid.

In my defense, some recent events lent themselves to that feeling. I’d gone to a funeral recently for a comrade-in-arms from the Ranger Battalion I’d served in. We’d done multiple deployments together, shared the sweat, blood, fear, camaraderie and lousy food that came with it. His body had reacted to something in the air or water or ground at our Forward Operating Base and it had eaten him alive this past year. Him and a couple of other guys in the intervening years. Seeing a man like Dave get whittled down did not lend itself to happy thoughts.

I sat in the cruiser and looked out at the river. It was indeed dark, given the storm clouds that were still threatening but had yet to deliver. I was pretty sure they were going to blow over and I tried to change my mood. They better blow over. I had outdoor plans with Liz and I would not be happy with the goddess of weather if they did not pass by.

Nevertheless, my mind wandered back to the dark side. I still wondered about Navy Blue’s death. No skid marks, not wearing a seatbelt, and probably accelerating before hitting the old guardrail. Accident was the official ruling. Suicide was the unofficial conclusion. But he’d had a wife who loved him and a little girl to raise and a lot to live for, so I wondered.

I wasn’t surprised to hear the Chief’s Suburban laboring up the hill. I really needed to get Will to tune that engine. He drove past the turn and I wondered if he was going up to see Anemone. But when there was space to see both ways, he pulled a laborious three-point turn, and came back down to pull up next to me, driver window to driver window. He powered his down and I did the same.

“You’re up here almost every day at the same time,” George said. “I don’t even have to check your GPS anymore.”

“Were you coming to see me or . . .” I left the rest unsaid.

“To see you.” He looked like hell, but the past month since Lavender’s death had been tough. Lots of questions, lots of accusations bandied about. We had a formal state review board coming at the end of the week on the entire mess and while it was a formality, it would still be tough for George. And I was sure he’d read Thacker’s latest post. I figured that was why he was here but then he surprised me.

“Marvin retired,” he said, referring to our lone detective on the Burney force, who was essentially an empty suit occupying space and wasting oxygen while waiting out his time to do what he just did. He was getting while the getting was good.

“He will be missed,” I said, as solemnly as I could.

George scoffed. “His chair won’t miss him, never mind anyone else.” He looked troubled. “The mayor has hired another officer for the force.”

That was a surprise. “Where did they get the money?”

“A special state fund for law enforcement trickling down from a federal grant,” George said. “Which means Senator Wilcox is behind it. The mayor couldn’t have gotten those funds on his own. He’s not that bright, nor does he have the pull. She does.”

“Okay,” I said, not sure where this was going.

“The Mayor wants this new guy, Bartlett, to take Marvin’s slot as detective.”

“Is this Bartlett any good?” I asked.

George frowned. “He’s a state trooper with a year on the job. What do you think?”

I didn’t want to insult George by telling him that was actually a lot given the level of other experience on the Burney PD. “Bit inexperienced to be a detective.”

“You think?”

“Why him?” I asked, considering the mayor had the entire state to draw from via the senator.

“He’s Honey’s nephew,” George said.

I mentally untangled that one because in Burney the family relations were a Gordian knot of long kraken arms reaching almost everywhere. “The mayor’s wife’s nephew? Your ex-wife’s nephew?”

George glumly nodded.

“Is he a decent guy?” I asked.

“Last time I saw him, he was wearing diapers and threw up on me.” George sighed and picked up something from the passenger seat. “Think fast.” He tossed it to me.

I caught it. A gold detective’s badge. I looked from it to George, not exactly thrilled for a variety of reasons.

“We had the extra badge lying around,” George said, making it a solemn ceremony. “I’m promoting you. I’ll be giving Bartlett his badge tomorrow morning. Since you’ll have time in grade, you’ll be chief detective.”

Number one of two detectives in the mighty Burney PD. I was not overwhelmed. The badge was pretty, but there were responsibilities with it, if one took it seriously, unlike Marvin. And the thought of being a detective rattled family skeletons I tried to leave undisturbed.

“Why?” I asked.

“Bartlett’s a spy for Mayor O’Toole,” George said. “And probably Senator Wilcox. I need someone I can trust riding herd on him.”

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