The cop said, “Before we go on, Mr. Francis, I need to talk a bit about the status of Officer Conrad.”
He said nothing. The cop looked embarrassed and said, “A day after the shooting, a videotape arrived at our Internal Affairs office, mailed anonymously. Um, I’m afraid the tape was from a surveillance system at your store. You do have such a system, do you not?”
“I do,” he said, keeping still.
The cop said, “Well. It seems that, um, the tape showed... well, it showed a woman I believe to be your wife and Officer Conrad in a rather intimate encounter. In your store. Mr. Francis, we believe somebody at the store, perhaps a disgruntled employee or somebody like that, mailed the tape to the department.”
He tried to put a bit of shock into his voice. “Why are you telling me this?”
The lawyer stepped in. “We believe that when Officer Conrad’s future is determined, the local news media might find out about this tape. We’re sorry, but we felt you should know about this beforehand. I mean, well, were you aware that Officer Conrad and your wife were... involved?”
He turned his head on the pillow and said, “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Stacy, in this room, begging forgiveness, begging understanding, willing and able to do anything he wanted to make it right.
The cop came back. “We understand completely. And Mr. Francis, you should know that by the end of this week — even though his union might make a fuss — Officer Conrad will be off the force. His shooting of you, combined with the relationship he had with your wife... it makes his continued future with our department and in any law-enforcement department in this country impossible. He may even face criminal charges when all is said and done.”
He knew they couldn’t see his face, so he allowed himself just a brief smile. “I see.”
It was the lawyer’s turn. “Mr. Francis, if I could have your attention for just a moment. As counsel for the city, we have an interest in reaching an equitable settlement so that this doesn’t have to go to court, waste your time and the city’s time, cost you attorney’s fees and so forth. I’m prepared today to make such a settlement offer to you.”
The lawyer opened his briefcase and passed over a sheaf of papers, and clipped to the top of the papers was a cashier’s check. Craig kept his emotions in check as he looked at the numbers. He looked at the lawyer and the cop.
“I sign this and drop any claims against the city, and this check is mine?” he asked.
“That’s correct.”
He handed the papers and the check back to the lawyer. “Change the five on the check to a seven and you got yourself a deal.”
The cop looked at the lawyer, the lawyer looked at the cop, and there was the briefest of nods back and forth. The lawyer put the papers back in his briefcase and stood up. “Then we have a deal, Mr. Francis. We’ll be back within the hour.”
He smiled at both men as they left his hospital room, and checked the time. Stacy would be coming by shortly, and then, well, he’d pass the news along. The store would go up for sale, and combined with the city settlement, there was plenty there to start new, start fresh, and get out of Porter. He had taken a bullet for his life and his marriage, and that was the fact. And with the size of that check... he was in a forgiving mood towards Stacy.
The time for sacrifices was over, and it just took one shot.
Not a bad deal.
Darkened Drops of Red
by Jay Alter
Cupid’s Arrow
by Marilyn Todd
Marilyn Todd’s eighth Claudia Seferius novel, Dark Horse, was published by Severn House in the U.K. in October of 2002, and received a strong review in PW. Claudia also continues to solve crimes at short story length, while managing to avoid romantic entanglement with her nemesis, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio. “I enjoy writing these Claudia stories so much, it almost feels like I’m indulging in a guilty liaison,” Ms. Todd confessed to EQMM.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right.”
Claudia stopped pacing and ticked the points off on her fingers.
“In six days’ time, we, as producers and merchants of fine wines, celebrate the Vinalia, when no lesser light than the priest of Jupiter himself will pronounce the auspices for the forthcoming vintage?”
“Correct, madam.”
“Except,” she turned to face her steward, “we have no grapes to lay on his altar on the Capitol as offerings?”
“Correct.”
“Because some clod on my estate came down with a sniffle and the bailiff took it upon himself to quarantine the entire workforce?”
“To be fair, madam, the clod in question was the bailiff himself. He did not feel he could jeopardise the harvest by exposing—”
“Yes or no to the grapes?”
“Yes. No. I mean, yes, we have no—”
“So in effect, I’m asking the King of the Immortals, God of Justice, God of Honour, God of Faith, who shakes his black goatskin cloak to marshal up the storm clouds and who controls the weather, good and bad, to very kindly not drop a thunderbolt over my Etruscan vineyards, even though I haven’t bothered to propitiate him this year?”
The steward’s Adam’s apple jiggled up and down as his long, thin face crumpled like a piece of used papyrus. “That does appear to pretty much sum up the current situation, madam.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Claudia resumed her pacing of the atrium, wafting her fan so hard that a couple of the feathers sprang loose from their clip. Dear Diana, it was hot. Small wonder that half of Rome had taken itself off to the cool of the country or else to the seaside for the month of August. She thought of the refreshing coastal breezes. A dip in the warm, translucent ocean. The sound of cooling waves crashing against rocks... “Well, let me tell you something, Leonides. That doesn’t sum up even half the current situation.”