Brody liked Vaughan. He didn’t see much of him during the summer, but after Labor Day, when things calmed down, Vaughan felt free to shed some of his social scales, and every few weeks he and his wife would ask Brody and Ellen out to dinner at one of the better restaurants in the Hamptons. The evenings were special treats for Ellen, and that in itself was enough to make Brody happy. Vaughan seemed to understand Ellen. He always acted most graciously, treating Ellen as a clubmate and comrade.
Vaughn walked into Brody’s office and sat down. “I just talked to Harry Meadows,” he said.
Vaughan was obviously upset, which interested Brody. He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I see,” he said. “Harry doesn’t waste any time.”
“Where are you going to get the authority to close the beaches?”
“Are you asking me as the mayor or as a real estate broker or out of friendly interest or what, Larry?”
Vaughan pressed, and Brody could see he was having trouble controlling his temper. “I want to know where you’re going to get the authority. I want to know now.”
“Officially, I’m not sure I have it,” Brody said. “There’s something in the code that says I can take whatever actions I deem necessary in the event of an emergency, but I think the selectmen have to declare a state of emergency. I don’t imagine you want to go through all that rigmarole.”
“Not a chance.”
“Well, then, unofficially I figure it’s my responsibility to keep the people who live here as safe as I can, and at the moment it’s my judgment that that means closing the beaches for a couple of days. If it ever came down to cases, I’m not sure I could arrest anyone for going swimming. Unless,” Brody smiled, “I could make a case of criminal stupidity.”
Vaughan ignored the remark. “I don’t want you to close the beaches,” he said.
“So I see.”
“You know why. The Fourth of July isn’t far off, and that’s the make-or-break weekend. We’d be cutting our own throats.”
“I know the argument, and I’m sure you know my reasons for wanting to close the beaches. It’s not as if I have anything to gain.”
“No. I’d say quite the opposite is true. Look, Martin, this town doesn’t need that kind of publicity.”
“It doesn’t need any more people killed, either.”
“Nobody else is going to get killed, for God’s sake. All you’d be doing by closing the beaches is inviting a lot of reporters to come snooping around where they don’t have any business.”
“So? They’d come out here, and when they didn’t find anything worth reporting, they’d go home again. I don’t imagine the New York Times has much interest in covering a lodge picnic or a garden-club supper.”
“We just don’t need it. Suppose they did find something. There’d be a big to-do that couldn’t do anybody any good.”
“Like what, Larry? What could they find out? I don’t have anything to hide. Do you?”
“No, of course not. I was just thinking about… maybe the rapes. Something unsavory.”
“Crap,” said Brody. “That’s all past history.”
“Dammit, Martin!” Vaughan paused for a moment, struggling to calm himself. “Look, if you won’t listen to reason, will you listen to me as a friend? I’m under a lot of pressure from my partners. Something like this could be very bad for us.”
Brody laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit you had partners, Larry. I thought you ran that shop like an emperor.”
Vaughan was embarrassed, as if he felt he had said too much. “My business is very complicated,” he said. “There are times I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. Do me this favor. This once.”
Brody looked at Vaughan, trying to fathom his motives. “I’m sorry, Larry, I can’t. I wouldn’t be doing my job.”
“If you don’t listen to me,” said Vaughan, “you may not have your job much longer.”
“You haven’t got any control over me. You can’t fire any cop in this town.”
“Not off the force, no. But believe it or not, I do have discretion over the job of chief of police.”
“I don’t believe it.”
From his jacket pocket Vaughan took a copy of the corporate charter of the town of Amity. “You can read it yourself,” he said, flipping through until he found the page he sought. “It’s right here.” He handed the pamphlet across the desk to Brody. “What it says, in effect, is that even though you were elected to the chief’s job by the people, the selectmen have the power to remove you.”
Brody read the paragraph Vaughan had indicated. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But I’d love to see what you put down for ‘good and sufficient cause.’”
“I dearly hope it doesn’t come to that, Martin. I had hoped this conversation wouldn’t even get this far. I had hoped that you would go along, once you knew how I and the selectmen felt.”
“All the selectmen?”
“A majority.”
“Like who?”
“I’m not going to sit here and name names for you. I don’t have to. All you have to know is that I have the board behind me, and if you won’t do what’s right, we’ll put someone in your job who will.”
Brody had never seen Vaughan in a mood so aggressively ugly. He was fascinated, but he was also slightly shaken. “You really want this, don’t you, Larry?”
“I do.” Sensing victory, Vaughan said evenly, “Trust me, Martin. You won’t be sorry.”
Brody sighed. “Shit,” he said. “I don’t like it. It doesn’t smell good. But okay, if it’s that important.”
“It’s that important.” For the first time since he had arrived, Vaughan smiled. “Thanks, Martin,” he said, and he stood up. “Now I have the rather unpleasant task of visiting the Footes.”
“How are you going to keep them from shooting off their mouths to the Times or the News?”
“I hope to be able to appeal to their public-spiritedness,” Vaughan said, “just as I appealed to yours.”
“Bull.”
“We do have one thing going for us. Miss Watkins was a nobody. She was a drifter. No family, no close friends. She said she had hitchhiked East from Idaho. So she won’t be missed.”
Brody arrived home a little before five. His stomach had settled down enough to permit him a beer or two before dinner. Ellen was in the kitchen, still dressed in the pink uniform of a hospital volunteer. Her hands were immersed in chopped meat, kneading it into a meat loaf.
“Hello,” she said, turning her head so Brody could plant a kiss on her cheek.
“What was the crisis?”
“You were at the hospital. You didn’t hear?”
“No. Today was bathe-the-old-ladies day. I never got off the Ferguson wing.”
“A girl got killed off Old Mill.”
“By what?”
“A shark.” Brody reached into the refrigerator and found a beer.
Ellen stopped kneading meat and looked at him. “A shark! I’ve never heard of that around here. You see one once in a while, but they never do anything.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a first for me, too.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Really? Is that sensible? I mean, isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Sure, there are some things I could do. Technically. But there’s nothing I can actually do. What you and I think doesn’t carry much weight around here. The powers-that-be are worried that it won’t look nice if we get all excited just because one stranger got killed by a fish. They’re willing to take the chance that it was just a freak accident that won’t happen again. Or, rather, they’re willing to let me take the chance, since it’s my responsibility.”