“You found out he was tied to the Mob.”
Again, he beat me to it. “Correct,” he said simply.
“How was it Katahdin knew to hire you in the first place?”
“I’ve had experience in environmental law,” he said vaguely. “They could have chosen someone else. I never asked.”
“Why was your office broken into?”
“That’s why I hired Win Johnston. So far, I don’t know.”
“You must have suspicions. You don’t hire a private detective if you think some teenager was trying to steal a computer.”
“I’m a lawyer and a politician, and I’m cautious by nature. For all I know, it was a teenager, but I’ve learned not to make assumptions. That, I might add, is something you should learn.”
I stood up. “That’s not what I’m doing. I am trying to find out why you’re under every rock I kick over.”
He waved a hand at me. “If you’re leaving, Lieutenant, please don’t. I’d like to talk some more. Do you mind?”
I considered his offer. I’d gotten nowhere so far and had been about to leave pissed off and disappointed. Maybe, with a little time and flattery, his ego might get the better of him and let something slip. I sat back down.
Now he was Mister Sociability. “I’m sure my wife offered, but won’t you have a drink? A cognac, maybe, or a cup of coffee? I’m going to have a little something.”
“Sure. Coffee’d be fine.”
He rose, moved toward the back, and called out, “Honey, could you rustle up some coffee for the lieutenant?”
There was no response, which didn’t faze him in the slightest. He crossed the room to a large cabinet mounted into the wall and opened a pair of double doors to reveal a full bar. He poured something into an overlarge snifter and regained his seat.
“She shouldn’t be long,” he said soothingly, placing his drink by his side untouched.
He crossed his legs again. “I wanted to thank you for your testimony the other day. You were very good. You’ve obviously thought a great deal about your profession.”
“I’ve been at it a while.”
“That could be said of a lot of deadhead old-timers. You’ve learned the system inside out.” He suddenly laughed. “From both sides, given what that deputy AG tried to pull last year. You’ve made it work for you, and you’re widely respected as a result.”
“It was a governor’s pardon that got me off the hook with the AG. I would’ve been out of a job otherwise.”
He dismissed that. “Nonsense. It was common knowledge that one man used the rules of evidence to go after you for his own selfish interests. I happen to know the AG himself lobbied the governor on your behalf-and he wasn’t alone, either. You’re far more widely regarded than you know or admit. Let me ask you something: Even though it’s still being hammered out in committee, what do you think of my bill?”
“I don’t think it matters.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Too much modesty can have the same effect as too little. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”
“No. But I wasn’t being modest anyhow. I don’t think it matters because I don’t think it’ll become law.”
He smiled thinly. “Why not?”
“You’ve taken advantage of some popular momentum due to Amos Melcourt killing those kids. You’ve also been allowed that momentum by people who’re taking their time to stop you dead in your tracks.”
“And who are they?”
Laura Reynolds entered the room bearing a small tray with a cup, some sugar, and a little pitcher of milk. She placed it on the table next to me without comment or eye contact.
“Thank you,” I said.
She glanced up, gave me a small nod, and left as quietly as she’d come. Reynolds acted as if she’d never been there, staring at me throughout, awaiting his answer-a man used to being served.
I fixed my coffee as I spoke. “You name it. You claim you’re thinking in terms of efficiency, the public good, and planning for the future. Almost every cop in uniform thinks of job security. You’re threatening that.”
“That’s not true. The number of police officers won’t necessarily change. Just the way they’re organized. They’ll all be in one department, with their leader ranked at cabinet level, and with the same access to the state budget as any other agency. They’ll have better pay, more benefits, and many more opportunities for advancement and diversity. If tagging moose is your thing, and you used to be stuck in the Burlington PD, in this new organization you can just ask for a transfer to the wildlife unit. Equipment will be first-rate, training will be improved, and the political clout will be as never before. It’s an absolute win-win situation. Occam’s Razor, practically applied.”
I wondered if he was trying to put me in my place. “Occam,” I answered, “was talking about theological philosophy, not employment concerns.”
He made a funny tucked-in gesture with his chin, as if I’d just punched him gently in the chest, which perhaps I had. During my short stint in college, I’d spent most of my time with my nose buried in books-including a few on philosophy and ethics.
I used his surprise to press him further. “Are you saying that part-time deputy sheriff who let Amos Melcourt slip by will have a job?”
A look of irritation crossed his face. “Of course there will be standards to meet. That’s only reasonable. You can’t have any woodchuck who chooses to just sign up.”
“Maybe not, but with the sixty-eight different employment possibilities we have right now, that woodchuck has a better chance of being hired than he would with your single police force. And all the guys who are currently in uniform but who might be just barely hanging on-they’re going to fight you with everything they’ve got. And that’s not even mentioning the pride factor. You really think the Green-and-Gold are going to tolerate being anything else? Being forced to be on a par with someone out of Bellows Falls or Brattleboro or Windsor?”
He shook his head tiredly, obviously bored by the very debate he’d set in motion. “Look, all that really doesn’t matter. The police, no matter who they are, don’t have a strong constituency in the Legislature. Once the public hears the details of the final bill and sees the logic behind it, all that naysaying will be identified as the narrow self-interest it is. The police are essentially a military organization. They’ll do as they’re told.”
“They may be military in appearance,” I pressed him, “but they exist because civilians created them. Selectmen and voters all over this state won’t be too thrilled with having their homegrown, handpicked departments replaced with some top-heavy, faceless state agency, no matter how rational the explanation. Bellows Falls measures a single square mile, and is maybe eight minutes away from one of the larger state police barracks, but year after year they fund their own PD, despite all the statistics that tell them it’s nuts. Local control’s still a big thing here. Why do you think it took Vermont so long just to get 911 adopted? And that looked like a total no-brainer.”
He gave me the indulgent look of a long-suffering parent. “This is not some flash-in-the-pan, election-year notion, Lieutenant, as you know full well. As early as 1990, the Windham Foundation hosted a conference on this topic, and the general consensus from everyone attending-from sheriffs to local cops to the state police-was that this course of action made the most sense in addressing a raft of problems we’ve been saddled with for decades. In fact, that same year, the various agencies in Chittenden County pooled together to form CUSI, with a focus on sexual assault cases, and it’s proven very effective, as has its St. Albans-based counterpart, the Northwest Unit for Special Investigations. Things move slowly, I know, and sometimes it takes a tragedy like what happened up north to give them the push they need, but that doesn’t mean they can’t eventually happen. You just need enough people to believe in the cause.”