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“How was your trip?” she asked, perching on a stool and watching me work.

“Pretty much a dead end. I’m all but positive Marcia Wilkin’s holding back, but nothing I said would budge her. Unless something pops up we can use as leverage, I don’t see what else we can do. We’ll just have to wait till Mark gets elected governor, and then see what that draws out of the woodwork-if anything.”

“Well,” she said philosophically, “it’s not like we have a case building against him, anyhow. Just a bunch of suspicions. The really bad guys are all behind bars.”

I was shifting things about, preparing the kettle, getting the cups out. “Yeah. Would’ve been nice to tie up that one loose thread, though.”

Sammie didn’t respond, and after a few moments of silence, I turned to look at her. She was staring off into space, her face small, pale, and sad.

I reached out and touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

She smiled wanly and laid her hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “I should ask you the same thing.”

“I think so,” I answered. “I’ve been debating with myself all night. Maybe that’s why I was in the woodshop-sort of getting myself re-anchored to something. I know we’ve just gone back to the way things were-even with her working up in Montpelier-but I miss what we had.”

“Tell me about it,” she said wistfully.

“You still think about him a lot?” I asked.

“Not him-it,” she answered. “I know now he wouldn’t have worked out, for a whole bunch of reasons, but I really liked that closeness with someone.”

The kettle began to whistle. I spooned out the chocolate, poured in the water, added a little half-and-half, and set the end results in front of her. “I have whipped cream.”

Her face brightened. “No kidding?”

I got the canister out of the fridge and shot a small iceberg into her mug. She took a careful sip, putting a dollop of cream on her nose, which she wiped off with the back of her hand, laughing.

I thought of how we represented far sides of the same spectrum-she at the start of adult life, and I much closer to the end. “You looking for someone else?” I asked after a while.

Her mood had lightened, her tone become jauntier. “Shit, no. I’m still walking wounded. I think I will in the long run, though. I can see what people are talking about now.”

“This won’t be the last time you get hammered,” I cautioned.

“Oh, I know. That’s what made me think it was such a crock. I used to watch my parents duke it out and think, no way I was going to fall into the same trap. But I’ll give Andy that much-for all his bullshit, he showed me what it could be like. And you and Gail showed me, too.”

I looked at her, surprised, hardly thinking we set an example for anyone. “You’re kidding. We live in separate towns, for Christ’s sake.”

“But you love each other, even so.”

I sipped my drink silently, reflecting on how simple she made it sound-and on how she might be right.

After a moment, I resurfaced from my thoughts. “I never asked-why did you drop by tonight?”

She held up her mug and smiled. “For this.”

31

The year had come full circle. It was January again, the ground was covered with snow, and I was back in the State House, elbowing through a throng of people. This time, however, Gail was beside me, beaming with enthusiasm, fueled by a renewed passion for working in the political storm.

“They say he has it wrapped up. He’s been twisting arms, calling in markers, making all sorts of deals. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days-been working on pure adrenaline.”

We were crushed together, navigating the hallway like tandem kayakers in a raging stream. All around us the air was filled with similar conversations, the showdown at the joint assembly being the only topic in town.

I’d come in the day before and spent the night at Gail’s new condo, drawn not just by curiosity-although that would have been enough-but also by an invitation from Dave Stanton, the Commissioner of Public Safety. He’d asked me to meet him outside the governor’s office on the second floor shortly before the big vote was scheduled to take place.

Gail’s running commentary was still going strong as we reached the black iron staircase and began working our way up. “Reynolds has been just the opposite-damn near invisible. People say he’s been holding secret strategy sessions, but no one I’ve talked to has been approached for their vote, so I’m damned if I know what the strategy’s supposed to be.”

The governor’s office faces the top of the western staircase, and I saw Stanton framed in its doorway, craning to see over the crowd. He waved at us as we came into view. “Joe. Gail-good to see you again. Governor Howell said we could use his office. Why don’t you come in?”

Gail glanced at me and raised her eyebrows questioningly. “He didn’t say it was private,” I whispered.

We followed him through the small reception area into the largest, least appealing office I’ve ever visited. It was huge in all regards, with enormous windows and a two-story ceiling. The paintings and furniture were grandly historic, and the restored plaster on the walls and ceiling elegant and ornate, but the overall impression was of those old Soviet banquet halls on TV, where heads of state were photographed shaking hands, their smiles prefabricated and their eyes cold.

It was, in all fairness, a ceremonial office. Howell’s real one was across the parking lot in the Pavilion Building. This was used for large photo ops and political meetings when the Legislature was in session. But with just the three of us in its midst, especially after Stanton had closed the massive door with a thud, the most impressive thing about it was its emptiness.

It apparently struck him the same way. He looked around like the sole visitor at a royal mausoleum and shook his head. “Sorry about the setting. It was the only private place I could think of.”

“No problem,” I said. “What’s up?”

“It’s a job offer. We were wondering if you’d like to join the new bureau.”

Reynolds and Mullen had both made the same invitation-to join an organization that had yet to exist. I’d dismissed their offers as standard political smoke, since neither one of them had actually been in a position to hire me.

This man was, and the job was now real. I was flattered by the offer, and despite two dress rehearsals, surprised. I was no spring chicken, and had assumed the new VBI would be staffed largely by the thirty-something crowd and mostly drawn from the state police.

I decided to respond cautiously. “Who do you mean by ‘we’?”

“There’s a candidate review board. I’m its head. The offer would be pending a physical exam and a background check, but if what I see now is what you got, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Have you formulated a structure for this unit yet?”

“It’s been slow, but we’re getting there. It won’t be top-heavy. We’re dividing the state into five regions-the four corners and the middle-and the people assigned to them will live in those regions, but they’ll be free to wander wherever the job takes them. Right now, we don’t see much ranking. The point of the exercise is that this represents the best and brightest-you shouldn’t need a bunch of supervisors looking over your shoulders. You’ll report to a head either in Burlington or Waterbury-probably the first, so people won’t think you’re state police-and he’ll in turn report to the Attorney General. Details still need to be worked out, and we’re looking for input from the first draft of candidates, but that’s basically it. You’d keep all the seniority and benefits you’ve built up in Brattleboro, plus get a big boost in pay and get into the state’s retirement and health coverage programs, all of which will be portable when you leave.”

I walked over to the island-sized desk near the middle of the room. It was covered with an enormous sheet of glass and had dozens of photographs pinned under it like fish under ice. “You’re not having face-to-face interviews like this with every candidate, are you?”