Lawrence Block - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 2. Whole No. 834, February 2011

“I like what I do.”

“And you haven’t ballooned up like a lot of you cripples do.”

She laughed, but only because she knew him well. “And you wonder why your career has dipped rather than risen? Or maybe you don’t.”

“I figured if I dropped in to see you, you’d make me the next chief.”

They both knew she didn’t make anyone into anything, although her recommendations for hiring and firing were almost never ignored.

“If you’re ambitious, why not run for sheriff?”

“I’m better as an appointee than as a candidate. Think about it. As chief I could make so many more men — and women — into better cops.” He waited. “Don’t you think?”

A tiny shake of the head indicated that she wanted to move on. “So what can I do for you, cowboy?”

“It’s what I can do for you,” Powder said.

“I’ve heard that from you before. Thanks but no thanks.”

“Listen to this.” He withdrew a small remote-control unit from a jacket pocket. He pushed a button. The digital recorder on Fleetwood’s desk came to life.

Together they listened as Mrs. Barry Haller said, “Between you and me, it’s the first day of deer season.”

“Ah,” Powder was heard to respond.

“He managed a day off from work to go to Hancock County with some of his buddies.”

“I got it now, ma’am.”

Powder stopped the playback. “Want to hear it again?”

“What is it, Roy?”

“Officer Barry Haller’s wife telling me that Officer Barry Haller is out hunting deer today.”

“So?”

“He called in sick with flu.”

She waited.

He said, “Haller’s flu is a special strain, Deer Flu. I was thinking maybe you’d want to consider working on a vaccine.”

“This Haller is one of yours at North?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to do what?”

“String him up. Not because he’s such a bad guy, but because he’s way not the only one. We get an outbreak of flu — or whatever they decide to call it — every year when deer season starts. There’s a department-wide blip. It happens at other times, too. Squirrel, turkey, rabbit, even crow season. There are disproportionate claims of illnesses when each hunting season starts. Deer hunting with firearms is the biggest blip, though you can see the starts of the early and late deer-with-archery seasons, too, if you look for them.” He nodded with his lips tight and took an envelope out of another pocket. “It’s all laid out here. The effects are all statistically significant. It’s costing the department serious money in overtime to replace the missing men — and women — or it results in less effective police cover when we decide not to replace those who are missing.”

Fleetwood felt the thickness of the envelope Powder had given her. “What’s with the recording?”

“Evidence. There are four other guys out today on my roll call, one of them around the corner from Haller. But this was the only confession I managed to get.”

“Hardly a confession.”

“Testimony, then.”

“It wouldn’t ever stand up in court, Roy. It’s just a woman saying something. If it’s true, it’s self-incrimination as an accessory without being cautioned. And if it isn’t true, it isn’t true.”

“I’d get you pictures of the guys coming home with twelve-point bucks on their roofs if I could. I tried last year, but either they didn’t bag any or they left the bodies somewhere else.”

“Lot of them go straight to professional skinners.”

“If you say so. I’ve never much seen the attraction of shooting Bambi.”

“My dad was a hunter.”

“And you were too, right?”

“Some.”

“What do you do now? Sit out in the yard with food on your hand and get the wild creatures to come to you? Then strangle them?”

“I leave strangulation for the workplace, Roy. So how long have you been working on this?” She held up the envelope.

“How long have I been working in the North?”

“Jesus.” Powder had been a roll call lieutenant for years now, first at Northside and then, after reorganization, at North.

“Roll call lieutenants have to keep an eye on manning levels. And womanning levels.”

“And Peyton Manning’s levels?” But she shook her head slowly. “It isn’t evidence.”

“I’m not taking it to court. I’ve brought it to you.”

Two nights later, Powder responded to what was apparently a routine burglary run. He was driving north on College just past midnight when the dispatcher called that a break-in at a convenience store had been reported by a neighbor. The store was out east on 56th. Powder got there within five minutes. Another police cruiser was just coming to a stop ahead of him. Sanford Billings got out as Powder pulled up behind. Billings unclipped the flap over his gun and waited.

In a moment, Powder was beside him. “See anything?” he asked.

“Nothing from the front,” Billings said. “All dark.”

“Not very convenient for a convenience store to be closed.” Powder looked at the building. The store seemed to have been developed on the site of a former gas station, not least because it was set at forty-five degree angles to both the roads that made up the intersection. The length of the building and some residual structural signs suggested there had once been two repair bays. There was no sign now of where the pumps had been and the forecourt was no longer covered. It was just a parking lot. No civilian cars were parked on it. But even as a convenience store, it was old-fashioned, the kind of place that the 7-Elevens had long driven out of business in most parts of the city — and world?

“I’ll go around back,” Powder said.

“I’ll check the front,” Billings said. “And I expect we’ll have one or two of the other guys here before long.”

It had been a quiet night. Almost any call that wasn’t a domestic drew several patrol cars, officers looking for a bit of action. As Powder headed around the side of the store he unclipped the flap over his own gun but drew his flashlight.

After pausing at the back corner, he discovered another small parking lot, also empty. The edge of the lot was abutted by a grassy slope that led up to a few trees and the backs of some houses. If it was a neighbor who had called, chances were the neighbor lived up there.

Carefully he studied the fringes of the lot until he satisfied himself that there were no people lurking in shadows. You could never know for sure, but... He began to walk along the back of the building.

His flashlight revealed trash cans and a few decomposing cardboard boxes of uncertain contents. Halfway along he found a back door. It had been forced open. A glance inside revealed only darkness. On his radio he told everyone on his frequency where he was and that he would wait for backup before he entered the building.

With the light off, he studied the wall beyond the open door. There seemed to be nowhere to hide, so if anyone was still on the scene, he was inside.

Or she, Powder thought. He smiled, for Carol Lee.

In the darkness, he tried to hear any sounds that might be coming from inside the store, but all he could hear were ambient street sounds from outside. Then there were some doors slamming and faint voices. These belonged to arriving patrol officers. Someone would be coming round the mountain soon, no doubt.

And, indeed, Powder heard footsteps behind him moments later. As he turned he expected to see Billings approaching. Instead it was Barry Haller.

Powder stared at Haller for an uncomfortably long moment. But it was too dark to see if Haller had anything on his mind besides his job. Funny, though, that Haller should be here. His assigned patrol area was miles to the west.