David Wiltse: Bone Deep

And a married man. Heady stuff for the right kind of kid. Or the wrong kind of kid. Easy pickings for McNeil. In a year or two she goes off to college and he finds somebody else. I warned him last time I was going to cut his nuts off if he kept at it."

"Judging by his behavior, I'd guess he still has them."

"The man has a severe hormone problem. I'm not sure castration would take care of it."

"Are you thinking of doing a Bobbitt on your own man?"

"It would make him a better cop. It seems a small price to pay for enhanced performance on the job."

"You ever consider just firing him?"

"We've got a union, you know. McNeil's been on the force ten years. I can't fire him without explanation, and that explanation would require involving at least half a dozen local families. They wouldn't be too happy about that. Plus, the bastard is a very smooth talker. I mean, You wouldn't know it, the way he'd talk to you-he's very macho, stud-cop, around men-but when he talks to women he's a different person.

I mean, he even has a different vocabulary. I know, I've overheard him on the phone to some of them. He sounds almost like another girl talking to them, and I don't mean gay, there's nothing swishy about it, he just sounds so-tuned in to them. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Not smooth, a woman can spot smooth. He's-sincere, I've seen him when he didn't know I was there, but he's showing off for one of the other cops.

I mean, he's pretending to jerk off or he's rolling his eyes at something she says, then when he talks into the phone he's just so… soothing, reassuring, I don't know what to call it. I'm telling you, if I brought any of the parents into this, I'd be afraid to let him talk to the mothers, he'd have them on his side in a second. Besides, some of those kids are out of college now, some are married-how are they going to feel about being displayed as examples of teenage stupidity?"

"Probably not willing volunteers."

"Probably not. I wouldn't want the lunacy of my adolescence put on display either."

"Not to mention the lunacy of your later years," Becker said. "If I recall it, you had a certain fondness for skirts yourself.",I was a sociable guy."

"If you call running after them with your tongue hanging out 'sociable,' then you certainly were. It always amazed me that you didn't step on it and render yourself speechless."

"You're talking?" Tee demanded, shifting awkwardly behind the wheel.

"You?"

"I've always been a friendly sort," Becker said, grinning.

"You deceive yourself Friendly is 'Hi, how are you?" A polite smile, stay and talk for a minute, buy somebody щ a cup of coffee, ask about his vacation. That's friendly. Friendly's a unisex thing, you can do it with anyone. I am friendly. What you are is horny."

"Only when I was single."

"You were single a lot."

"Unlike your good self," Becker said.

"That's right. I am a married man. Always have been. Since the dawn of time. That ring has always stayed on my finger, it's now grown into the bone like an implant, I couldn't get it off if I wanted to, unlike McNeil over there. The sonofabitch wears a wedding band made of Velcro, I think. Meet somebody in the afternoon, zip it's off, go home to the wife after work, and zip it's back on again."

"Everything all right at home?" Becker asked.

"Fine-what do you mean?"

"It seems to me you used to be a bit more understanding about this kind of thing, a little more live-and-let-live. Even admiring, sometimes.

Not to say envious. You getting old, Tee?"

"Of course I'm getting old. So are you, let me point out. You're two years older than I am."

"I'm two years younger than you are."

"When were you born?"

"You say first."

"You're too clever for me," Tee said. "No wonder you're in the FBI."

"That's also why I'm so much better-looking than you are." Becker grinned.

Tee patted his stomach, which was straining against the shirt material.

"I have gone for the distinguished-and very appealing-look of authority.

It goes with the uniform."

"It's working. You're getting more distinguished looking with every glop of cream cheese."

The Jorgensen girl tossed her head and laughed again, then stepped away from the patrol car. McNeil backed away from the curb and drove slowly out of the parking lot, eyeing the teenagers as he went. A few of the girls allowed their gazes to linger on him before turning away and clustering around the Jorgensen girl, who smiled enigmatically.

"Seriously, John, am I the only one who finds this offensive? Maybe I am just getting old, but these girls are underage and that fucking charmer is taking advantage of them. Again and again and again."

"It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that you have a fifteen-year-old daughter, could it?"

"I think about her, sure. Ginny knows I'd skin her alive if she does any drinking before she goes to college, but that doesn't mean she won't find trouble to get into… You think that's all there is to it, I'm making too much of it because I have a daughter?"

"No, you're not the only one offended, Tee. It is sleazy, maybe worse."

"What would you do if some kid like that came on to you?"

Becker laughed. "I'd find Karen and tell her about it and you can be sure that kid would never bother me again."

The police radio crackled briefly; then a woman's voice said, "Central to Chief Terhune." Tee indicated himself with a thumb.

"That's me," he said to Becker. "I am the chief.. Go ahead, Central."

"You hired someone named Central to be your dispatcher? It sounds like Maureen to me."

"She loves to have me speak to her in Cop," Tee said. "It gives her chills."

"What did you say?" the woman's voice said on the radio. "I'm with John Becker," Tee said into the microphone.

"Oh," she responded, as if Becker's presence accounted for any strangeness in the communication. "Chief, we got a call from Mrs. Leigh at Three-three-three Lions Drive. She says she knows you."

"I know Mrs. Leigh-what's the problem?"

"She's got something she wants you to look at. I asked her did she want you specifically or just any cop. That's when she said she knew you.

Should I send McNeil?"

"I'll take it, Maureen. What's the problem?"

"She wants you to look at a bone."

"Say again?"

"She wants you to look at a bone. It washed up in her backyard and she says it looks funny."

"That would be the funny bone," said Becker. "Maureen, did you mention to Mrs. Leigh that I am en gaged in a high-level criminological conference with Special Agent Becker, local celebrity and failed comedian?"

"No, I told her you'd probably be there in a few minutes."

"Notice the respect in her tone?" Tee asked Becker.

"Is that what that edge in her voice is? The note that sounds vaguely like contempt?"

"I see that you are a lousy judge of respectful tones. I hope this falling doesn't carry over into any other aspect of your life."

"I'm not good with wines, either."

"Does any of this have to do with me?" Maureen asked.

"Okay, I'll check it out… Central." Tee replaced the microphone and turned to Becker. "You see the serious matters that befall a chief of police? Bone patrol. You want to go along?"

"Hey, I'm on vacation."

"Does that mean yes?"

"I can't think of anything more stimulating than watching an underpaid professional at work."

"You don't get this kind of excitement working with the Feds, do you?"

"We get paid extra for hazardous work," Becker said "Who is Mrs. Leigh and what is her problem with bones?"

"Probably wants to sue somebody for befouling her yard. All those houses on Lions Drive have got a branch of the Saugatuck running through their backyards, admittedly not a very large branch most of the time, but if it rains for forty days and nights you've got to expect something is going to wash up on your patio eventually. That's the risk you take living on the river, isn't it?"