Douglas Preston - Crimson Shore

“If I have more questions, may I come back?”

“It would be my pleasure. And I hope you and Mr. Pendergast will be able to enjoy our little town while you’re here.” He threw out a hand and ended with a declamation:

This castle hath a pleasant seat; the breeze

Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself

Unto our gentle senses

Constance knew it was possible the man might be of further use to them. However, her patience was now at an extremity. “Air,” she said.

Worley blinked. “Excuse me?”

“‘Air.’ Not ‘breeze.’ Thank you again for your help, Mr. Worley.” And with the faintest of curtsies she exited the building.

Bradley Gavin came out from the back offices, sack lunch in hand. He stopped when he saw a figure lounging in the doorway of the police station’s waiting room. It was that strange private investigator, Pendergast. Gavin was already curious about the man who had managed to get the chief so riled up. Not that it was hard to do — all the chief needed to get worked up was to be given some actual work. For the past two years, Gavin had done virtually all the policing in town... while the chief concerned himself with writing up parking tickets. He had six more months of that, and then Mourdock would retire his lazy ass and Gavin would take over as chief. Or so he hoped; it depended, of course, on the town’s three selectmen. But he’d been a dedicated officer, his family was old Exmouth stock, he was part of the town’s inner circle, and his father had been chief before him, so he felt his chances were good.

Putting his lunch to one side, Gavin glanced back at Pendergast, wondering whether the man wasn’t pushing his luck a little, showing up here so soon after his arrest.

“Can I help you?” he asked politely.

The man in the door unbent himself, took a step forward, and extended his hand. “We haven’t formally met. I’m Pendergast.”

Gavin took it. “I’m Sergeant Gavin.”

Now another figure stepped into the waiting room from outside: it was Pendergast’s secretary, or assistant, or whatever she was, the petite young woman named Constance. She looked at him silently with her strange violet eyes. Her bobbed hair was a deep, rich mahogany and, though the cut of her clothing was severe, it could not entirely conceal the curvaceous form beneath. With some effort, Gavin returned his gaze to Pendergast.

“Am I correct in my understanding that you and the chief are the entirety of the Exmouth constabulary?”

Constabulary. He could see how this guy could get under the chief’s skin. “We’re a small department,” Gavin said.

“I need access to some files for my investigation. Are you the person who can help me?”

“Um, no, that would have to be the chief.”

“Excellent! Could you get him for me?”

Gavin gave the guy a long, steady look. “You really want to go there?”

“Go where? I’m not going anywhere.”

Gavin couldn’t tell if the guy was a wiseass or a dumbass. He turned. “Sally, would you buzz the chief that Mr., ah, Pendergast is here to see him?”

The receptionist looked nervous. “Are you sure—?”

“Yes, please.”

She reluctantly pressed the buzzer and murmured into her headset.

Gavin knew the chief would come out. Locking up Pendergast the day before hadn’t gotten the chip off his shoulder, and he’d been grumbling and bitching about the man and his continued presence in town ever since.

This should prove entertaining.

A moment later, Chief Mourdock appeared out of the back offices. He was moving slowly and with gravitas, spoiling for a fight. He stopped at the entrance to the waiting area, looking from Pendergast to Constance Greene and back again. “What is it?”

“Thank you, Chief, for meeting with me.” Pendergast stepped forward, whisking a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I have here a list of files I need for my investigation into the wine theft. They consist of your reports on home burglaries and home invasions over the past twelve months. Also, I’d like to know whether there are any ex-convicts living in the town. And I would appreciate borrowing Sergeant Gavin here to help me review these files and answer questions as they arise.”

He stopped. There was a long, sizzling silence as Chief Mourdock stared at the man. And then he began to laugh — a loud, mirthless, guttural laugh. “I can’t believe it. You, coming in here, making demands of me ?”

“I have not completed my investigation.”

“Get out. Now. I don’t want to see your skinny, undertaking ass again until court.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll cuff you like I did before and you can spend a night here as my special guest.”

“Are you threatening me with another arrest?”

The chief’s face had flushed a dark red and his meaty hands were clenched and flexing. Gavin had never seen the man so angry. Mourdock took a step forward. “Last fucking chance, dickhead.”

Pendergast did not move. “I am merely asking for cooperation in seeing some files. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

“That’s it. Gavin, put the steel on him.”

Gavin, alarmed, had not expected to be dragged into this. “Um, what’s the charge, Chief?”

The chief turned on him in a fury. “Don’t you question me! He’s trespassing. Cuff him.”

“Trespassing?” Constance Greene said, her voice low and full of unexpected menace. “In a public place?”

Suddenly, this wasn’t as diverting as Gavin had assumed it would be. He stared at the chief, who glared back at him. Reluctantly, he turned to Pendergast. “Turn around, please.”

As Gavin removed the cuffs from his belt, Constance Greene moved forward.

Quickly, Pendergast made a kind of suppressing gesture to her. Then he put his hands behind his back and turned around. As Gavin was about to put on the cuffs, Pendergast said, “Could you please remove my badge wallet from my back pocket?”

Badge wallet? The man’s tone was suddenly cold, and Gavin felt a prickling premonition that something terrible was about to happen. He removed the leather wallet.

“Transfer it to my jacket pocket, if you will.”

As Gavin fumbled with the wallet, the chief snatched it from him and it fell open, exposing a flash of blue and gold.

There was a moment of silence.

“What the hell’s this?” the chief asked, staring at it as if he’d never seen anything like it before.

Pendergast remained silent.

Mourdock read the writing on the badge. “You’re... an FBI agent ?”

“So you are literate, after all,” Constance Greene said.

The chief’s face was suddenly almost as white as Pendergast’s. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s irrelevant. I’m not on duty.”

“But... Jesus Christ! You should have presented your credentials. You just let me assume ...”

“Assume what?”

“Assume... that you were just some...” His voice choked up.

“Just some private citizen you could mistreat and bully?” Constance Greene said in her silky, old-fashioned voice. “I warned you of this.”

As Gavin watched, Pendergast advanced on the police chief. “Chief Mourdock, in all my years as a special agent, I have rarely seen an abuse of police power such as I have experienced in your town. Yesterday, over a minor parking infraction, you insulted me in vulgar terms, threatened me with physical violence, and arrested and jailed me without cause. Also, you used a pejorative term highly offensive to the LGBT community.”

“LBG... What?... I did not!”

“And finally, you failed to Mirandize me.”

“Lies. All lies! I did Mirandize you. You can’t prove any of this.”