P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

"I'd be of more help after I've been here for awhile, once I have a better feel for the community."

"Once you get your feet wet, you'll do fine," Sykes assured him. "Both as a role model and as a fire chief. Think about it—that's all I'm asking. You can give me your answer later."

Michael nodded.

"People around here do take time to warm up to newcomers, though. We've had a lot of folks move out here and then leave within a year or two. So we tend to hold back some in the beginning." He drew on his cigar, then tapped some ash into the cup. "Give it a while—you'll find folks a lot more willing to talk to you."

"I doubt this investigation can wait that long," Michael said wryly.

"Which is the other reason why I stopped by, to suggest you take it easy on this one. Let the police be the primaries. We've got a lot of history with Jorgensen—he's been on my radar for a long time."

Did Sykes want him out of the way? And if so, why? Simple territorial jealousy? Career aspirations? Given what the mayor had told Michael, the career angle made sense.

"I know you're aware that Jorgensen has a police record," Michael said conversationally, not commenting on Sykes' suggestion.

Michael had pulled Jorgensen's police record earlier that afternoon—Gary had a lot of arrests, but the only conviction was for the one assault, and it hadn't carried any jail time. Kaz might've been right about that arrest—there was something that didn't smell kosher about it. And when Michael had asked the bartender at the Redemption about it, he'd clammed up. Fast.

Sykes nodded. "There were a couple of fights on the waterfront, run-ins with my guys on several occasions, and, of course, the assault charge. My opinion? Jorgensen's a tinder keg waiting to blow."

"Still, it's quite a leap from a bar fight to murder and arson. Are you convinced he did it?"

"We found a tire iron with blood on it and a pile of gasoline-soaked rags under a stack of crab pots in the back of his pickup truck. I've got what I need to charge him with first degree murder and first degree arson, and I'll be drawing up the warrant as soon as the lab reports come back."

Michael was silent while he digested this new information. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked finally. "The investigation isn't complete, in terms of the fire or the crime scene."

"We've got enough to move forward." Sykes exhaled an acrid cloud of blue-tinted smoke, and then leaned forward, his expression turning less amiable. "Jorgensen's been a danger to this community for years, and I want him off the streets. If I hadn't pulled him off that fisherman six months ago, he'd have killed him."

Zeke whined. Sykes raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't like smoke." Michael placed a hand on Zeke's neck to soothe him. "You had any success locating Jorgensen?"

"Not yet, but we will," the police chief said, his tone confident. "He can't hide forever in a community this small. And he'll get in touch with Kaz eventually—he won't be able to help himself. Those two are like peas in a pod."

"I'm new to the community, admittedly, but it was my impression that folks around here like the Jorgensen twins. Wouldn't you be better off, in terms of community relations, waiting until all the evidence is in before arresting him?"

Sykes waved off that suggestion. "Kaz and Gary got a lot of sympathy when their parents drowned, but that doesn't make them saints. In my opinion, this town has been going too easy on them for a long time. Kaz's always been a little too loose with her favors, you know what I mean? She had quite the reputation in high school."

Michael managed to not react, and to stay seated. He'd always disliked men who talked about women as if they were lower-class citizens. But this was the first time he'd had to restrain himself from smashing in a guy's face. "I don't imagine that has much bearing on the case," was all he said, but someone who knew him well would've been wary of the change in his tone.

"Maybe, maybe not. I've always figured that someone with loose morals is capable of anything. There's no doubt in my mind that she'd help that brother of hers get away with this, if we give her the chance."

Sykes's reasoning sucked, but his conclusion was unfortunately valid. Michael started to tell the police chief about the inconsistencies that were cropping up, but for some reason, he stopped himself. He didn't mention the shooting, or that he was worried about Kaz's safety. He realized that he didn't want Sykes anywhere near Kaz, even if he was the chief of police, and even if he had the reputation of being the town's savior. He'd take his concerns to McGuire and her partner.

"I heard that you and Gary Jorgensen have some personal history," Michael mentioned, interested to see if he could get a rise out of the guy.

Sykes' eyes went flat. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be suggesting that I'm letting personal feelings get in the way of doing my job."

"Of course not."

The tension in the room was thicker than the fog that was rolling in off the water. Zeke growled, and Michael tightened his grip on the shepherd's collar.

Sykes' cell phone rang, breaking the silence. Without taking his eyes off Michael, he reached two thick fingers into his pocket and pulled out the phone, flipping it open. "Yeah." He listened for a minute. "I'll be right there," he said, then pocketed the instrument. "You want to be real careful about suggesting things you don't know much about," he told Michael, his tone deceptively soft.

Michael didn't respond. If Sykes was merely another small-town cop acting aggressively for the sake of his career, then Michael was making an enemy he could ill afford. But the remark about Kaz had set him off, and he found it hard to regret his actions.

Sykes leaned over, deliberately dropping his cigar into Michael's coffee. "You're new in town, Chapman, so I'll cut you some slack. This time. But don't ask me something like that ever again."

"Is that a threat?" Michael asked calmly.

"Count on it." Sykes stood, forcing Michael to rise from his chair. "I'll make sure Detective McGuire provides you with a copy of the paperwork on the warrant. In the meantime, I expect to see your report on my desk in the morning."

Michael shook his head. "I don't turn over results of any investigation I'm working on until I'm finished. And I take my orders from Mayor Forbes, not you." He walked toward the door of his office. "McGuire will get a copy of my paperwork when it's ready, and not before."

Sykes followed, stopping at the door. Michael noticed that the police chief was sweating more than when he'd come in, enough to ruin that pretty silk shirt he was wearing. "Jurisdiction over this case rests with the police department, Chapman. I know what goes on around here—I've lived here all my life. If someone sneezes inside a house out on Youngs Bay, I hear about it. And I take murder in my town real personally. You'd be wise to take that into account before you go mouthing off."

Michael smiled pleasantly. "I'll be sure and give that some careful thought."

After the police chief left, Michael pulled out a plastic baggy and carefully dropped the half-smoked cigar into it. He'd send it to the lab to have Sykes' saliva checked against the DNA found on the boat, just in case the guy had been traipsing all over Michael's fire scene. Besides, it'd give him no small amount of satisfaction when it became known that he'd had Sykes checked out.

Michael stood there, rubbing the back of his neck while his gut screamed at him. On his way home, he'd drive by the Jorgensen house, just to make sure everything looked okay. He wouldn't stop, and he sure as hell wouldn't let himself touch Kaz. Touching would be bad, given the state he was in. But he wouldn't be able to sleep, he knew, if he didn't at least drive by.