his role was to be a booster for the city and area in general. He’d bought local artists and photographers. This—he couldn’t imagine a local had done it.
From a distance he’d seen that it was some kind of street melee. Closer up, components broke into shards and you didn’t see the overall scene. Faces stood out, though they were far from realistic. No matter how simply these faces were constructed, though, anger and despair jumped out.
“The artist is a friend of mine,” Raynor said behind him.
“I was thinking that most of us go for decorative.”
Raynor’s laugh sounded like rusted gears grinding. A little like Noah’s own, he reflected. They had that in common.
Not looks, though. His new police chief was whipcord-lean and not much above average height. Five foot ten, maybe. He had dark hair and eyes as dark a brown as Noah had ever seen. By this time of day, he already needed a shave. During the interview in February, Noah had thought he looked Italian. Now, with the Southern California tan fading, the effect was diminished. Unless the guy took up skiing this coming year, he was going to turn pasty white like the rest of them who didn’t have the time or inclination for winter sports.
Raynor circled his desk and sank down in the big black leather chair. He looked weary. “I fired two officers today,” he said bluntly. “A sergeant on the patrol side and a detective who was one of our representatives to CODE.” CODE was the coalition of police agencies, including the DEA and FBI, that fought drug trafficking.
“Damn.” Noah lowered himself into a chair facing the desk. He’d known this was coming but hated to have his assumptions confirmed anyway. “Tip-offs to drug dealers?”
“That’s what it looks like. No question they took bribes. Maybe even offered guard service. Hard to be sure. We’re still working on who the money came from.” His eyes met Noah’s. “We’ve traced one payment for sure to the same source that paid off Bystrom.”
Gary Bystrom was the former police chief whose corruption had been uncovered almost by accident in McAllister’s investigation of a murder that had taken place in the city park the same night his now-wife, Maddie Dubeau, had been abducted when she was a teenager. Found along with the boy’s bones was a backpack that contained, among other things, a snapshot of the police chief shaking hands with a known drug dealer and a bank deposit slip for a hefty sum into his account. The Drug Enforcement Agency had mostly taken over digging into the source of those bribes, a real challenge. Raynor was stubbornly refusing to let go entirely of the investigation, with the result that the DEA agent in charge was kindly deigning to keep them informed. Noah and, he suspected, Colin McAllister in particular were getting damn frustrated by the snail’s pace of inquiries that left Bystrom free as a bird. Probably putting away his winter clothes right now and getting out his fly-fishing gear. The only consolation Noah could find was that, at the very least, the feds had him for tax evasion.
What they’d known all along was that he had to be getting tip-offs from officers in the department about police raids. McAllister had found the first two; these were the next to fall.
“It’s still only the beginning, I suspect.”
Noah grunted. He wanted to see some trials and prison cell doors clanging shut.
The dark eyes were direct. “You know most of the work on this was done by McAllister.”
“You’re asking why he isn’t sitting in your chair?” Noah rolled his shoulders and then told him.
“I think you misjudged him.” Raynor’s smile was razor-sharp and came and went swiftly. “To my benefit, of course.”
“Is it? I still don’t know why you wanted this job.”
Still eyeing him, his police chief ran a hand over his darkly shadowed jaw, maybe to give himself a moment. “I was looking for a peaceful town. Not for me.” He hesitated. “My brother was special forces, killed in Afghanistan. I’ve been stepping in to help his widow with their kids. The boy’s thirteen, gotten to a rebellious stage. L.A. wasn’t the place for him.”
“I didn’t know you’d brought family with you.”
“They’re not here yet. Took a while for Julia to sell her house.” He shrugged. “Now she’s waiting out the rest of the school year. They’re moving up here as soon as the kids are out the end of June.”
Noah was unexpectedly relieved to have the answer to the questions he’d asked himself. It was even one he could understand, although this was a big change of direction for a man to make for his sister-in-law and her kids.
“Are we as peaceful as you thought we’d be?” he asked.
Raynor gave a bark of laughter. “Sure. There’s only been one murder since I arrived, you know.” That had been a domestic. “Now, honesty, that’s another story.”
Noah laughed. “Okay,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Keep me informed.”
Raynor stood, too, presumably from courtesy. “Will do.”
Noah left, thinking that the past hour had been exceptionally informative. Now all he asked was that he make it back to his office without so much as another glimpse of his new director of community development.
* * *
COLIN SET ASIDE the newspaper when he saw Cait come out of the guest bedroom. “You going out this evening?” he asked with deceptive casualness.
“City council meeting,” Cait reminded him.
“Oh, right.”
She grinned at his tone. “Isn’t there such a thing as a county council?”
“Don’t remind me.”
She gave him a saucy look. “You could come keep me company.”
“A fate worse than death.”
Chuckling, she twirled in a circle, arms outstretched. “Do I look all right? I want to dazzle ’em.” She didn’t mention who in particular she wanted to dazzle. The suit was one of her favorites, a deep rose she’d worn over a yellow shell. These were about her highest heels, too, saved for occasions like this when she wouldn’t be on her feet for eight hours.
Her brother did relax enough to smile. “Can’t fail,” he assured her.
“Good. Don’t wait up, I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
He frowned, rose to his feet and followed her to the door. “Why don’t you park right by the front porch when you get in instead of off to the side of the garage?”
“You let Nell park in the garage even though she has to scamper all the way across the yard when she gets in at night.” This was one of those evenings when Nell was working at the library in Sunriver until nine, which meant she didn’t get home until close to ten. Cait knew her brother didn’t like these evenings but had resigned himself.
“I listen for her,” he said simply.
Cait sighed. She liked his protective streak. She did. She just wasn’t sure she could live with it. Maybe cops were always like that with their own families, given
