part0010

“Knock, knock.” The cheerful voice of Charlie Fuller burrowed into Hopkins’ ears and traveled down his jaw. His eyes snapped open. A surge of misplaced anger waxed and waned.

It was customary that one waited for permission before entering the office of a superior. Fuller was diligent in observing the custom, but over time had devised certain workarounds. On this occasion, he had employed the famous Insert Head Through Eight Inch Gap Between Door and Frame method. Fuller’s theory, Hopkins assumed, was that if he kept his feet in the hallway, it wasn’t an invasion of privacy.

“What is it?” Hopkins asked.

Fuller smiled. A cardboard coffee tray containing a single paper cup with a plastic lid appeared below Fuller’s floating head and left shoulder. “I picked you up a coffee if you want it.”

“Just come in, Charlie,” Hopkins said.

Hopkins ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Fuller hustled over and placed the coffee on the desk in front of him.

“Is there anything you need?” Fuller said.

“Whatever you’re on,” Hopkins said. “Bring me some of that.”

“It’s a joke, Charlie. Jesus. How the hell are you so chipper?”

Fuller had been up all night, just as Hopkins had. The only difference between them was that Fuller didn’t look like he’d been run over by a Buick. Then again, Hopkins had been the same way in his younger years. During intense homicide investigations, he would work for two or three days straight without sleep. And he had loved every minute of it.

“Never mind,” Hopkins said, “What’d we find out with the missing persons reports?”

“Middletown was able to run down the one they had. Turns out the girl returned home yesterday, but her parents never called to report that she was found. Narragansett was a misunderstanding. The roommate reported her missing but didn’t realize that she had gone to visit family in upstate New York.”

“And the Jamestown girl?” Hopkins said.

“Lucy. No, nothing yet. We haven’t been able to get in touch with anyone. Alvarez swung by the house an hour ago. No one was home. Unfortunately, we don’t have cell phone numbers on file. It seems he neglected to document a phone number on the initial missing person report and we have no other contacts with them. I did an Internet search and found a cell number, but it looks like it’s old. The number’s disconnected.”

“Keep trying,” Hopkins said. “That’s our number one priority. If we can rule her out, then it’s just a matter of passing this off to the right jurisdiction. Are we waiting on any others?”

“Jones is working on it. I believe he’s heard back from Portsmouth, Bristol, Warwick, and one other. North Kingston, maybe? No matching cases yet.”

“What about Providence?” Hopkins asked.

“I don’t know if he’s gotten to Providence yet. I’ll check with him.”

“That’s okay, tell him I’ll take care of it.”

If Hopkins had to wager, he’d put his money on Providence. While it wasn’t Chicago, there were about thirteen murders a year in the city, on average. By Hopkins’ math, that made his old stomping ground about thirteen hundred percent more likely than any place else in the vicinity. And while he was no expert in tides and currents, it made sense that if the girl was dumped in the Providence River, she could have easily washed up in Jamestown a couple days later.

“I’ll let him know,” Fuller said. “Anything else?”

“Not now. Just keep me updated. And thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.” Fuller walked into the hallway.

“Charlie,” Hopkins hollered.

Hopkins heard the squeak of Fuller’s shoes before he reappeared.

“Have someone else take over for Jones. I need him to go up to the medical examiner’s office for the autopsy. Have him call to find out what time. Should be soon. And make sure he takes a camera.”

“Roger,” Fuller said.

“And tell Alvarez I want to see him. I want to know everything he’s done in the past two days on the Lucy case. Tell him it better have been something. And while you’re at it, tell him I want an answer as to why he failed to fill out the police report properly.”

Fuller smiled. “Sure thing.”

Fuller turned and squeaked down the hall.

Hopkins opened his desk drawer and looked at the half-full bottle of Bullet bourbon.

Hopkins eyed the wide-open door. He stood up and walked over to shut it. Before he could, another face appeared. The last face he needed to see at that moment.

“Good morning, Madam President.”

“Don’t Madam President me, Tom,” she said. “Tell me you’re fixing this.”

Arlene Whitman, President of the Town Council, wielded most of the power when it came to local matters. An old friend from high school in East Greenwich, Whitman had been instrumental in convincing the council to hire him as Chief, and she wasn’t keen on letting him forget it.

“Which thing?” Hopkins asked.

“Start with the girl.”

“We’re making progress. Still working on identifying her.”

“How did this happen, Tom? Things like this don’t happen here. Do you realize how bad this looks? People come here because it’s a safe little community. They trust that the police are preventing things like this. I’m up for reelection in a few months. And I backed you, for God’s sake.”

“First of all, how in the world can anyone prevent someone from killing another person? Are you listening to yourself? On top of that, you’re jumping to conclusions. We don’t know that the murder even happened here. Likely, it didn’t. And when we piece it together, the story will be Providence Victim Washes Up in Jamestown , or something like that.”

“You want to talk about stories?” Whitman pulled a thin newspaper from her handbag. “Do you want to know what the Jamestown Press has to say about you?”

Hopkins walked around to the back of his desk, closed the drawer with his thigh, and sat. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Whitman skimmed halfway down the front page. “Here. According to the official police report,” she read, “Evans found Hopkins’ slumped over the wheel of his town vehicle at the four-way stop in the center of the village. Unable to revive him, Evans called 911. Officer K. Jones responded to the scene and paramedics were dispatched. Upon arriving, Officer Jones determined that medical intervention was not necessary and cancelled the Fire Department. The Police Department released an official statement which attributed the incident to the fact that Hopkins had been ill with a virus for several days, which prevented him from getting an adequate amount of sleep.” Whitman looked up from the paper. “A virus? Really?”

Hopkins shrugged. “What? That’s what happened.”

“Hold on, that’s not all of it.” Whitman resumed reading. “In an interview with the Jamestown Press, Mr. Evans provided a contradictory account of the incident, wherein Mr. Evans stated, ‘He [Hopkins] woke up before the officer got there. I could tell he was intoxicated because he smelled like booze and he was slurring. There was an empty bottle of something on the front seat. I told the officer that, but he just took my information and told me to leave. It’s a cover up, that’s what it is.’”

“Cover up? Please. They’re just trying to create trouble. No one reads that thing, anyway.”

“Everyone reads this thing. Have you been outside this morning? Have you not seen your fan club gathered in the parking lot?”

Hopkins tried to appear cavalier about the situation. To act as though it would all blow over. But inside, he knew it wouldn’t. It would mean the end of his career. Soon, but not today. Today was one of the rare occasions when he legitimately had more important things to worry about.

“I know it looks bad, Arlene. I’ll handle it, I promise.”

“You know that I’ve always been on your side. But I’m not going to be able to sway the council on this one. A hearing has been scheduled for Thursday, Tom. There will be a vote.”

“Dismissal hearing?” He phrased it as a question, but it wasn’t.

“They’ll hear the evidence, but I’m telling you, their minds are already made up.”

“Let me guess, you’ll be voting in favor of dismissal because it would be political suicide if you didn’t.”

Whitman avoided eye contact, busying herself instead with the task of folding the paper and shoving it back into her bag.

“Look. I know it’s been hard after everything that’s happened to you. And I’m sorry about that. Right now, you’re in a bad place and I get it. That’s why I’ve called the State Police and asked them to take over this investigation.”

“You did what?” Hopkins stood up. He could feel his face reddening.

Whitman had been well within her rights to admonish him for his conduct. But with this, she had crossed the line.

“You don’t have the right or the authority to call anyone,” Hopkins said. “Last I checked, I am the Chief. I run this Police Department. Until Thursday, at least. And I will not have the State come in here and muck it up.”

“Come on, Tom. This department isn’t prepared to handle something like this. And you’re in no condition.”

Hopkins gritted his teeth. “I told you before. We don’t even know if this is our case. And let me remind you I’ve worked dozens of homicides. Not to mention the assaults, rapes, robberies. You think some traffic cop is going to come in here and show me how it’s done?”

“The residents don’t have confidence. It would set everyone’s mind at ease.”

“Call them back and tell them they are not needed. Or I will. Either way, I’d better not see one single trooper show up on my doorstep or so help me, Arlene.”

“Fine,” Whitman said. “Have it your way. You have until Thursday. But, for that poor girl’s sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Whitman stormed out of the room in a huff. Hopkins responded by making a show of slamming the door behind her.

Teeth still clenched, he took a deep breath through his nose. He walked behind the desk and dropped into his chair with a groan.

Maybe he had overreacted. She wasn’t wrong. His life was a mess. Hell, he’d be in jail if it weren’t for Jones. But the one thing he had left, the source of his last remaining shred of pride, was that he knew the job. He was good at it. Or, at least, he used to be.

He slid the drawer open. The amber liquid sloshed against the sides of the bottle, pulling at him as if he were a flimsy piece of steel caught in the field of a powerful magnet. He paused a moment to gather himself. Then he slapped the drawer shut.