day.
“You see….”
We wait.
He whispers: “We're trying to locate and apprehend a decent cup of coffee.”
Santucci's partner, Malloy, smirks and crosses his thick arms across his washing-machine-size chest. The two of them like to act bored every morning because they think they're better than all the other cops in the room. They also like to roll their short-sleeve shirts up into a cuff so everybody can see just how big and impressive their bulging arm muscles look this early in the day.
Reggie Pender frowns.
“Funny, Dom. Real funny. Maybe you guys will be able to track down that coffee up on the North End. You're working it today.”
Malloy moans. “The North End? Jesus, crap….”
“We have seniority,” says Santucci. “We've been on the job longer than anybody in this room. Longer than you
“Sorry. Ceepak and Boyle have that assignment.
“How come?”
“That's what the chief wants.”
“We used to have some rules around here, you know? Rules regarding seniority and who works where….”
“Look, Dom-you have a complaint, take it up with the chief. Right now, do your job. Hit the streets. Hit the North End. Go find that damn coffee. Dismissed.”
Pender gathers up his notes.
Santucci's seething. His face is so purple he looks like the Fruit of the Loom grape. “We're not done here, Sergeant Pender.”
“Yes we are. Like I said-you have a complaint, take it to the chief.”
Pender marches out the door.
The second he's gone, Santucci gets in Ceepak's face.
“You bucking for detective?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I've been hocking the chief for months to bump me up to detective grade. This department needs one. Full-time. We need a good one.”
“I have never once discussed job titles with the chief.”
“Bullshit.”
No. If Ceepak says it, it's true, because Ceepak cannot tell a lie. If he ever chops down a cherry tree, he'll hand you the axe and arrest himself.
Santucci won't let it drop. “So how come the chief gave you that Mickey Mouse microscope upstairs?”
“I have an interest in forensics that Chief Baines finds useful to our ongoing mission to keep Sea Haven safe.”
“Bullshit. You want to fight me for the detective job? Fine. Bring it on. I know my shit. Backwards and forwards. So when you and junior here screw up whatever it is you're investigating, don't worry-me and Malloy will bail your ass out.” He turns to his partner. “Come on, Mark. Let's go investigate us that cup of coffee.”
“Roger that,” says Malloy, mocking Ceepak. “Roger-dodger that!”
The two cops march out of the room, hiking up their gun belts so they can swagger even better.
“Danny?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You ready to roll?”
“Roger that,” I say with a smile Ceepak smiles back. “Then it's all good.”
Since we don't have much time before we're back on Sand Castle duty, Ceepak picks Reverend Trumble as our most pressing lead. We hop in the Ford Explorer and set out for his headquarters. Ceepak takes the wheel.
“What's eating Santucci?” I ask. “Whataya think crawled up his butt?”
“Can't say for certain,” says Ceepak. “Furthermore, I've never been inclined to investigate.”
I think he just cracked a joke. He does that sometimes. More since he met Rita.
“I suspect, however, he finds himself in an uncomfortable position. I am, indeed, still somewhat new on the Sea Haven Police Force. Perhaps I have violated some unwritten code and inadvertently disrupted Sergeant Santucci's perceived career path.”
I change the subject.
“Hey, how about that doctor I was telling you about? The vacationing surgeon who was coming here all the time in the ’80s?”
Ceepak nods.
“He definitely makes our list, Danny.”
We pull into a parking slot out front of The Sonny Days Inn. It's eight A.M. Very early morning or-judging from the bleary-eyed looks on the kids standing in the straggly chow line-very, very late at night.
Ceepak tells me the plan. “We spend fifteen minutes questioning Reverend Trumble about Mary Guarneri and the church charm. See if he remembers her. Immediately afterward, we survey the scene.” He nods toward the line of hungry young beach bums. “Try to spot the pickpocket. See if she showed up for breakfast again this morning.”
“Right.”
“Then, time permitting, we can follow up on this Dr. Theodore Winston you encountered last evening.”
“Who maybe started practicing his surgical skills before he had his medical license?”
“Let's not jump to any conclusions, Danny.”
“Yeah, I know … innocent until proven otherwise. But, trust me-he's definitely guilty of being an asshole.”
“Let's roll,” is all Ceepak says.
We take our place at the end of the breakfast line.
One of the blondes we saw yesterday is automatically inking her rubber stamp as each person approaches. When we reach the head of the line, she's all set to brand a shining sun on our hands to prove we're good to go for grub.
“We're not here to eat,” says Ceepak. “We're here to see Reverend Trumble.”
“He's busy. In the kitchen.”
Exactly how Ceepak wanted him.
“This is important,” he says.
“So is breakfast-for the weary and the lost.”
“Yes, ma'am. However, this is a pressing police matter.”
She looks at us. The morning sun glints off Ceepak's badge. I should probably polish mine more often.
“I see. Catherine?” She calls to a nearby girl whose smile is way too sunny for 8:05 A.M. It looks pasted on. “Please take over here.”
“Of course, sister.”
“This is not the best time,” says their leader.
“The Sea Haven Police Department appreciates your cooperation.”
I love how Ceepak can kick butt and sound polite doing it.
We're with Reverend Trumble in his office. He didn't want to talk to us in the kitchen; too many devoted followers eavesdropping while they juggled their cast iron skillets. Scraping up scrambled eggs instead of loaves and fishes. French toast for the faithful. Saving souls with Entenmann's Danish rings.
“Tell us about the church charms,” says Ceepak.
Trumble, though impatient, answers carefully. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. “For several years, I gave one to every girl who sought solace here. Charm bracelets, however, are no longer fashionable. So I
