Midas

Justin was not in the mood to sit and interview someone to fill the vacancy in the East End PD. He wanted to blame his lack of interest on the frustration he was feeling over the stonewalling surrounding his investigation of the small plane crash and the information he’d learned from Chuck Billings-information he was still trying to absorb-but he realized that it wouldn’t have mattered what he’d done or discovered over the last few days, he’d never be in the mood to sit and interview someone for a job. Unfortunately, he’d promised Leona Krill that he’d talk to this woman, Regina something, he couldn’t even remember her name, but what the hell kind of first name was Regina? He sighed because. . well. . because everything that had happened over the past week made him sigh. . but he’d made the appointment with this Regina woman and he knew he couldn’t break it.

He didn’t want to interview her at the station, it just didn’t feel right with all the other guys around, so he’d told her to meet him at Duffy’s. Not the classiest place in town but if she wanted to be a cop she might as well get used to cop hangouts. Also, unless you put away quite a few drinks, Duffy’s was not a place to linger. He was hoping his choice of venue would keep the session short and sweet. Their meeting was set up for two o’clock. Justin was hoping to be back at his desk by two-thirty.

He slid into one of the three booths in the bar, looked at his watch at one minute to two, decided if she didn’t show up by five after, he was out of there, but the front door to Duffy’s was pushed open just a few seconds later and Regina whatever-her-name-was walked in right on time. Justin knew it was her. She looked like a cop. She had that confident manner, the one that said no one was going to give her any trouble because there wasn’t any trouble she couldn’t handle. She glanced around the bar, took him in, immediately headed for his booth, no hesitation. He guessed he had that cop air, too.

Before she reached his table, he stood up and extended his hand.

“Justin Westwood,” he said as they shook.

“Regina Bokkenheuser,” she said.

“Nice name,” he told her. “Trips right off the tongue.”

She slid out of her long coat, hung it neatly on a hook to the left of the booth. She was wearing a tapered jacket and a loose-fitting shirt underneath. Her skirt matched the jacket and came down to mid-thigh. Her legs were muscular and at least as tapered as her suit. Justin knew, even with much of her body hidden, that he was looking at a woman with a lot of muscle, physically and emotionally. He smiled, trying to put her at ease. She smiled back at him, probably doing the same thing. He relaxed, felt comfortable as she slid into the booth on the bench across from him, and he realized she was probably a lot better at this than he was.

“It’s Danish,” she said. “And if you think it sounds bad, wait till you hear people try to spell it.”

“That where you’re from? Denmark?”

“My grandmother,” she said. “I’m from Wisconsin. Madison.” She looked around the room and he was surprised to see that she didn’t seem to disapprove. “You think they’d have any form of fruit juice in this joint?”

“I doubt it,” Justin said. “Maybe orange, but I guarantee you cranberry’s out of the question.”

Donnie, the bartender, wandered over to their table and, lo and behold, he had both orange and grapefruit juice. She ordered grapefruit. Justin wanted a beer but settled for a club soda.

Before Donnie could even get back to the bar, Regina Bokkenheuser reached into her inside jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of paper neatly folded into thirds, and slid it across the table at him.

“My resume,” she explained. “Figured it would help answer a few questions and maybe spark a few others.”

Before looking at the paper, he did his best to study her face. Justin realized she was quite attractive. She reminded him of the dark-haired assistant DA on Law amp; Order, the one from the earlier days of the show, the one who quit because she married Richard Gere. Well, maybe Regina wasn’t quite so perfect-looking as that, but the same type. Her hair was lighter than that actress’s hair, somewhere between blonde and brown, layered and cut close around her face. He didn’t let his gaze linger, but he took in the fact that her features weren’t perfect, which somehow made her even more attractive. Her nose was a little too big and her smile a little lopsided. Good teeth, though. Straight and very white. And her neck was long and elegant. Her blue eyes were clear and curious, and he thought he detected just a touch of sadness in there. Those eyes didn’t look away from him until they glanced down at her resume, letting him know he’d been watching her just a little too long.

Justin unfolded the paper, scanned the information. Impressive. She’d been a cop for six years back in Milwaukee. Before that, college at the state university in Madison. Her educational background was in forensic science. Her age wasn’t listed on the resume, but he put her in her late twenties, maybe thirty.

“What made you become a cop?” he asked, looking up.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said.

“I’m not actually all that experienced in this management position,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to ask the questions.”

“Oh, I’ll happily answer,” she told him. “I just thought your answer would be a lot more interesting than mine.” When he cocked his head slightly to the right, she continued. “I don’t like to come into something like this cold,” she said. “I Googled you.” His head cocked farther to the right and she said, “Not your normal mentions for a small-town police chief.”

“And what would I find if I Googled you?”

“Nothing comparable.” She smiled that lopsided smile. “And nothing particularly interesting. If I even popped up, which I won’t. Never been in the papers, never done anything exciting enough to be cited. My dad was a police officer for twenty-five years and I was always fascinated by it. Both my parents wanted me to go into something else. Business, law, teaching maybe. At least, my dad said he wanted that. I always got the feeling he was secretly happy when I decided to follow in his footsteps.”

“And why did you?”

“There’s the million-dollar question. I’m sure there’s some psychological baggage involved. . father-daughter stuff. . but my guess is neither one of us wants to go there. Mostly I think it’s fairly uncomplicated. I just like the job. I like helping people. I like solving things. I know it’s not really glamorous, but if feels glamorous to me. I like saying I’m a police officer. I enjoy the respect it brings, especially these days.”

“Next question: Why here?”

“Why did I leave Madison? Or why did I come to East End Harbor?”

“Both. This is not exactly a teeming hotbed of crime.” Well, not usually, he thought. But he decided to keep his thought to himself.

“Lifestyle,” she said. “My father died a few months ago. .”

“I’m sorry. In the line of duty?”

“No. Heart attack. On his way to the grocery store. Fifty-eight years old.” She hesitated a moment, it was still an emotional subject for her. She quickly got her voice under control and went on. “He left me a little bit of money, so I decided it was time to get out of the Midwest. And I thought I wasn’t quite ready for New York City. A friend from the Milwaukee force knew someone on the NYPD who knew Leona, yada yada yada, so I checked out the town and fell in love with it and. .”

“And here we are.”

“And here we are,” she echoed, flashing one more tilted smile. “And my guess is you’re not the kind of person who likes to be pressured, so you’re figuring this meeting is just a courtesy. But I should tell you, I’m a really good cop and I know what I’m doing and I wish you’d at least check my references because they’re going to be glowing. I don’t think you could find anyone better than me.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. As long as you’re feeling pressure, I found a perfect little house and it’s for rent and I told them I’d let them know in a day or two. So I don’t just want you to hire me, I want you to hire me soon.”

She smiled, an acknowledgment of her brazenness, he relaxed enough to smile back, they both had a second drink-neither switched to alcohol-and they talked about some of the cases she’d worked on. Both police forces were reasonably small, so she’d covered a variety of crimes. She’d worked two homicides-not the lead detective on either murder. One remained unsolved, the other-a fairly simple family squabble; a jealous husband stabbed his wife, tossed her body in a Dumpster seven miles from his house, and tried to claim she’d gone missing-resulted in a