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O’Toole didn’t know what to make of that, but he didn’t how to make much of anything, so it wasn’t unusual.
George got me up to speed. “Mayor O’Toole has terminated me for cause. Effective immediately.”
That explained the chief’s badge and gun on O’Toole’s desk. I’d seen such a thing in TV shows but never in real life. “What cause?” I asked.
Bartlett was eager to chime in and be obnoxious. “To begin with, the Lavender Blue murder investigation. Proper procedure wasn’t followed.” Bartlett was young and he had that pale curly blond hair that made him look like a spoiled toddler, except older and wimpier. A man who would miss his prime because he would never have one.
“Bullshit.” I pointed at O’Toole. “You told George to keep the county sheriff out of it and to violate protocol.”
“There’s no record of that,” Bartlett said smugly. “Proper procedure in such a case is to give the county sheriff jurisdiction as they have the proper resources to conduct a homicide investigation.”
O’Toole and Bartlett had been well coached by the senator. This was her play all the way.
“That was months ago,” I said. “The state board cleared us.”
“Technically,” Bartlett said, because he was the kind of guy who said things like “technically” and “literally” and now, “proper.” He went on. “They determined improper procedure but didn’t give any recommendation for action. At the time. But given new revelations, that recommendation has been re-evaluated and action implemented.”
George looked at me. “Pitts is out of his coma. He talked about the hundred thousand in the briefcase.”
I made a pathetic attempt at misdirection. “Who invited you in here?” I demanded of Bartlett. “You work for me.”
“Au contraire,” O’Toole said, sounding like the dick he was. He picked up the chief’s badge and tossed it to Bartlett. “You, Cooper, work for Bartlett now. He’s the new chief of police.” O’Toole shook his head as if sad, but that grin was still there. “Apparently, the Burney police department offered a known criminal one hundred thousand dollars to leave town. It’s a shocking thing to learn. Truly shocking. Change is required. Mandated in fact. Absolutely called for.”
He stopped there, possibly because of the look on my face as I turned toward him, and he’d run out of catchphrases.
Bartlett distracted me, like an irritating fly. “There was nothing in the reports about such an offer, which is improper procedure,” Bartlett said as he fumbled with the badge, putting it on his belt after pulling off his gold detective’s badge. He glanced at O’Toole and I sensed an original thought coming which couldn’t be good. “In light of that, as the new chief of police, I’ve decided I am also chief of detectives. And you’re demoted. You’re back to uniform, Officer Cooper.”
O’Toole appeared surprised by that, which meant Bartlett was off script. Also, if he demoted me, he was chief of no one.
“Easy, Vince,” George said, because he recognized the warning signs as I turned toward Bartlett. They probably weren’t hard to notice as my fists balled, my shoulders hunched, and my anger surged. Standard stuff. George stepped between us and leaned close as he whispered, “We need you on the force, now more than ever.”
“I’ll keep you on for the time being,” Bartlett said, steepling his fingers in front of him as if giving the matter great thought. “However, I must remind you that you will follow proper procedure and—”
“Fuck you.” I pulled out my badge. “Literally, technically and properly.”
“Vince,” George said. “Don’t.”
I tossed it on the desk, as O’Toole jerked back as if afraid I was throwing it at him. “I quit.”
My forty-five pistol I kept. Because it’s mine.
“Hold on,” O’Toole said. “Let’s not be hasty, Cooper. If this is about George, He’ll be fine. He’s still on the town council. Plenty to do.”
“Offering the money was my decision,” I said. “George had nothing to do with it. He didn’t know anything about it until after it was over. You want a head? Take mine.”
“Why did you do it?” O’Toole asked me, ignoring George, and it seemed like he really wanted an answer.
“Pitts was burning down the town,” I said. “I set a trap and it worked. He’s in custody.”
Bartlett had to get his pious two cents in. “You should have reported the money as soon as you found it. It was evidence.”
“I didn’t have to report it,” I argued. “Evidence of what? It was Navy’s money, fallen out of his car during his accident in the ravine months ago. An event that has been signed off on as an accident at the mayor’s insistence. I rappelled down there on a personal matter, to retrieve things that belonged to a friend. It was not part of an investigation into Navy’s crash which, I repeat,you,” I glared at the mayor, “insisted we close. I returned his briefcase and the money to his family.”
“After offering the money to Mickey Pitts,” Bartlett pointed out. Again. The kid was nothing if not repetitive.
“There’s no record of that,” I said, scoring a cheap point. “You’re taking the word of an arsonist and a murderer?”
“‘Murderer’?” Bartlett was confused.
