Living Witness(51)

Really, she thought. If she didn’t know what kind of a disaster would happen here if she ever left, she’d quit right this minute and let Franklin Hale take care of the blowback.





SIX





1




Gregor Demarkian worked, most of the time, as a consultant to police departments. Police departments, being government entities, didn’t like to spend money when they didn’t have to, mostly because they could be sure there would be editorials in the papers about how many of the taxpayers’ dollars they were wasting even if they did have to. But because of this, and because he was expensive to hire, Gregor was used to having the media’s attention on the case he was working on. After all, it took something special to justify calling him in; and if he got involved otherwise, it was usually because he’d volunteered. What he was supposed to do about a situation like the present one, where the press was coming out of everybody’s ears, but why none of the reporters seemed the least bit interested in an attempted murder, he didn’t know.

Main Street had gotten far less deserted in the few minutes Gregor had spent on it. By the time he and Gary Albright went into the police station, there were several people from the town popping out onto the sidewalks to see what there were doing, and men and women burdened by camera and sound equipment were everywhere. Gregor took a quick look at them and then let Gary lead him into the building. It was the kind of place that might have served as a sheriff’s office in Mayberry, except that it was a separate building instead of part of the courthouse. Gregor found himself wondering where the courthouse was. It had to be close, but he didn’t think he’d seen it right on Main.

Most of the first floor of the police station was open. There was a counter for the public to stand at when they wanted something. Gregor guessed that most of the people here had known Gary Albright since childhood, which meant they weren’t likely to be all that patient about standing at a counter to talk to him, or to his officers, either, who were likely to have been in town forever, too. There were three desks on the other side of the counter, only one of which was occupied. That one was serving as a computer station to a woman with wispy hair and too many metal things holding it back. She looked up when Gregor and Gary came in and Gary nodded to her.

“Tina,” he said. “Mr. Demarkian. This is Tina Clay.”

Tina Clay waved. She was the kind of woman who would wave indoors. The longer he looked at her, the longer Gregor was sure she was almost excruciatingly self-conscious.

“Tom and Eddie out?” Gary asked her.

Tina nodded and then tried a smile. It didn’t quite come off.

“Tom and Eddie are our officers,” Gary said, heading toward the back where there were two more doors leading, Gregor supposed, to regular offices. “We don’t usually need more than that in Snow Hill. We wouldn’t need that if it wasn’t for the drugs. People don’t spend a lot of time killing each other here.”

“There are robberies,” Tina said helpfully. “Breaking and entering, you know.”

“Mostly, there are domestics,” Gary said. “I can’t say I’m all that fond of the new approach to policing domestics. I don’t have anything against arresting a guy even if the wife doesn’t want to press charges. That’s sensible enough. It’s all this treatment that gets me.”

“Gary isn’t very fond of treatment,” Tina said. The delivery was completely deadpan. Gregor had no idea if she had meant to be funny or not.

“I’d be fond of it if I thought it worked,” Gary said. “But it doesn’t work, does it? These guys go in and they take anger management classes and get signed up for AA, and it’s all fine as long as they’re locked up because as long as they’re locked up there are guys who can make them do all that. Then they get out and what happens? They head straight for the liquor store, if we’re lucky. If we’re not, they head for some of Nick Frapp’s less respectable church members and the next thing you know it they’re pounding the Hell out of somebody and there’s blood on the walls. There we are again.” Gary gave Gregor a look. “Are you one of those guys who are really impressed with treatment?”

“No,” Gregor said. “In my opinion, the common house cat knows more about human nature than most of the psychologists I’ve met.”

“Exactly.” Gary looked very satisfied. He was also standing next to the door to Gregor’s left. The door to Gregor’s right contained an office of the usual configuration. There was a desk, covered with work, but not messily covered with work. Gregor got the impression, once again, that Gary Albright was more organized than any human being had a right to be.