selectmen, the governing body of the town.
Usually Cal outscores me. This time he slaughtered me. “Something on your mind, John?”
“Have you got any unbreakable vows toward Meade?”
He measured me evenly. “None past neighborliness.”
“I’m trying to find Stephen Kinnington, the judge’s son. It looks to me like the judge has told the present searchers to stand down and has sealed the case against outsiders like me.”
“Unfortunate family, the Kinningtons.”
With a pencil he marked our bullet holes on the targets so we’d know that unmarked holes came from our next shots. We walked back to the firing line.
“Feel like talking about them?” I asked. it He rubbed his chin as we approached the bench. ‘The judge’s brother, Telford, was killed in ‘Nam, oh, 1969, maybe. The wife died four or so years ago. Went the Swan Street bridge into the Concord. I suspect the booze caused the crash.”
“No autopsy?” I said as the tower told us to load nve more.
“No body.”
“In the Concord?” I asked. “That river’s current barely pushes a leaf.”
The tower man’s voice crackled in the background. Cal clicked his cylinder shut. “It was early spring, John. Big from the snows and rain. When they pulled the car up, she wasn’t in it. Never found her.”
“Was one of the doors open?”
Cal smiled and pulled his muffs on. The tower man finished his liturgy. We fired the second string doubleaction and again cleared our weapons.
As we moved downrange again, Cal continued the conversation. “Smollett’s diver said he didn’t notice.“
“Did you say ‘driver’ or ‘diver’?”
“Diver, as in scuba diver.”
“Meade has its own scuba team?”
“Of sorts. Meade is ‘concerned about crime.’ At least I think that’s Smollett’s usual budget speech. Pretty effective speech, too.”
“Cal, I’m told that the kid flipped soon after his mother’s death. Institutionalized. Then he was appar-I ently fine until two weeks ago. Can you tell me anything about his disappearance?”
Cal frowned and dropped his voice. “Smollett never even called me to put me on alert. I found out from one of my men whose wife works in the cafeteria in Stephen’s school. Nothing on the radio or the computer. Nothing at all.”
We reached the targets. “Can you think of any reason the judge wouldn’t want his son found?”
Cal clucked his tongue, perhaps at the question, but more likely at my miserable shooting. “Maybe the kid just doesn’t fit into his system.” He began penciling our shots. “The judge, who by the way this department and I have to live with, is a cold, cold man. Just the opposite of his brother, who was real personable, though in an unpredictable sort of way. But the judge... well, if you ever saw him in court, you’d know what I mean.”
“I have. I’ve also met his bodyguard.“
“Bodyguard? Oh, Blakey?”
I nodded.
“Blakey,” said Cal. “He’s a bad-ass, John. He was on the Meade PD, then broke up a fight in a tavern a little—no, a lot—too hard. Citizens’ group managed to raise enough fuss to get him off the force, because he was still probationary. But then the judge hired him on at the courthouse. One of those political moves that makes the judge look fearless to the law-and-order folks.”
Cal pocketed his pencil but made no move back toward the firing line. “You have a jam with him?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“Watch his hands, John. He could open coconuts with ‘em. By the by, if memory serves, Blakey was the officer who noticed the smashed fencing when Mrs. Kinnington went into the river.”
I perked up. “And then sometime later, when Blakey is squeezed off the force, the judge gives him a job?”
Cal nodded.
“How does that add up to you?” I asked.
Cal gave me a philosophical look. “Small-town Police chiefs don’t add, John; they subtract. Every time they take a stand, they subtract from their support in the town. Support remembers
Usually Cal outscores me. This time he slaughtered me. “Something on your mind, John?”
“Have you got any unbreakable vows toward Meade?”
He measured me evenly. “None past neighborliness.”
“I’m trying to find Stephen Kinnington, the judge’s son. It looks to me like the judge has told the present searchers to stand down and has sealed the case against outsiders like me.”
“Unfortunate family, the Kinningtons.”
With a pencil he marked our bullet holes on the targets so we’d know that unmarked holes came from our next shots. We walked back to the firing line.
“Feel like talking about them?” I asked. it He rubbed his chin as we approached the bench. ‘The judge’s brother, Telford, was killed in ‘Nam, oh, 1969, maybe. The wife died four or so years ago. Went the Swan Street bridge into the Concord. I suspect the booze caused the crash.”
“No autopsy?” I said as the tower told us to load nve more.
“No body.”
“In the Concord?” I asked. “That river’s current barely pushes a leaf.”
The tower man’s voice crackled in the background. Cal clicked his cylinder shut. “It was early spring, John. Big from the snows and rain. When they pulled the car up, she wasn’t in it. Never found her.”
“Was one of the doors open?”
Cal smiled and pulled his muffs on. The tower man finished his liturgy. We fired the second string doubleaction and again cleared our weapons.
As we moved downrange again, Cal continued the conversation. “Smollett’s diver said he didn’t notice.“
“Did you say ‘driver’ or ‘diver’?”
“Diver, as in scuba diver.”
“Meade has its own scuba team?”
“Of sorts. Meade is ‘concerned about crime.’ At least I think that’s Smollett’s usual budget speech. Pretty effective speech, too.”
“Cal, I’m told that the kid flipped soon after his mother’s death. Institutionalized. Then he was appar-I ently fine until two weeks ago. Can you tell me anything about his disappearance?”
Cal frowned and dropped his voice. “Smollett never even called me to put me on alert. I found out from one of my men whose wife works in the cafeteria in Stephen’s school. Nothing on the radio or the computer. Nothing at all.”
We reached the targets. “Can you think of any reason the judge wouldn’t want his son found?”
Cal clucked his tongue, perhaps at the question, but more likely at my miserable shooting. “Maybe the kid just doesn’t fit into his system.” He began penciling our shots. “The judge, who by the way this department and I have to live with, is a cold, cold man. Just the opposite of his brother, who was real personable, though in an unpredictable sort of way. But the judge... well, if you ever saw him in court, you’d know what I mean.”
“I have. I’ve also met his bodyguard.“
“Bodyguard? Oh, Blakey?”
I nodded.
“Blakey,” said Cal. “He’s a bad-ass, John. He was on the Meade PD, then broke up a fight in a tavern a little—no, a lot—too hard. Citizens’ group managed to raise enough fuss to get him off the force, because he was still probationary. But then the judge hired him on at the courthouse. One of those political moves that makes the judge look fearless to the law-and-order folks.”
Cal pocketed his pencil but made no move back toward the firing line. “You have a jam with him?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“Watch his hands, John. He could open coconuts with ‘em. By the by, if memory serves, Blakey was the officer who noticed the smashed fencing when Mrs. Kinnington went into the river.”
I perked up. “And then sometime later, when Blakey is squeezed off the force, the judge gives him a job?”
Cal nodded.
“How does that add up to you?” I asked.
Cal gave me a philosophical look. “Small-town Police chiefs don’t add, John; they subtract. Every time they take a stand, they subtract from their support in the town. Support remembers
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