trouble for us?” the mayor asked. He thought about that. “Sure, why not?” Then the mayor asked. “You pissed about the reward I offered?”
“I’d have liked to know about it beforehand. It probably will save some legwork, and cause some headaches with scammers trying to cash in. On balance … yeah, I’m pissed.”
Clay nodded, not taking offense.
“I’ll let you know first, next time. You can state your case. But I’m going to do what I think is right.”
“Me too,” Ron said.
The mayor had the grace and self-assurance to smile at the remark.
The chief said thanks for the coffee and got up to go.
“You want me to notify the next of kin?” Clay offered.
Ron shook his head. “I want to check out Reverend Cardwell with the Oakland PD before I call them.”
It was only when Clay walked him to the door that Ron remembered to give the mayor the other piece of news concerning his happy little mountain kingdom.
“Oh, yeah,” the chief said. “Before I forget again, you should know that a woman running on Route 38 yesterday was attacked by a mountain lion.”
“Thanks. I already heard, ”the mayor replied. “Flowers and wishes for a speedy recovery should be reaching Ms. Mallory in San Francisco right about now.”
Chapter 8
By the time Ron got back to the Muni Complex, he was surprised to find a contingent of reporters waiting for him. Sergeant Stanley had them efficiently tucked away in a conference room, but the room had a glass wall and the newsies all leapt to their feet when they saw the chief arrive.
They sat back down, however, when the sergeant pointed a stern finger at them. He’d given them strict and simple ground rules: Good manners would get every bit of cooperation the department could reasonably give; rude, disruptive behavior that distracted the department from its important work would meet with instant ejection.
“Who’s here?” Ron asked.
“The town paper and both local radio stations, the L.A. Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, The Sacramento Bee, and two network TV affiliates, one from San Jose, the other from Reno.”
“So, it’s just regional right now.”
“Planes are landing as we speak, Chief. Won’t be an empty hotel room by evening.”
Ron sighed. “I better go give them something.”
“Before you do,” the sergeant said, “I have to tell you they’re not the only unwelcome visitors this morning.”
The chief gave the sergeant an inquiring look.
“You’ve got feds in your office. I had to put them there because I’d already put the press in the conference room.”
“FBI? Trying to big-foot the case?”
Sergeant Stanley nodded. “I’ve got Annie coming in, so at least you won’t have to spend much time with the media.”
“Thanks.” Ron started for the conference room, then stopped. “Sarge, you didn’t tell the feds we’ve ID’d the victim?”
Caz Stanley felt he was well within his rights to give his boss a disdainful look.
“Sorry. Just wanted to be sure I can piss them off by telling the media first.”
Sergeant Stanley grinned his approval.
Ron stepped into the conference room to meet the press.
“Chief, Chief, Chief!” Every voice in the room shouted, demanding attention. They were all on their feet again, leaning forward as if to rip him apart and study his entrails for his every secret. Not even the formidable Sergeant Stanley could potty train the press completely.
“Please,” Ron said, holding up his hands, calling for order. “Please take your seats and I’ll give you my statement.”
The reporters sat down reluctantly. The two refugees from grunge bands behind the videocams stayed on their feet and cast their harsh light on Ron.
“Yesterday morning at 6:30 AM, Deputy Chief Oliver Gosden and I were on routine patrol and —”
“It’s routine for the chief and deputy chief to patrol the town?” the Chronicle interrupted.
“Every Friday morning. We like to stay in touch with the patrol
“I’d have liked to know about it beforehand. It probably will save some legwork, and cause some headaches with scammers trying to cash in. On balance … yeah, I’m pissed.”
Clay nodded, not taking offense.
“I’ll let you know first, next time. You can state your case. But I’m going to do what I think is right.”
“Me too,” Ron said.
The mayor had the grace and self-assurance to smile at the remark.
The chief said thanks for the coffee and got up to go.
“You want me to notify the next of kin?” Clay offered.
Ron shook his head. “I want to check out Reverend Cardwell with the Oakland PD before I call them.”
It was only when Clay walked him to the door that Ron remembered to give the mayor the other piece of news concerning his happy little mountain kingdom.
“Oh, yeah,” the chief said. “Before I forget again, you should know that a woman running on Route 38 yesterday was attacked by a mountain lion.”
“Thanks. I already heard, ”the mayor replied. “Flowers and wishes for a speedy recovery should be reaching Ms. Mallory in San Francisco right about now.”
Chapter 8
By the time Ron got back to the Muni Complex, he was surprised to find a contingent of reporters waiting for him. Sergeant Stanley had them efficiently tucked away in a conference room, but the room had a glass wall and the newsies all leapt to their feet when they saw the chief arrive.
They sat back down, however, when the sergeant pointed a stern finger at them. He’d given them strict and simple ground rules: Good manners would get every bit of cooperation the department could reasonably give; rude, disruptive behavior that distracted the department from its important work would meet with instant ejection.
“Who’s here?” Ron asked.
“The town paper and both local radio stations, the L.A. Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, The Sacramento Bee, and two network TV affiliates, one from San Jose, the other from Reno.”
“So, it’s just regional right now.”
“Planes are landing as we speak, Chief. Won’t be an empty hotel room by evening.”
Ron sighed. “I better go give them something.”
“Before you do,” the sergeant said, “I have to tell you they’re not the only unwelcome visitors this morning.”
The chief gave the sergeant an inquiring look.
“You’ve got feds in your office. I had to put them there because I’d already put the press in the conference room.”
“FBI? Trying to big-foot the case?”
Sergeant Stanley nodded. “I’ve got Annie coming in, so at least you won’t have to spend much time with the media.”
“Thanks.” Ron started for the conference room, then stopped. “Sarge, you didn’t tell the feds we’ve ID’d the victim?”
Caz Stanley felt he was well within his rights to give his boss a disdainful look.
“Sorry. Just wanted to be sure I can piss them off by telling the media first.”
Sergeant Stanley grinned his approval.
Ron stepped into the conference room to meet the press.
“Chief, Chief, Chief!” Every voice in the room shouted, demanding attention. They were all on their feet again, leaning forward as if to rip him apart and study his entrails for his every secret. Not even the formidable Sergeant Stanley could potty train the press completely.
“Please,” Ron said, holding up his hands, calling for order. “Please take your seats and I’ll give you my statement.”
The reporters sat down reluctantly. The two refugees from grunge bands behind the videocams stayed on their feet and cast their harsh light on Ron.
“Yesterday morning at 6:30 AM, Deputy Chief Oliver Gosden and I were on routine patrol and —”
“It’s routine for the chief and deputy chief to patrol the town?” the Chronicle interrupted.
“Every Friday morning. We like to stay in touch with the patrol
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