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trade as a police buff.”
    “A reporter who likes cops?”
    “No, a reporter who is fascinated by the police function. There are many officers I like and some I dislike, but the idea, the concept of the law enforcement function is one which never ceases to intrigue me.”
    “So, if Jane thought that Coyne might be in danger from the cops, she never would have come to you to talk about it.”
    “Just so. Though if she had, I could have assured her that the police need not stoop to homicide to seal the lips of a felon as vulnerable as the soiled Mr. Coyne.” :
    I already knew that argument. “I understand that the cop supposedly on the take from Coyne’s employer is tied into the hierarchy down here?”
    “Nasharbor is technically a city in the geopolitical sense, given its population and form of municipal government. But in many ways it is a very small town, and nepotism in city services is one such way.”
    “Assuming I understand the principle, care to provide the relevant illustration?”
    “Careful, Sancho. You converse with me long enough, you’ll begin to affect my prolix patterns of speech.” He sucked down another two shots of booze. “Now, where were... yes, yes the social register of our constabulary. First, the current chief is a figurehead, the first Porto to hold that place, thanks to some clever maneuvering a few years back by our state representative.”
    “What kind of maneuvering?”
    “I’m not a lawyer by training, but I understand the statutory framework to be that one becomes chief through various civil service standards and tests.”
    “And?”
    “And our current chief, bless him, would have trouble signing his name in a legible fashion. However, the aforementioned state rep had the crucial vote in committee on somebody’s pet pork barrel as the legislative session clock approached midnight, and the trade was our vote on the pork barrel in exchange for a special statute exempting the position of chief of Nasharbor from any civil service requirements.”
    “New one on me.”
    “Yes. Rather shakes one’s faith in the democratic process, doesn’t it? In any case, however, the current chief is nearing retirement, with two potential successors vying in the wings.”
    “Namely?”
    “A second Porto , Joseph Hogueira, the captain of uniforms here. And Cornelius, or Neil, Hagan, the captain of detectives.”
    “Jane mentioned Hagan.”
    “As well she might. Hagan took personal charge of Coyne’s death. And the cop allegedly, and I stress allegedly, on the take from Gotbaum, Coyne’s nefarious employer, was one Mark Schonstein, son of Hagan’s former partner when Hagan was in uniform.”
    “And Jane figured that Hagan would bury a murder as a favor to an old partner’s kid?”
    “Well, it does go a bit deeper than that.”
    “How do you mean?”
    As he spoke, Peete regarded the remaining four fingers of vodka with renewed respect. “There was an incident, oh perhaps fifteen years ago. Way before my time, so I’ve heard only the retellings. But basically, Hagan and Schonsy—that’s what everyone called the elder Schonstein, Schonsy—Hagan and Schonsy are on patrol when they pick up a local punk on some kind of charge. Perhaps ‘Failure to Give a Good Account of Himself.’ That was a wonderful catchall when I worked in New Jersey . Anyway, there’s a row in or near the cruiser, and when they get to the hospital, Schonsy is covered with his own blood, and the kid is dead of a broken neck.”
    “Schonsy killed the kid in a struggle?”
    Peete shook his head. “The way the story goes, the kid attacked Schonsy, and Hagan hit the kid to get him off his partner, but the impact was at just the wrong angle, causing the fatal spinal injury.”
    Maybe Jane wasn’t entirely off the track after all. “You see it that way?”
    “I’ve covered the police in ten different cities over a checkered thirty years. I’ve yet to see a cop not back up his partner.”
    “You also think