WHEN I ARRIVE at work the next morning, I get a lot of stares, a lot of whispers as I pass. These days at Southampton Town Police Department, I’m about as welcome as a venereal disease. I’ve given the department a black eye. Oh, there are probably a few people who would admit, if pressed, that I did the right thing, that I prevented a miscarriage of justice, even if I had to tarnish the department, and the memory of a beloved chief, in the process.
But most people just seem to remember that last part—that I’ve brought shame on the department, that I crossed the thin blue line.
“Chief wants to see you,” says one of the assistants, passing me.
More good news: My old partner, Isaac Marks, is now running the show. The town supervisor took the Acting off his title two weeks ago, making Isaac the new, permanent chief. You might think I’d benefit from that, that my former partner would look kindly on me, but you’d be wrong. Isaac was at Noah Walker’s house during the search, when my uncle planted the incriminating evidence, and since my testimony, Isaac has had to answer questions from reporters and the town supervisor. He’s denied any wrongdoing, of course—he had no idea, he says, that Lang planted the knife and necklace—but nobody is completely convinced, so he’s beginning his tenure under a dark cloud—thanks to me!
He should feel lucky they gave him the job before all of this came out about Lang; if the decision were made today, he surely wouldn’t have received the promotion.
But when I walk into his office, Isaac doesn’t look like he feels lucky.
“Morning,” I say.
“Sit, Murphy.” He throws something across the desk. A folder full of something, with the words SAFE IN SCHOOL INITIATIVE across the top. I have a pretty good idea what’s coming.
“After that school shooting in Ohio in February,” he says, “the school board here has been anxious to review the safety procedures for the school. Evacuation, prevention, that kind of thing. You’re going to run it. You’ll be reassigned to Bridgehampton School for a couple of months. It’s all in the folder.”
I stare at the folder in my hand, dumbfounded. This is not an assignment for a veteran detective. Both of us know it. Isaac can’t fire me, because I’m too protected right now—the media would pick up on it, and it would look like exactly what it was, that the STPD was retaliating against me for coming forward with the evidence against Lang—but there are other ways to punish a rogue cop like me, the best of which is to give me shitty assignments, to bore me to death until I quit in disgust.
“Isaac,” I say.
“What did you call me?” His head snaps up.
“I’m sorry, Chief—Chief, I’ve been doing some looking into the murders at 7 Ocean Drive, now that they’re ‘unsolved’ again—”
“They’re not unsolved. We know who killed them. We let the killer walk free, didn’t we, Detective?” A bit of color to those plump cheeks of his.
“I … understand,” I say. “Could I just tell you what I’m thinking?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Murphy. I can’t wait.” He throws up his hand, like he’d rather have a needle stuck in his eye, and leans back in his chair.
“Besides those murders, there’s my uncle’s murder. And that murder that you and I were looking at, the prostitute in the woods, impaled on the tree stump.”
“Yeah?” He scratches his neck. “So?”
“Well, all four of these have one thing in common—they resulted in slow, torturous deaths,” I say. “But especially my uncle and the prostitute in the woods. Both of them were impaled. I think that could have meaning. I think they’re connected.”
“Noah Walker killed Zach and Melanie. He probably killed Lang, too, but now that you’ve gone and made Noah untouchable, you couldn’t get the DA to prosecute him if God came down from heaven and declared Noah guilty. And the prostitute? Who the fuck knows who killed her? Let Sag Harbor worry about that.”
Just another hooker adiosed in the Hamptons, Uncle Lang had said.
“I don’t want you investigating those murders,” Isaac says. “I want you at the school. Effective immediately. If you go near those cases, you’ll be disciplined. That’s all.” He flicks his hand at me, a shooing gesture.
Looks like I’m going to have to eat this shit for a while. I return to my desk and start to gather my things.
A woman’s voice calls out to me. I turn and see a uniform, a rookie, the only female patrol officer working Bridgehampton, all of six weeks on the force.
“Haven’t had the chance to introduce myself,” she says. “Officer Ricketts.”
We shake hands. Ricketts is probably in her midtwenties but looks more like she’s in her midteens, big wondering eyes and cropped blond hair.
“Nice to meet you, Ricketts. Call me Murphy. Let me know if I can ever help.”
“Well,” she says as I begin to turn away from her.
“Well, what?”
“I was wondering if I could be any help to you,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’d like the chance to work with you.”
I remember being that young, being green, being a woman on a male-dominated force. Being hungry. Looking for a chance to prove myself.
And, actually, there is something ….
“This would have to be on your own time,” I say. “Off the record.”