On Hauck’s second day in the hospital, a call came in from Vern Fitzpatrick, the chief of police back in Greenwich and Hauck’s old boss, who’d tried to reach him before. When he heard Hauck was in the hospital and why, he laughed. “Every time I talk to you, life seems to be chipping a little more away,” Vern said, recalling what had happened only months before after the Gstaad Group venture. “Bet you never thought when you left the force, that’s when things would really start to get dangerous.”
“Never did.” Hauck chuckled. “That’s true.”
They talked about some people they knew in common; Hauck brought Fitzpatrick up-to-date on how he’d spent his past three months. Then he said, “So I know you didn’t call in to hear about my trip to the Rockies …”
“No,” Vern admitted. “I didn’t.” The chief paused for a second. “I guess you could tell the last time we saw each other, Ty, I’m not getting any younger. I’ve been running this department for almost twenty years now.”
“And doing it pretty damn well,” Hauck said. “Everyone respects you.” Though Vern was right, the last time they had seen each other, at a retirement party for one of the department’s longtime secretaries, Hauck couldn’t help but notice the gray had turned to white, the crow’s-feet around the eyes more pronounced.
“Thanks. That’s actually kind of what I want to talk to you about.”
Hauck shifted in his bed. “Okay …”
“I have a few things going on, beyond the usual aches and pains. I seem to have this irregular heartbeat now, they tell me. And this shake. You probably saw.” Hauck had noticed the tremor the last time they met. “That’s not getting any better.”
“Have you gotten it tested?” Hauck asked. Vern was as much a friend as an ex-boss.
“I have.” Then he switched the subject. “Marge and I were thinking about spending a little more time down south. We have this place, outside Charleston. Ever been there?”
“Never. I hear the eating’s good, though.”
“And the golf. Though I don’t get down there near enough to confirm that myself.”
“You telling me you’re thinking about retiring, Vern?”
“Thinking seriously about it,” Vern said.
“Wow. When?”
“Soon as I can groom someone into the job and replace myself.”
“Well, yours will be big shoes to fill, Vern. Twenty years … The size of the force must have doubled in that time.”
“Tripled actually. At least that’s what I get reminded of, every time I go through the budget process.”
Hauck laughed. “I bet it is. So what can I do? You want an assessment on who you have in mind? I’m sure Steve’s up for it. He’s next in line.” Steve Cristafuli, whom Hauck had brought in himself, and who had replaced him as the chief of detectives. He’d held the job under Vern for two years now.
“Steve’s not the answer, Ty. He’s fine just where he is. He as much as said so himself when I asked.”
“Okay. What about one of the other municipalities then? Mike Garvey’s up in New Canaan and I always thought he has what it takes.”
“You’re right. He would be a good choice. But the reason I called you, Ty, is I was hoping you might think that this could be the right thing for you.”
“Me …?” Hauck sat up in the bed.
“I don’t know how things are in your new job … I know you’re doing well. But I also know you spent a whole lot of time after that last escapade down in the Caribbean. And there are rumors …”
“Rumors? What kinds of rumors, Vern …?”
“You know how it is. People talk.”
Hauck paused. He let the idea simmer around in his blood. “I’ve been out a long time. Close to three years. I’m sure things have changed. And things work a little differently in the private sector. And I’ve gotten used to that.”
“I understand. But you’re still the best man I can think of for the job. Everyone respects you. You know the place better than anyone. And maybe some of that private-sector savvy is a good thing these days …”
“You might be right on that,” Hauck agreed.
“’Course, it’s not the big glamour job like what you’re used to now. And we can’t even begin to offer you anything close to what you’ve been earning …”
“Money’s never been the motivating thing for me, Vern. You know that.”
“That’s what I told the town council when I floated the idea to them. ‘Why not ask Ty? We might be able to get him on the cheap.’”
Hauck chuckled back. “And what did they say?”
“Who?”
“The town council.”
Vern didn’t answer. “Think it over at least, would you? It’s a good job. And a good life. You know that.”
Hauck nodded. “It is.”
“And something else to consider …” the chief of police said with a laugh.
“What’s that?”
“It might be safer.”
The farewells were tough for Hauck before he left to go back east.
Chuck Watkins came around with his wife. The farmer stepped in cautiously, seeing Hauck’s head still bandaged and his arm in a sling. “So how’s the shoulder?”
“Not quite as good as it was the day before I met you. How’s yours?”
“Guess I could say the same thing. Played with my aim a little; otherwise that McKay guy would have never gotten the drop on me.”
“So I suspected.” Hauck said, twisting around. “The ribs hurt like a sonovabitch, though.”
“Chuck.” The farmer’s wife nudged him forward.
“Okay, Marie …” Watkins took off his cap. “We want to say thank you,” he said, and put out his hand. Hauck had to reach awkwardly with his left arm to take it, wincing. “Sorry …” the farmer said.
Hauck said, “I’m feeling like I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
“It’s mutual then. Though part of me does feel you owe me a new barn.”
“Be sure and send the bill to RMM.”
“You can be sure I will.”