A Killing Tide by P. J. Alderman

were coming along."
    Forbes was typical of politicians everywhere, dressed casually to put his constituents at ease, persistently cheerful, and always careful about what he gave away in a conversation. He wasn't a bad sort, necessarily, just the product of the electoral environment. Michael had never had much use for politicians, but he'd learned to live with them.
    "Zeke is helping me confirm that this fire was deliberately set," he said by way of explanation.
    "From what I hear about that nose of yours, you already knew that," Forbes observed.
    "Never hurts to have a second opinion."
    "Now those are words to live by." Forbes pulled a cigarette out of a monogrammed silver case, tapped it a few times, and lit it. "So tell me you also know who set it."
    Michael hesitated. "Fires have a way of burning up a lot of the evidence, and the weather last night was particularly foul. But with any luck, I'll find something useful."
    The mayor nodded and looked out across the docks. He waved to the crew of a departing trawler. "Is there any possibility that it wasn't Jorgensen?"
    "He had motive, as well as opportunity," Michael said, uneasy with giving the wrong impression. "But there are a few unanswered questions."
    Forbes' gaze turned shrewd. "Like what?"
    "I'd rather not say until I complete a thorough investigation."
    The mayor watched him for a long moment through eyes half-shut against cigarette smoke, then let loose a chuckle. "Word has it you used to drive your superiors nuts."
    Michael didn't respond. Forbes hadn't stopped by on a casual morning stroll along the waterfront, not at the crack of dawn. And he wasn't there to give Michael grief about his reputation as a maverick, which he had to have known about well before he'd made the decision to hire.
    Michael's buddies in the Boston Fire Department had told him Forbes had checked him out. Thoroughly. He hadn't just conducted a routine, cursory check—he'd made it a point to talk to anyone who would volunteer information about Michael. And while Michael resented it, he respected the Mayor's thoroughness.
    Forbes sighed. "You know, I've known the Jorgensens for most of my life. Knew their parents, too. Anna and Tim died in a freak storm—let's see—that would be fifteen years ago now. The twins would've been eighteen at the time. It was hard on them, real hard. Gary enlisted, ended up a Ranger in the Army—in one of those elite units that does things the rest of us would rather not know about." Forbes shook his head. "Now Kaz, though, she went south and got herself one fine college education. Made a go of that consulting business of hers. People round here don't let on, but they're awfully proud of both of them."
    He paused while he flicked some cigarette ash into the water. "Kaz was with her parents that night, you know. She barely made it to Sand Island, a nasty pile of shifting sediment just this side of the bar. She couldn't save her parents, and that's eaten at her. She hasn't been back, other than for her annual visits, in years. That is, not until about three weeks ago, when she showed up and started working the crab pots."
    Michael remained silent, wondering where all of this was leading. The mayor might think that Gary'd had a couple of bad breaks, but that didn't mean the guy hadn't finally snapped. And the fact that Kaz had come back to town for an extended stay right before the fire occurred wasn't exactly a point in her favor.
    Forbes was smiling fondly, his expression distant. "She's a pistol, though, isn't she?"
    "Yes, sir," Michael's reply was a little too heartfelt.
    "The irony is, folks around here thought Kaz was the most gifted female skipper to ever work the North Coast. She has this eerie sixth sense about the river bar. The fishermen used to just follow her across, knowing that if they did what she did, they'd make it home to their wives." Forbes watched the boats pulling away from the docks for a long moment, then sighed. "Fishermen are a superstitious