in vertical prominence. “Except they’re not.”
“Not what?” said Hooper, looked confused.
“Flies. And in case you didn’t know, autopsies reveal abouttwenty-five percent of the time a different cause of death than the one everybody thought it was.”
“We can go down to the station,” said Landry in a placating tone. “And straighten things out, like you said.”
“You want me to follow you or go in your car?” asked Puller.
“It’s not a choice. You go in our ride,” said Hooper, before Landry could speak. “With your hands cuffed and your rights read.”
“You’re really going to arrest me?” asked Puller.
“Did you break into that house?” Hooper shot back.
“I went in to check on my aunt.”
“Why didn’t you call the police if you were concerned?” asked Landry. “We could have filled you in.”
“Maybe I could have, but it’s not my way of doing things,” replied Puller.
“Army have the luxury of letting its guys just bop around the country doing their own stuff?” said Hooper. “No wonder our taxes are so damn high.”
“Even the Army lets its guys have some R and R time, Officer Hooper.”
“We’ll leave your car here,” broke in Landry. “You ride with us, but without the cuffs or the rights read.”
“Thanks,” said Puller, as Hooper eyed his partner darkly.
“But if your story doesn’t check out,” she warned, “that all changes.”
“Fair enough,” said Puller. “But after you find out I’m legit, I’ll need to see my aunt’s body.”
He walked toward their cruiser. “Let’s roll,” he called back over his shoulder.
The two cops slowly followed.
11
T HE P ARADISE POLICE STATION WAS located two blocks off the beach in a two-story stone and stucco structure that had an orange terra-cotta roof and a pair of palm trees out front. It sat next to a Ritz-Carlton hotel and looked more like a country club than a place where cops went to get their patrol assignments and cruisers to go hunt criminals.
As Puller climbed out of the police car and looked around he said to Hooper, “Did you purposely locate in the high-crime area to keep watch over the criminal element?”
Hooper ignored him, but placed an arm on Puller’s elbow to shepherd him into the building. Apparently Hooper was under the impression that Puller was in custody and the only things missing were the cuffs over his wrists and a Miranda warning ringing in his ears.
The place inside looked much like the place outside. High-dollar, clean, orderly. In fact it was the cleanest, most orderly police station Puller had ever seen. The personnel working inside pristinely delineated office spaces barely looked up as the trio came in. Their clothes were starched, spotless, and looked to have been fitted by a veteran tailor. No phones were ringing. No one was screaming for his lawyer or declaring that he was innocent of all trumped-up charges. No uncooperative prisoners were puking on the floor. No fat, sweaty cops with major B.O. and pissed-off attitudes were waddling down the halls in search of a myocardial infarction in the form of a vending machine stuffed with chocolate and sodium.
It was such a total disconnect for Puller that he looked aroundfor a camera, seriously wondering for a few moments whether he was being punked.
He glanced at Landry, who was walking next to him. “I’ve never seen a police station quite like this one.”
“What’s so different about it?” she asked.
“You been in any others?”
“A few.”
“Trust me, it’s different. I was looking around for a valet outside and a place to order a drink in here before I teed off for a quick round of nine holes. And I don’t even play golf.”
Hooper nudged his elbow harder. “So we’ve got a strong tax base. That’s a problem somehow?”
“Didn’t say it was a problem. Just said it was different.”
“Then maybe everybody else should follow our example,” retorted Hooper. “Because I think we’ve got
“Not what?” said Hooper, looked confused.
“Flies. And in case you didn’t know, autopsies reveal abouttwenty-five percent of the time a different cause of death than the one everybody thought it was.”
“We can go down to the station,” said Landry in a placating tone. “And straighten things out, like you said.”
“You want me to follow you or go in your car?” asked Puller.
“It’s not a choice. You go in our ride,” said Hooper, before Landry could speak. “With your hands cuffed and your rights read.”
“You’re really going to arrest me?” asked Puller.
“Did you break into that house?” Hooper shot back.
“I went in to check on my aunt.”
“Why didn’t you call the police if you were concerned?” asked Landry. “We could have filled you in.”
“Maybe I could have, but it’s not my way of doing things,” replied Puller.
“Army have the luxury of letting its guys just bop around the country doing their own stuff?” said Hooper. “No wonder our taxes are so damn high.”
“Even the Army lets its guys have some R and R time, Officer Hooper.”
“We’ll leave your car here,” broke in Landry. “You ride with us, but without the cuffs or the rights read.”
“Thanks,” said Puller, as Hooper eyed his partner darkly.
“But if your story doesn’t check out,” she warned, “that all changes.”
“Fair enough,” said Puller. “But after you find out I’m legit, I’ll need to see my aunt’s body.”
He walked toward their cruiser. “Let’s roll,” he called back over his shoulder.
The two cops slowly followed.
11
T HE P ARADISE POLICE STATION WAS located two blocks off the beach in a two-story stone and stucco structure that had an orange terra-cotta roof and a pair of palm trees out front. It sat next to a Ritz-Carlton hotel and looked more like a country club than a place where cops went to get their patrol assignments and cruisers to go hunt criminals.
As Puller climbed out of the police car and looked around he said to Hooper, “Did you purposely locate in the high-crime area to keep watch over the criminal element?”
Hooper ignored him, but placed an arm on Puller’s elbow to shepherd him into the building. Apparently Hooper was under the impression that Puller was in custody and the only things missing were the cuffs over his wrists and a Miranda warning ringing in his ears.
The place inside looked much like the place outside. High-dollar, clean, orderly. In fact it was the cleanest, most orderly police station Puller had ever seen. The personnel working inside pristinely delineated office spaces barely looked up as the trio came in. Their clothes were starched, spotless, and looked to have been fitted by a veteran tailor. No phones were ringing. No one was screaming for his lawyer or declaring that he was innocent of all trumped-up charges. No uncooperative prisoners were puking on the floor. No fat, sweaty cops with major B.O. and pissed-off attitudes were waddling down the halls in search of a myocardial infarction in the form of a vending machine stuffed with chocolate and sodium.
It was such a total disconnect for Puller that he looked aroundfor a camera, seriously wondering for a few moments whether he was being punked.
He glanced at Landry, who was walking next to him. “I’ve never seen a police station quite like this one.”
“What’s so different about it?” she asked.
“You been in any others?”
“A few.”
“Trust me, it’s different. I was looking around for a valet outside and a place to order a drink in here before I teed off for a quick round of nine holes. And I don’t even play golf.”
Hooper nudged his elbow harder. “So we’ve got a strong tax base. That’s a problem somehow?”
“Didn’t say it was a problem. Just said it was different.”
“Then maybe everybody else should follow our example,” retorted Hooper. “Because I think we’ve got
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