Gus stared at him for a long five count, then abruptly stood up and walked into his private office and slammed the door. Through the glass Ferro could see him snatch up the phone. He turned to LaMastra, dropped his voice, and snapped, “Jesus, Vince, do you have to make smartass comments to everyone? What is it with you?”
Unmoved, LaMastra quietly said, “I guess my bullshit tolerance has bottomed out over the last couple of days. Working with that guy is maybe a short step up from working with a sock puppet.”
“It’s his town.”
“Oh, screw that, Frank. People are dying—
“Of the manhunt, yes, but this is a town policy issue. We push too hard on this and the mayor makes a call to our boss and we’re both writing parking tickets in West Philly.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to play politics here.”
Ferro shrugged. “The chief’s making the call, isn’t he?”
Through the glass they could see Gus, his face even redder, gesturing emphatically as he shouted into the phone. They shared a look, eyebrows raised, then settled down at desks to update their reports on their laptops. Ten minutes later Gus’s door banged open and he stalked across the room toward them, face dark, a thick vein popping on his forehead. He stopped in front of Ferro’s desk and glared down at him. “Well, I pitched the curfew idea to LeBeau and eight of the selectmen one at a time and got my ass handed to me by every single one of them.”
Ferro flicked a warning look at LaMastra, who only mouthed the word “
“Best I might get from them was permission to issue an advisory.”
“‘An advisory,’” Ferro echoed.
“We can broadcast a suggestion that ‘everyone stay indoors until the current criminal investigation is over.’” He said it with the intonation of someone repeating a quote. “Since almost every business in town subscribes to the township listserv, we can send out an e-mail with the same suggestion, and that is as far as they are going to budge until they hear from Terry.”
Ferro stared up at the pocked surface of the drop-ceiling panels. “Okay, then that will have to do.”
The e-mail was drafted and sent, with the request that each store owner forward it to his local client list—a suggestion Gus thought would be universally ignored—and a copy of it was faxed to the local radio station, WHWN, the “Voice of the Pennsylvania Pinelands,” which was broadcast out of Pinelands College. Word had already spread about the murders that morning at Guthrie Farm, and the whisper-stream spread the news about the “advisory.” The overwhelming reaction from both townsfolk and tourists was to pour into the streets. Within a couple of hours Pine Deep became one huge party, with impromptu bonfires flaring up in the farmers’ fields closest to the town proper, and tailgate parties sparking to life in parking lots of a dozen stores. More than half of the shops on Main Street and Corn Hill decided to stay open past the usual closing hour, and all the bars and restaurants were packed with chattering crowds. When Ferro and LaMastra left the chief’s office to walk back to the Harvestman to turn in, they encountered huge crowds of people, laughter, blaring music, and a pandemic of celebration. As they passed the open door of Jacko’s Pub, a drunk girl in a very tight T-shirt staggered out of the door, her forehead painted with a lipstick jack-o’-lantern, a drink in either hand. “Here fellas, these’ll just kill ya!” She tried to hand them the drinks, but Ferro gave her his stony face and pushed past. LaMastra paused for a moment, took the drink and downed it in a single gulp, winked at the girl, and then hurried to catch up with Ferro, his throat burning with whatever was in the drink.
(2)
Val and Crow sat side by side on his cramped bed, Crow’s good arm around her. Both of them were now free of the IV bottles and Weinstock had said that they would be released the following day. Polk sat by the door staring at the news, and Toombes was slumped in a chair by the window reading a Walter Mosley novel, but she also kept glancing up at the TV, which showed the burgeoning party in Pine Deep.
“Gotta love this town,” Crow said, giving Val a gentle squeeze, mindful of her wrenched shoulder.
“This is crazy,” Val said sourly. “People have no respect. No common sense, either. Don’t they know what’s out there?” Her voice was fierce enough to make both cops turn and look at her, but she was unabashed. “People can be so damn
“I heard that,” Toombes murmured, and then bowed her head over her novel again.
Crow’s cell rang and he disentangled himself from Val and reached for it, checked the display, and said to Val, “It’s Terry!”
He flipped the phone open. “Hey, Wolfman…where the hell you been?”
“Hi, Crow. How are you? How’s Val?”
“Able to sit up and take nourishment.”
