Northern Lights

I just wanted to talk to you and tell you and say that maybe sometime you and the kids could come up. It's a great place for a summer vacation. By June it won't be dark till midnight, and then they tell me it's more like twilight than dark. And it's warmer than you think, or so they tell me. I'd like you to see it, to meet Meg. I'd like to see you and the kids."
    "I can promise we'll come for the wedding."
    His laugh was a little jerky. "I haven't moved in that direction."
    "I know you, Nate. You will."
    When he hung up, he was smiling. The last thing he'd expected. He
    left the board uncovered—a kind of symbol that he was investigating in the open now—and walked out of his office.
    It still gave him a jolt to see Peter with his arm in a sling. The young deputy sat at his desk, punching keys one-handed.
    Desk duty. Paperwork detail. A cop—and that's what the kid was— could die of sheer boredom.
    Nate walked over. "Want to get out of here?"
    Peter looked up, one finger of his good hand poised over the keyboard. "Sir?"
    "Want me to uncuff you from that desk for a while?"
    Light came into his face. "Yes, sir!"
    "Let's take a walk." He grabbed a two-way. "Peach, Deputy Notti and I are on foot patrol."
    "Um. Otto's already out," Peter told him.
    "Hey, crime could be rampant out there for all we know. Peach, you've got the helm."
    "Aye, aye, captain," she said with a snicker. "You boys be careful."
    Nate took a light jacket from a peg. "Want yours?" he asked Peter.
    "Nah. Only Lower 48ers need a jacket on a day like this."
    "That so? Well, then." Deliberately, Nate rehung the jacket.
    Outside it was brisk enough and overcast. Rain was probably on its way, and undoubtedly, Nate thought, he'd regret the gesture of leaving the jacket before they were finished.
    But he headed down the sidewalk with the damp, frisky air blowing through his hair. "How's the arm?"
    "Pretty good. I don't think I need the sling, but between Peach and my mother, it's not worth the grief."
    "Women get all fussy when a guy gets himself shot."
    "Tell me about it. And try to be, you know, stoic about it, and they're all over you."
    "I haven't talked to you too much about the incident. Initially I told myself I'd made a mistake taking you out there."
    "I spooked him when I got out of the car. Incited the situation."
    "A squirrel dropping an acorn would've spooked him, Peter. I said initially I told myself I'd made a mistake. The fact is, I didn't. You're a good cop. You proved it. You were down. You were hurt and dazed, but you backed me up."
    "You had the situation controlled. You didn't need backup."
    "I might have. That's the point. When you stand with someone in a volatile situation, you have to be able to trust him—no reservations."
    The way he and Jack had trusted each other, he thought. So you'd go through the door, into the alley, no matter what waited in the dark.
    "I want you to know I trust you."
    "I . . . I thought you had me on the desk because you were trying to ease me out."
    "I've got you on the desk because you're injured. In the line, Peter. A commendation regarding your actions during the incident is going in your file."
    Peter stopped, stared. "A commendation."
    "You earned it. It'll be announced at the next Town Hall meeting."
    "I don't know what to say."
    "Stoic works."
    They crossed the street at the corner to swing up the other side. "I have something else to tell you, and it's sensitive. Regarding the investigation our department is conducting. The homicides."
    He caught Peter's quick glance. "Whatever the State Police have determined, this department is treating them as homicides. I have several statements from individuals giving their whereabouts during the times in question. Most of those statements, however, can't be corroborated, at least not to my satisfaction. That includes Otto's."
    "Oh, but chief, Otto's—"
    "One of us. I know. But I can't cross him off the list because he's one of us. There are a lot of people in this town, or outlying it, who had the opportunity for these three crimes. Motive's a different thing. The motive for the two subsequent arrow back to Galloway. What was the motive for his murder? Crime of passion, gain, cover-up? Druginduced? Maybe a combination of those motives. But whoever it was, he knew."
    Nate scanned the streets, the sidewalks. Sometimes it was what you knew that waited in the dark. "He knew them well enough to do that winter climb with his killer and with Max. Just the three