Clearwater Journals

The Aftermath

The Aftermath

"How is Kemp, Fred?" I asked as I settled into the passenger seat beside Cooper. "Did I jump through all the hoops that he laid out for me?"

"Kemp is Kemp. What can I tell you? But let me say this. The fact that you got Stu Langdon's killer is a huge plus on your side. That hunting knife we found on Terry Bullock is going to pose one fuck of a hurdle for his defence counsel. And we've tied that little 22 peashooter of his to about three other local murders. Seems Terry has been fairly busy dishing out death. He better hire Morse for his lawyer. He needs him more than you do. The forensic boys found enough on that blade and gun to fry that big boy's bacon four or five times over."

"Thanks Coop. Langdon was a good guy."

"He was that," was all Fred Cooper could say.

"What about the rest of it Fred-how's Kemp handling that?"

"I'll let him tell you all about it. You've been a busy guy though Joe Holiday. No one would ever question that."

The ride to the cop station and Chance Kemp was done at Cooper's standard slow speed. I didn't object at all today. He offered tidbits of information about the different buildings and streets. This is where the dumpster was when they found that dead three hundred pound professional wrestler wearing a black evening dress and high heels-that sort of thing.

We silently rode to Kemp's office in an elevator designed for VIPs, the very wealthy and the mayor. How much had that particular perk cost the municipal taxpayers? I was certain that no real prisoner had ever ridden in it. We stepped off the elevator into a brightly illuminated, twelve by twenty foot, thickly carpeted foyer with oak doors leading off in different directions. This had to be the cop shop's executive administrative suite. A tall, distinguished man holding an expensive brief case stood and approached me.

"Bob Morse," he said. "It's good to meet you Doc. Your brother, Frank, sends his regards. I have had a chance to talk with Chance and Cooper, so I am aware of their position. If you want to meet with them informally, that is your decision-one I generally would advise against-but yours is a very unusual circumstance. However, if you feel threatened or are uncertain about anything I am right here."

"Thanks," I said.

Cooper directed me towards the room closest on the left. If I had been going to meet the CEO of any major corporation, I would not have expected a more luxurious setting.

"Kemp knows how to work," I said to Cooper making a general sweep of the large foyer with my right arm.

Fred Cooper just smiled and muttered, "He's paid a price for it though."

Just inside the door that Fred had directed me through, was an attractively dressed middle-aged secretary keyboarding report notes into an imposing modern computer. Fred just placed his hand into the small of my back and gently guided me through the interior door saying, "Hi Doreen, the boss is expecting us."

Chance Kemp's narrow muscular butt was leaning against the rounded front edge of a mahogany desk big enough to anchor an aircraft carrier. He was in the process of hanging up his land phone. There was an inquisitive look on his face as he looked up to greet us. He did not offer to shake my hand. I guess, at that moment, I knew that I wasn't here to get another medal. He was dressed in a crisp cotton white button down collar shirt with a regimental tie, tailored navy blue slacks with a crease you could use to cut cheese, and highly polished black loafers. Very sartorial for a cop! Without his suit jacket on, it was even more evident that the guy pumped iron. By comparison, Cooper and I were dressed like third world peons.

The huge window behind the top cop looked out over the city and then, in the distance, the bay. Initially, Kemp said nothing. He simply gestured sharply with his right hand for me to sit on one of the two straight back wooden chairs he used for company. The chairs were neatly spaced on each side and two feet back of where Kemp had been leaning. After indicating in which chair I was to sit, Kemp wheeled quickly around his desk and plopped himself down into his black leather ergonomic executive armchair. I guess he was a guy who expected instant obedience. I remained standing. He looked blankly at the two vacant chairs and then shifted his hard eyes up to meet mine.