Sloan's vehicle, an unmarked white Chevrolet provided by the city of Bell Harbor, was parked next to Jess's. After waving good-bye to him, she paused with the car door open and her right foot on the floorboard. Partly from habit and partly from a vague sense of uneasiness, she looked around at the scene to assure herself that everything looked peaceful and normal.
Bell Harbor was growing so dramatically that dozens of unfamiliar faces were appearing every day. She didn't recognize the heavyset teenage girl who had a toddler by the hand, or the grandmother with twins chasing each other around her, or the bearded man reading the newspaper beneath a tree. The dramatic influx of new residents had brought prosperity and tax benefits to the city; it had also brought a dramatic increase in crime as Bell Harbor went from a sleepy seaside community to a thriving little metropolis.
No more than one hundred fifty people were enjoying the park. Clarence the Clown was taking an hour off for dinner, and so were the jugglers. Most of the booths and tents were deserted, save for the people who were manning them. The park bench near Sara's tent was empty, and there was no sign of a clean-cut stranger wearing a yellow cotton jacket that seemed out of place on such a balmy, sunny day.
Satisfied, Sloan got into her car, started the engine, and glanced in the rearview mirror. No one was behind her, and she slipped the gearshift into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot, driving slowly down the winding gaslit street that bisected the park.
Earlier, when Burnby had congratulated her, he'd been referring to the night before, when she had gently coaxed an enraged, drunken ex-husband, bent on killing his ex-wife's boyfriend, into putting down his gun. When he balked at going to prison for an "unfinished" crime, Sloan had persuaded him to look at his impending prison time as an "opportunity" to "relax" and to think about finding a more-deserving woman who would appreciate his "true qualities." No one would have known about that if the defendant hadn't granted an interview to the local television station and told the reporter what Sloan had said to persuade him to put down his weapon. Although the defendant hadn't seen the grim humor in Sloan's advice to him, the media caught on at once, and as of this morning, Sloan was once again an unwilling local heroine, only this time praised for her wit, not her courage, in adverse circumstances.
Last night, Captain Ingersoll had given her grudging praise for the way she'd handled the situation, but this morning's media coverage had obviously ticked him off again. To a certain extent, she could understand his attitude. She did get more attention because she was a female.
As she drove past the main intersection at the entrance to the park, Sloan deliberately switched her thoughts to something more pleasant, like the leisurely bubble bath she planned to take in a few minutes. She turned left onto Blythe Lane, a wide cobblestone street lined with fashionable boutiques and upscale specialty shops, each with a chic curved green canopy marking the entrance and a huge potted palm at the curb.
She rarely drove through the business district without being struck by the transformation it had undergone in the last few years. Although the population boom had originally evoked a bitter outcry, the complaints from longtime residents diminished abruptly as property values soared and struggling locally owned businesses became thriving enterprises, almost overnight.
Eager to continue attracting prosperous new taxpayers, the city council took advantage of the town's charitable mood by pushing through a series of mammoth bond issues designed to modernize and beautify the community. At the urging of Mayor Blumenthal's ambitious, influential wife, a team of Palm Beach architects was hired and the transformation began.
By the time it was complete, the widespread effect was one of carefully planned, prosperous charm that made Bell Harbor resemble Palm Beach—which was precisely what Mrs. Blumenthal had wanted. Using her influence and the taxpayers' money, she turned her attention from commercial buildings to the public buildings, beginning with city hall.
Holiday traffic was heavy, and it was nearly fifteen minutes before Sloan turned onto her street and pulled into the driveway of the gray-and-white stucco cottage on the corner that she loved. The beach was across the street, and she could hear the surf and the laughter of children and calls from parents.
A half block away, a dark blue sedan pulled into a parking space behind a minivan, but there was nothing unusual about that. It seemed like any other holiday weekend.
Sloan put the key in the front-door lock, already dreaming of soaking in a hot bath and spending the rest of her evening with the mystery novel she'd been reading in bed. Sara couldn't comprehend why Sloan would prefer to spend Saturday night with a good book rather than on a date, but Sara hated to be alone. For Sloan the choice between a date with someone she knew she could never be interested in and time spent alone reading a book was an easy one to make. She vastly preferred the book.
She smiled as she remembered that she didn't have to go on duty until tomorrow afternoon, when she taught her self-defense class.
4
The police department was located in the new city hall building, an attractive three-story white stucco building with a red tile roof and a wide, gracefully arched loggia that wrapped around it. Surrounded by a lush green lawn dotted with palm trees and antique gas lamps, Bell Harbor's city hall was not only inviting, it was functional.
Oak-paneled courtrooms and an auditorium that was used mostly for town meetings occupied the third floor; the mayor's office, the clerks offices, and the records department occupied the second; while most of the first floor was designated for the police department.
Sara's firm had been hired to plan the interior, and her flair was apparent in the mayor's lavishly appointed office and in the courtrooms, where the chairs were upholstered in an attractive dark blue and beige fabric that complemented the carpeting.
When it came to the area designated for the police department, Sara and her partners had been given a comparatively small budget and strict requirements that didn't allow them much room for flexibility or creativity.
The center of that vast area was taken up with thirty desks arranged in three rows, each desk with its own computer terminal, two-drawer file cabinet, swivel chair, and side chair. Glass-fronted offices designated for ranking police officers were at the front of the vast room, and conference rooms lined the left and right sides. At the rear of the area, concealed from view by a heavy door that was always kept closed, was a long, narrow lockup used for temporarily detaining offenders who were being charged and booked.
In a valiant effort to diminish the harsh institutional effect of a sea of beige linoleum, beige metal desks, and beige computer monitors, Sara's firm had had the center area covered with a dark blue and beige commercial carpet and ordered matching draperies hung at the windows. Unfortunately, the carpet was continually soiled by food, drinks, and dirt tracked in by the ninety police officers who used the room in three shifts, around the clock