Crow's Landing by Brad Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

time adjusting the carb, then went for a run. The old engine purred along nicely, and the boat planed out, handling the waves beautifully. Virgil spent a couple of hours cruising, stopping here and there to wet a line. The boat leaked a little at first and he had to bail the bottom several times. But the cedar soon grew saturated, and it swelled just as it was designed to, and the leakage slowed and finally quit. Virgil got a couple of nice stripers that day. He’d been back several times since, most recently that very morning. He enjoyed the old boat, and now he was going to have to find out how to get it back.
    Â * * *
    The next morning he drove into the city in search of some answers. He could have stayed at home and waited for thecop who had confiscated it to be “in touch” as he promised, but Virgil was pretty sure he’d be waiting a long time for that to happen.
    Apparently there were three or four precinct houses in the city. On Broadway a man in a pinstripe suit directed Virgil to the one on Arch Street. It was a grungy neighborhood in an old part of the city and the building, a four-story redbrick, fit right in with the surroundings. Virgil told the woman at the front desk what he was there for, then told the story again to a sergeant who came down a flight of creaky stairs at the back of the room. Finally, after waiting out front for forty minutes, he told it for a third time to a detective named Malero. Apparently Detective Malero had already heard it because he answered the accusation before Virgil got finished telling it.
    â€œThis department never seized a boat yesterday,” he said. “Nobody in this department, in uniform or plainclothes, was even near Kimball’s Point yesterday. We have no jurisdiction there.” They were sitting in a large room, at Malero’s desk, surrounded by similar desks. There were other cops, some in uniform and others not, in the room. They were talking among themselves, or working in front of computers. “The badge you saw, what makes you think it was Albany PD?”
    â€œThat’s what it said. And that’s what the guy said who was flashing it.”
    â€œBut you never got the number?”
    â€œNo,” Virgil said. “I didn’t get the serial number of the gun he stuck in my face either.”
    Detective Malero raised his eyebrows at the sarcasm. “You should’ve gotten the badge number.”
    â€œI would’ve, if I’d known the guy was going to steal my boat.”
    â€œIf somebody stole your boat, sir, I can guarantee you itwasn’t a police officer,” Malero said. “I took the time to check with the state police too. They never had a call out at Kimball’s Point. Have you considered the possibility that it was somebody posing as an officer? Maybe one of your friends playing a joke on you?”
    â€œHe had a badge like yours, and he had a gun like yours. And as jokes go, it wasn’t all that funny.”
    â€œI was just speculating.”
    â€œI appreciate the effort,” Virgil said. “You guys drive navy blue SUVs?”
    â€œWe have different vehicles that we use.”
    â€œAny of them navy blue SUVs?”
    Malero answered that by not answering. Shaking his head to show his aggravation at having to deal with this, he took a pad from a drawer in his desk and searched through the clutter until he found a pen. He asked Virgil for his name and address, and he jotted them down.
    â€œI’ll need the boat’s registration number,” he said.
    â€œIt wasn’t registered.”
    Malero looked up. “Why not?”
    Virgil shrugged. “It’s an old cedar strip I bought for fifty dollars last year. I restored it over the winter. I guess I never thought to register the thing.”
    Malero put the pen down. “Christ. We’re talking about a fifty-dollar boat? You think a police officer from this department drove out to Hooterville