The Incumbent Read online

  “Yea, verily.” She smiled. “You love these closed-door meetings and you know it.”

  “And here I’ve been thinking I hate them. Just goes to show you what I know.” A glance at the desk clock told me it was 9:55. The meeting was to start in five minutes, and my compulsion to be punctual kicked into overdrive. Closing the file I had been reading, I rose and started for the door. The file contained the meeting’s agenda. The church that had been denied the zoning change and conditional use permit had asked for a second opportunity to present its case to the whole council, meaning me. There was another zoning question on our docket, as well. This one was also an appeal for a second hearing, except the petitioner wasn’t a small church trying to broaden its ministry. We had bitterly debated the original request behind closed doors and in the council chamber. It was the most contentious issue we had faced in the last two years, and council divided down the middle. I had cast the deciding vote, and a company named BioMec was denied the zoning change they needed to build a five-story midrise on oceanfront property.

  That was one ugly meeting.

  Randi followed a step behind me as we exited the office. My stomach tightened with each step and I noticed my apprehension meter pegging on the high side. This was unusual. While I never seek controversy, I also never avoid it. At times I feel shame for those moments when I catch myself enjoying the give-and-take of a heated meeting. However, I never let that guilt get in the way of doing what I think is best for the city.

  I stepped into the conference room with two minutes to spare. The room lacks any features worthy of description. Its walls are an uncreative white, the carpet a low-pile, sandy brown, and what few pictures hang on the wall are the same pastoral scenes found in a physician’s lobby. The room is a twenty-by-twenty-foot affair, too small for the mayor, four council members, the city clerk, the city attorney, and a staff member for each.

  Dominating the room is a bulky, square conference table covered with a simulated-wood veneer that suggests maple but has trouble carrying off the impersonation. Stains from coffee cups and soda cans were still present from the last meeting. I made a mental note to have Randi call a janitor and point out the oversight.

  Fred Markham, the city attorney, sat in his usual spot at the foot of the table, as he called it. As mayor, I would be moderating the meeting from the table’s head. Fred was one of my favorite people. He was easy to deal with, straightforward in his communication, careful in his words, deliberate in his work, and as contentious as a monk. A graduate of UCLA Law School, he had a mind that was sharp and hungry. When occasion demanded that I visit his office, I frequently found books and magazines that surprised me. On my last visit I noticed a copy of Steven Hawking’s latest book on his desk.

  “Good morning, Counselor,” I said.

  “Good morning, Mayor.” He rose from his seat. I always found this quaint. He was the only man I knew who held on to social customs that had died a generation before. I also appreciated the gesture more than I let on.

  Fred was a man of thirty-eight years. His white hair made him look a decade and a half older. His face was handsome but always seemed a little puffy, as if he were having an allergic reaction to shellfish. Maybe he was just allergic to politicians.

  “How’s the family, Fred?” I took my seat and spread out my files and notepad.

  “Fine. Judy wants to go back to school and Jason is thinking of taking up tennis. He just learned that tennis stars make a lot of money.”

  I laughed. Jason was his sixteen-year-old son. “What does your wife want to study?”

  “Law.” He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Can’t talk any sense into her, eh?”

  “I’ve tried, but her mother was a big Perry Mason fan.”

  “Just don’t let her con you into doing her homework.”

  The door swung open and a stream of people poured in like an impromptu parade. Leading the pack was the city clerk, Dana Thayer, a severe-looking woman with black hair combed back over her ears, and a pair of reading glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck. A city employee for twenty years, she was no-nonsense, humorless, and organized to the point of being frightening.

  Councilman Wu followed her. He saw me and smiled. Wu was impossible not to like. When the election results had rolled in and I learned that I was to be the city’s first full-time mayor, I felt conflicting emotions: joy that all the hard work had paid off, and guilt that I had to beat a man like Wu. If I hadn’t been running for the office, I would have voted for him.

  Titus Overstreet was the quiet councilman, although not a man without opinion and conviction. He stood a slender six foot two and looked to be in good enough shape to trot the floorboards of the basketball court he had dominated in high school. He’d been a hero in those days but lacked skill and, or so I’m told, the aggressive nature to make it very far in college ball. Six two was a good height for high school ball, but he was just too short to play at a major university. He was wise enough to realize that while still a teenager and directed his efforts to his education. He held an MBA in marketing and owned a public relations business in the city. As usual, he was dressed to the nines in gray suit and black, collarless shirt. He looked as if he had just stepped from the cover of Ebony. A dazzling white smile beamed from his black face. I returned it with a nod.

  The room cooled as if it were about to ice over. Intellectually, I knew that the entrance of a human could not dramatically change the room temperature, but wherever Tess Lawrence went, an arctic chill seemed to follow. She was a glacier in pantyhose. Whereas the others strolled into the room, she marched. I expected to see a display of goose-stepping any moment. She was a stern-looking woman with bleached white hair, perpetually narrow eyes, and a tense expression that gave the impression of terminal indigestion. Tess was not affected by stress but she was a carrier.

  Her lapdog, Jon Adler, trailed her. I had an urge to rise, cross the room, and give him a resounding slap. I don’t know why, but it seemed like such a satisfying action. It was an urge I had to suppress frequently.

  Aides filed in and took their places in chairs along the wall, ready to pass a note, run an errand, deliver coffee, or answer a question beyond the knowledge of their bosses.

  “Good morning, everyone,” I said with as much formality as I could muster. “It’s straight-up ten o’clock, so let’s get things under way. The clerk will note the time.”

  Since the meeting was technically off the record, there would be no formal minutes taken other than noting that the conference took place and listing those in attendance.

  “I assume we all have our agendas, so let’s begin with the first item—”

  “Let’s start with something else,” Adler said. “I think you owe the whole council an explanation and an apology.”

  “Jon, we went over this in my office.”

  “I’m not the whole council, and not to put too fine a point on it: you were very rude to me.”

  I wondered what he would look like with my pen shoved up his nose. “The explanation is simple, and everyone in this room who reads a newspaper knows why I had to leave the meeting. I’m sorry if Lisa Truccoli’s abduction has inconvenienced you.”

  “This isn’t about me—”

  “This is about you, Mayor,” Tess Lawrence said. “It’s about your connection to two disappearances.”

  I had wondered when she would wade in.

  “Exactly,” Jon added. Good lapdog.

  “What are you insinuating?” Larry Wu asked in his soft Texas accent.

  “I insinuate nothing,” Tess said. “I simply feel that we on the council have a right to know what is going on. A lot of people in the building are a little nervous about the mayor.”

  “A lot?” I asked. “How many?”

  “I don’t know exactly—”

  “No? Well, how many have come to you and expressed their concerns?”

  “Again, I don’t know exactly.” Tess was starting to backpedal.


  “Name one,” I demanded in even tones.

  “It was told to me in confidence.”

  “You’re not a priest, Tess. Name one person other than Jon who has come to you expressing concerns about me, and I’ll personally go to them and assure them there is nothing to worry about.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I don’t imagine you can.” I had much more to say, but to do so really would have given people something to worry about. I set my jaw but continued to stare innocently at the now fuming councilwoman.

  “You two are out of line,” Titus interjected smoothly. “The mayor has enough on her plate without you adding your paranoia.”

  “Is that a fact,” Jon snapped. “I might have expected such a comment from you. You two are like dogs, one following the other with his nose firmly planted—”

  Titus’s head snapped around and he raised a single finger. His face darkened two shades. “Don’t finish it,” he said with words hot enough to melt steel.

  Jon slid back in his chair and blinked rapidly. I could almost hear his pounding heart. He started to say something but his mouth would not cooperate. He did manage to get a weak “Um” out.

  I should have calmed everyone down, taken control, diffused the situation, but I wanted to see Jon squirm a few moments more. Larry did it for me. “Is there any news about the investigation?” he asked with genuine concern. Of all the people on the council, Larry had the biggest heart.

  I shook my head. “No. The police are doing everything they can, but nothing has come up yet.” I paused. As much as I disliked Jon and Tess, they were right about one thing: the council needed information about the investigation. I filled them in about most things, keeping to myself the details about my business card and the photo. Those particulars had not been in the news reports, and I assumed the police were keeping that to themselves for the moment.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Titus asked.

  “Not that I can think of. I wish there were. I wish there were more that I could do.”

  “Just let us know,” Larry said. “We’re here for you.”

  By that he meant himself and maybe Titus. I thanked him and tried to return the meeting to the agenda. I was just about to bring up the first item of business again when I heard something just beyond the closed conference room door.

  “Where is . . .” The muffled words sounded angry. It was a man’s voice.

  “. . . in there . . . meeting.” A woman’s voice. A familiar woman’s voice. It took a second for me to realize it was Fritzy. She sounded disturbed.

  “Sir, you cannot go in there.” The words were clearer and sounded closer.

  “Get away, woman—”

  The door exploded open, swinging around fully on its hinges until it smacked into the wall with a resounding bang. The sudden invasion glued us to our seats. No one moved.

  In the doorway stood an angry man, his face red and puffy. The color spread from his chin up and over his bald head. What little hair he had ran neatly from ear to ear in a brown band. His eyes were wild. He wore a white golf shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

  “Which one of you is Mayor Glenn?” Drops of spittle flew from his mouth like ejecta from a volcano. No one moved or spoke. The shock had paralyzed us. “Glenn. Mayor Glenn. Which one of you is Mayor Glenn?”

  Jon pointed my way. What a hero.

  I stood. “I’m Mayor Glenn and we’re in the middle of a meeting.” I could see Fritzy standing behind the man, her hands raised to her mouth. She was beyond scared; she was terrified. The angry, broad-shouldered man with clenched fist and red face was enough to frighten anyone. Women her age don’t need that kind of scare in their lives. I shot a slight nod her way, hoping she would divine my silent intent. She blinked twice and scampered off.

  “We have business,” he snapped.

  When in doubt, I reasoned, be assertive. “You will lower your voice before you speak to me,” I commanded as if in control. “Who are you?”

  “Where is my daughter?” That explained it. Christopher Truccoli, Celeste’s absent father. He was not absent now. “I asked you a question, woman.”

  “That’s enough,” Titus said, shooting up from his chair. I had never appreciated Titus more. He was the tallest and most fit man in the room, apart from Truccoli.

  “Out of my way,” Truccoli spat and started around the table, pushing by Titus as if he weren’t there. Titus took a step back, then rebounded quickly, seizing the man’s left arm. I couldn’t have anticipated it and Titus didn’t see it coming. Truccoli spun and brought a thick fist up into Titus’s belly. I could hear the air rush from his lungs and saw his knees shake, then give way. He dropped to the floor.

  Truccoli turned in my direction. Aides scampered out of the way. “You will tell me where Celeste is.” I backed up. He seemed to grow in size with each step. He raised a finger and stabbed the air. “Tell me!”

  I felt something brush past my shoulder, something unexpected. It was Larry Wu. He interposed his body between me and Truccoli. “Back off,” Larry commanded.

  “Out of my—”

  Larry was on the move. He lowered his head and charged, burying his shoulder into Truccoli’s gut. The men careened into the side wall. My heart bounced around in my chest as if trying to find a way out.

  Truccoli grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of Larry’s head and pulled back savagely. He raised a fist, ready to bring it down like a meteor.

  “Stop!” I screamed.

  Just as the fist began its brutal plunge, it was deflected. Titus was up again, and the look on his face said he was taking no prisoners. He plowed into both men and they tumbled to the floor, a mass of legs and arms. Obscenities filled the room, some from Truccoli and others from Titus.

  They wrestled and struggled for a half minute that clicked past like eons. A movement at the door caught my attention. It was the young security officer.

  “Whoa,” he said, then started for the heaving pile of men. He pulled a set of chrome handcuffs from his belt but couldn’t hold Truccoli’s wrist steady long enough to clamp the metal ring into place. “Hold him still.”

  Titus grunted. “What do you think we’re trying to do?”

  Another movement at the door. I expected to see another security officer but it was Detective West. He assessed the situation in less than a second, then casually walked to the scuffle. He put a hand on the guard, who was still trying to work the cuffs. “Here, let me give it a try.”

  The guard yielded and West reached for Truccoli’s hand that was clamped around Titus’s neck. I expected him to begin wrestling for control like the security guard, but West took a different approach: he seized the attacker’s little finger and bent it back.

  A howl filled the room.

  “Relax or it gets worse.”

  Truccoli began to struggle again and West gave a solid yank. Truccoli froze in place.

  “Let go of the councilmen,” West said calmly, still applying pressure.

  “Okay, okay—just don’t break my finger.”

  I’ll admit, a part of me was hoping West would do exactly that. Larry and Titus freed themselves from the human knot, stood and brushed themselves off. I saw them make eye contact and they communicated something in a way only guys can. I assumed it was an unspoken thanks.

  The sound of running feet echoed from the corridor. A half dozen police officers poured into the room. There is an advantage to having the Police Station just across the parking lot.

  “I’ve got it,” West said as he removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. With a precision that must have come from years of practice, he locked the first cuff in place. “On your stomach,” he ordered.

  Truccoli refused and West gave the cuff a sharp twist. I saw the metal dig into the angry man’s flesh. Another cry of pain. “You’re breaking my wrist!”

  “I said, on your stomach.”

  This time Truccoli was quick to comply. A few seconds later he was cuffed and being led fro
m the room by the guys in uniform.

  “Is everyone all right?” West asked.

  “Titus took a punch,” I said.

  The councilman waved me off. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Anyone need an ambulance?” West asked. No one did. “Okay, I’ll need to get statements from everyone, but first I want to get Mr. Truccoli booked.”

  “How long can you hold him?” I wondered.

  “Not long. We’ve got him for assault and battery, and I’ll see what else I can tag on to that.”

  “This is the kind of problem we’re talking about,” Jon said. He was still seated and I could see his hands shaking. “You’ve brought violence into City Hall.”

  “Not yet I haven’t,” I mumbled. Louder I said, “Thanks for your help.”

  I looked around the room; it was filled with frightened aides and staff. It took a moment before I noticed that Tess was gone. “Where’s Councilwoman Lawrence?”

  “She left when things got fun,” Randi said. I nodded and found I couldn’t blame her. I turned to Fred Markham. “I’m not sure what legal gymnastics we need to do here, Fred, but I think a restraining order might be useful. Will you check into that?”

  “With pleasure.” He looked pale.

  I took a deep breath. “We all owe Larry and Titus a great big thank-you, as well as Detective West and the rest of the Santa Rita Police Department.” Everyone but Adler applauded. “We will reschedule this meeting for the near future. As for now, the meeting is adjourned.”

  I waited for the others to leave before I returned to my office, took my chair, and spent the next ten minutes holding back tears and trying not to vomit.

  chapter 11

  The problem with violence is that its effects last long after the event. I sat in my comfortable chair, behind my comfortable desk in my comfortable office, feeling like a tomato that had just been dropped in a blender. The blades of shock and fear were still spinning, churning my guts and ripping at the few strands of composure I had left.

  I felt cold. I felt hot. I felt sick and faint. I had denied it, of course. When West asked if I was hurt, I told him the truth sugared with a lie. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. No worries.”