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He goes for walk with pal's sister.

Two are lawyers, and at least one is an accountant. A couple are just errand boys. Two are public relations people, writing news releases for the press and generally making the mayor look good enough to get re-elected when his term is up. He assigned two of those people, one lawyer and one errand boy, to investigate the ways that personal protection details could be handled with the state bowing out of the job. One approach was to hire private security people whenever bodyguards are going to be needed. Two problems there: they'd need to have pretty good advance warning, and those people are expensive. A third problem that they didn't talk about outside their own turf is that private security people can't be controlled. You sign their contract, with all their own clauses in it, and then they take total control of everything until the threat is past. The mayor and his assistants don't hand over their power willingly. If they weren't control freaks they wouldn't be in politics in the first place.

"So the only other possibility worth considering was to do the job with our own cops. Now here's where I'm not sure that I feel real good about this. When it was discussed with the chief, he said okay but he'll promote or hire an assistant chief to handle this whole bodyguard unit, and instead the mayor said no, that he'd turn that responsibility over to one of his assistants. He picked Terry Gardner for the job. Terry is a lawyer. He worked for a while in the White House, and he dealt with the personal protection people in the Secret Service, so he's not totally green at this, but that doesn't make him a security expert, either. So there you have the picture. To put it in terms of your wartime experience, our warlord is Terry Gardner, and we suppose that his loyalty is to the mayor."
We ate without talking more than a few words. The lobster tail was full of flavor, with just that touch of sweetness that you get from fresh lobster. The steak could have melted in my mouth. Everything was exactly perfect. Even the steamed asparagus was good.

Val broke the silence. "Bobby, how can we get more information? How can we find out more about Terry Gardner, enough to know if we can trust him?"

"That's what I've been wondering all week. There's one person whose opinions I trust, and who might help us out on this."

"Wait," I said. Let me write down a name first." I took out a business card and wrote on the back of it, then passed it to Val. She peeked at it and chuckled. I said to Bobby, "All right, now who is your caped crusader?"

"Harry Peters. Surprised?" I passed her the card and turned it over so she could see that I had written the same name. "Well, then we're on the same page. When I see Harry I'll tell him about our conversation and give him this card. That ought to give him a chuckle."

Over coffee we talked about various lightweight topics and shared a few laughs. As we left we thanked Bobby for the dinner and for addressing our concerns, and she promised to keep us up to speed on her inquiries.


Our lives had been too full to let us dwell on past mysteries, but the mention of Harry Peters had reminded us that we never did hear any more about the little radioactive box that was dug up out in the woods. It never would have been found if we hadn't won Clyde's confidence so he'd lead us out there, and while our contribution was peripheral to the case, there wouldn't have been any case without us. So we were curious, and Val made a call to Hank, one of the detectives who accompanied us when we followed Clyde into the woods. The call did nothing to satisfy her curiosity, and actually left her feeling slighted.

"Ken, Hank sounded sort of, I don't know, guarded when I called him.

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