Free Mangrove Bayou by Stephen Morrill Page A

incoming officer on patrol and one officer about to go off-duty too, at all times, even if the other incoming officer is still doing a workout. Evenings, nights, same thing, staggered schedule. Not actually that big a change, if you think about it.”
    Troy nodded. “That sounds good. Real good. We’ll do that.” It was what Troy had planned to do anyway. “June can make up a new schedule. And June, at the end of the month everyone rotates. No favorites any more.”
    Everyone at the table looked at Milo. “My uncle’s not gonna like that,” Milo said.
    “It’s training. Good practice for you. Once you’re on with the sheriffs you’ll be the newbie and they won’t care about your uncle. Newbies get the nights. You’re not going to see daylight for five years. You’ll think you’re turning into a vampire. With us, you will only do that every three months. Be happy.”
    Troy continued down his list. “Next. No more swearing. I’ve made up a Bad-Word Jar.” Troy stood and took a large jar off the side counter, walked to the other end of the table, and sat it on the table in front of June. There was a slot in the screw-off top. “It stays up front on June’s desk. I don’t want her to have to walk too far to put in money. Wear out her shoes.” There were chuckles around the table.
    “From now on any person using any fucking swear word inside this station has to donate a dollar.” Troy was still standing behind June. He took out a dollar from his wallet and stuffed it through the slot in the top. “At the end of the month we’ll have a department party and apply that money toward the beer and pizza. With what June is going to donate we can probably buy an official chief’s patrol car with spinning hubcaps.”
    “Fucking-a,” June said. She put in a dollar.
    “Don’t see a damn thing wrong with that,” Bubba said. He reached across the table and added a dollar.
    No one else seemed to want to lose a dollar.
    “And we’re going to repaint this entire department inside,” Troy said. He walked back and sat in his chair. “The paint is out in the storeroom with the barbells and boxes of uniforms. And I have some new furniture coming. Well, not really new but different from what we have.
    “In summary, we want to look good, both for ourselves and for the paying citizens. Our new policy will be STRAC: Skilled. Tough. Ready Around the Clock.”
    “I heard that meant something different,” Juan Valdez said. “Back when I was in the Marines.”
    “Well, the Marine Corps version would cost me a lot of money to say.” Troy pointed to the Bad Words Jar. “Marines not being at all polysyllabic.”
    “Not sure if I can speak at all if not allowed the fucking Marine Corps Universal Gerund,” Juan said. He added a dollar to the jar.
    “Try,” Troy said. “Maybe we can get in a speech therapist to help.” Got to keep an eye on this lad , Troy thought. He’s pretty sharp . “All right peoples, let’s break it up.”
    In fact, Troy didn’t much care about paint and a new desk. All his life he had lived and worked in small spaces with indifferent furniture. He had never paid any attention. But he wanted as total a break with the old police station, and the old department habits, as he could manage within the same building. He looked around the table. They already looked more cheerful at the idea of repainting and redecorating. Maybe they were starting to think as a team. Maybe they were all frustrated interior decorators; he didn’t know. Troy thanked them all and they went into the storeroom to dig out their new uniforms.

Chapter 13
    Tuesday, July 23
    Troy went back to his office and used his computer and telephone to find that Kathleen Barrymore had, until a little over one year back, been Kathleen Pragga with an address in Goodland, a tiny village adjacent to Marco Island. And Kathleen Pragga had a record for cocaine possession, petty theft and burglary.
    Troy called the sheriff’s office and