From Bad Policy by James M. Jackson




Thank you for being with us today, Seamus. Tell us about yourself.
Lots of people wonder how to pronounce my first name. It’s  “Shay-mus.” No one seems to have a problem pronouncing McCree, although they  often spell it wrong.

 Since I claim to be a basically honest guy, I need to fess up  from the beginning that calling myself a cop is stretching the truth. I actually  work for Criminal Investigations Group, CIG for short, and every blue moon or  two I am deputized for whatever police department we are assisting.  Most recently I worked with a cop named Bear who got me  deputized for the Ross County (Ohio) Sherriff’s  Department.

If it counts for anything, my father was a police sergeant in  Boston until he was killed while on duty. I just learned the full details of his  death and they shocked me something fierce. I have a son, Paddy who just  graduated from college, and I am proud as heck of him. I say he’s the king of  nonsequitors, but if I don’t get back on track you’re going to think it’s  hereditary. 

I grew up Irish in Boston and escaped after college. I was a  top-rated bank analyst on Wall Street until I quit in disgust. Buy me a beer,  I’ll tell you the whole story, but I didn’t have anything to do with the recent  banking crisis, except to warn it was coming. Anyway, I quit and it cost me a  ton of money and what was left of my marriage.

I was looking around for something to do and the head of  Criminal Investigations Group asked me to set up a financial crimes group for  them. CIG originally assisted police departments across the country with cold  crimes. After 9/11 the FBI shifted major resources from financial crimes to  terrorism. CIG decided to try to fill the breech. I used my contacts and put  together a world-class group of financial sleuths. Afterwards, I stayed on and  used my background to help solve crimes.

So you like numbers and stuff?  Yuck.
You know, if everyone was good at numbers, I couldn’t have made  a living since I bend three nails for everyone I hit straight. Fact is, if I  stuck with numbers I might stay out of trouble, but I’m always wondering not  only what happened but why it happened. It’s the why that gets me in  trouble.

How did you become involved in this case? 
Normally I work on cases remotely, but the one that got me to  hook back up with the Ross County Sherriff’s office and dig into my father’s  death started when an insurance broker I had met on a previous case showed up  dead in my basement. He had suffered an IRA six pack (shot in the ankles, knees  and elbows) before someone finished him off with a shotgun  blast.  Naturally, the cops thought I was involved, and sometimes when
they have a prime suspect they focus all their attention on him. I knew I was
being framed and needed to prove it.

Tell us about this case.  
I’m friends with Lt. Tanya Hastings who is the head of the  Cincinnati Police Department’s homicide unit. It’s a conflicted relationship and  this situation didn’t make it any better. When she doubted my innocence, I knew  I was in trouble. What I had not anticipated was how twisted and evil some people  can be—especially when they think they and their family have been wronged. Most  financial crimes are intellectual. This vendetta against me was based on  long-simmering hate against my family—and I had no clue until I started kicking  over rusty cans.

Was there ever a time during this case that you doubted those  that you normally trust?
In the middle of this case I figured out my Uncle Mike was lying  to me. Uncle Mike isn’t actually my uncle, he’s my godfather and took over my  discipline (which I badly needed) after my father’s death. He’s a retired Boston  Police Department Captain and I had always known him to be a straight shooter.  Turned out he had hidden information from me about how my father  died. A bigger problem for me was that people who normally trusted me  suddenly did not. I suppose that’s natural when you’re a suspect, but it was a
real shock for me since I’ve made it one of my main principals to be trustworthy.

How dangerous was it to solve this case?
When I think of danger, I think of our troops in combat or of  the beat cop who tries to stop a crime. Those women and men put themselves in  real danger every day. By its nature, having motivated people trying to kill you  is dangerous, and that did happen on this case. Unlike our troops or the beat  cops, I could take evasive measures. Plus, when it comes to stuff like that, I’m probably not smart enough to be scared.

Did working on this case affect you emotionally?
It’s one thing for someone to target me because I’ve upset their criminal enterprise. That I can handle; it goes with the job. It’s quite another thing when the criminals target your loved ones. I don’t want to give too much away for those who haven’t read the book, but when those close to me were hurt I became an emotional wreck. It not only affected my emotions, it affected my ability to think clearly. My normal strength of rational thinker was sorely tested.

How did this case affect your personal life?
I think the saying, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is relevant. My house was effectively destroyed by fire. I almost lost two loved ones. Yet the fire forced me to recognize what things were really important to me. The trauma with loved ones brought us closer together. It would have been much better to have gained this knowledge  without the excitement, but at least something positive (besides catching the  crooks) came out of the turmoil.


 
JAMES M JACKSON is the author of Bad Policy for Barking Rain Press. Known as James Montgomery Jackson on his tax return and to his mother whenever she was really mad at him, he splits his time between the woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Georgia’s low country. Jim has published a book on contract bridge, One Trick at a Time: How to start winning at bridge, as well as numerous short stories and essays. Bad Policy is available wherever Jim’s travels take him, from online booksellers  or his website. Read the first four chapters for free. You can find his current schedule on his website http://jamesmjackson.com where you can also sign up for his quarterly  newsletter.


 
 
  

 

From:Cover of Snow
By
  Jenny
Milchman


 

You  are different from many of the cops I have interviewed. Please tell us about  yourself. 
I never wanted to be a cop. How many guys do you know who want  to be the same thing as their father? Well, maybe some do, guys who look up to  the old man, want to be just like him. I wish I were one of them, but I’m not.  Nobody looked up to my father, so how was I supposed to? I was all set to go to  law school, but then I met Nora. And something in her called me home. I didn’t  want the two of us to keep on living our big city life, her helping to put me  through law school, and then me working seventy hours a week in an office and  never even seeing her. It wasn’t exactly a conscious decision on my part to
return to Wedeskyull, or join the force where my dad served his twenty before he  died. Like I said, something called me home.
 
How did you become involved in this case? 
Here’s where things get weird. I’m not involved in this case.  Because I’m dead. The case is what happened to me—and Nora, though she isn’t a cop, is the only person who has a chance to solve it, because she’s the only one who’s willing to face the truth.

Tell us about this case.  
Something bad happened on January 16th , bad enough that I don’t think I ever really looked up after that again. The following week passed in a way I didn’t know time could go. Just—unnoticed. I must’ve eaten, I must’ve drank, dressed, breathed. But I don’t remember doing any of it. I can’t imagine what Nora thought. I felt like was wrapped up in blankets. I couldn’t figure out why everyone kept talking to me. Didn’t they know I was already gone?
 
I’m not sure if Nora’s going to be able to figure out what happened on the 16th. She’s still stumbling around a lot farther in the past than that, trying to learn a secret I was never able to tell her. If she can’t find out about what happened to me when I was eleven, she’ll never be able to figure out this more recent crime.
 
No one besides me knows the whole truth. And I’m dead.
 
Was there ever a time during this case that you doubted those that you normally trust?
I trust Nora more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else in my life. But the rest of them? I don’t trust a single one. And neither should you.

How dangerous was it to solve this case?
If I hadn’t died, I think they would’ve killed me.

Did working on this case affect you emotionally?
This case was all about emotion. See, I did something really bad when I was eleven years old. Something unforgivable. My own parents never forgave me for it—my mother anyway—so you know it must be as bad as anything  could get. But I was able to get past it the way cops survive any bad day on the job. You take what happened and you put it in a box. You padlock that box and then you forget the combination. Any cop worth his salt has a hundred boxes like that. A thousand.
 
So that’s what I did. And I was surviving okay. I had a good  life, in fact. I loved my wife, even if I couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most. I was better on the job than I ever would’ve been doing something else.
 
And then something happened, on that January day, and it didn’t  matter if I’d forgotten the combination, someone took a big ole hacksaw and split open the box. And what was inside killed me.

How did this case affect your personal life?
My personal life? My life you mean. My whole life. I lost it. 

I appreciate you being with us today. I have one more question. (He leaves) Please come back. What was in the box? 
  


Jenny Milchman is a suspense novelist from New Jersey whose short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine’s Department of First Stories, Adirondack Mysteries II, and in an e-published  volume called Lunch Reads. Jenny is the founder of Take Your Child to a Bookstore Day, and the chair of International Thriller Writers’ Debut Authors Program. Her first novel, Cover of Snow, is published by Ballantine and
available everywhere books are sold. When Cover of Snow comes out, Jenny  is embarking on a six month tour with her family, town-to-town,  bookstore-to-bookstore, library-to-library, and other venues that readers will  enjoy. Please check her website http://jennymilchman.com/tour/for places to come meet Jenny—and her cop. 
 
 

 


             From 
 The Pot Thief Who Studied Billy the Kid
      by
J. Michael Orenduff
 


Whit Fletcher  was born in Tucumcari in 1960. After graduating from Tucumcari High school where he made second team all-state as a defensive tackle, he joined the Army and trained as an MP at Fort Leonard Wood. He received an honorable discharge in 1981 and enrolled in the New Mexico Police Academy. He joined the APD in 1982, eventually working his way up to Detective First Grade in 1996.
 
So what have you been doing since the last big case?
Mostly trying to bust the drug dealers, but I’m getting to the point of wondering why we bother. If they ain’t back on the street in forty-eight hours, some other punk takes their place, and business continues as usual. Almost make me wish I was back in uniform. 

How did you become involved in this case?
I usually get involved with Hubert Schuze when he gets into hot water because of his pot stealing, but this time he actually called me. 

Tell us about this case.  
Hubert told me a guy he knew was looking for old pots and accidentally dug up a body. And not an old mummy. This here was someone recently died. Or was killed.  I say to him, “So you was out digging for pots and found a fresh corpse.”
    “It wasn’t me,” he says. 
    “Right,” I say.
    “It was a guy you know.”
    “Right.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “See, that’s the problem. He told me about finding the dead guy because he wanted the
police to know. But he doesn’t want to get involved because he wasn’t supposed to be digging in a prehistoric site. So I can’t give you his name.”
    “Okay, Hubert, I’ll play along. Where did this guy find the stiff?”
    “I can’t tell you that, either.”

Well, we went round like that for a few minutes, and I agreed to nose around and see if there was a missing person that might be the body Hubert claims he didn’t find. And because there could have been some valuable pots in that site, I figured maybe there would be a few bucks in it for me being helpful.

Was there ever a time during this case that you doubted those that you normally trust?
Nah. I knew Hubert was lying to me right off, but he’s done that before, and it don’t stop me from trusting him. He’s so bad at lying that it never fooled no one. And every time he and I scratch each other’s backs, money seems to end up in my pocket. 

How dangerous was it to solve this case? 
He’s put me in a few tight places before, but this time the risk was all his. All I did was run down all the missing persons from the area he’s been digging in and match one up with the facts as we knew them. It was Hubert who figured out what happened to the dead guy. Then he pulled another one of his stunts and decided to check on the murderer to collect evidence. Damn near ended up in the grave where he had found the body. 

Did working on this case affect you emotionally?
I guess you could say I was depressed for a while. I was hoping for half the money from one of them old Anasazi pots, but the bad guy who nearly killed Hubert had already picked the site clean. All Hubert could find was one lousy shard. That’s what they call a piece of one of them pots. Even a piece sold for a thousand bucks. 
 
How did this case affect your personal life?
Well, I’m a big fan on University of New Mexico football. And my half of the shard money was enough to get one of those flat screen TV’s, although the way the Lobos have been playing, I can hardly stand to watch ‘em.

Just to wrap things up, what happened to the guy who killed the person Hubert found?
Well they couldn’t make a murder charge stick because the dead guy was one of those  nuts who beat themselves with whips and even volunteer to haul a cross and be tied on  it. Sometimes they even get their hands nailed to it. Someone dies under those  circumstances, you can’t really say they were murdered.  When I told Hubert that he said, “Maybe most of them are nuts, but some could be saints. Before you criticize a man, you should walk a mile in his moccasins.”

    “That’s good advice,” I told him.
     “It is?”  he said. He seemed surprised that I liked his advice because he knows I don’t go in much for corny sayings like that.
    “Sure,” I said. “It’s  good advice because if he don’t like your criticism, there ain’t much he can do about it because you’re a mile away from him and he’s barefooted.”
 
But they did get the guy for kidnapping Hubert, so he’s in the State Pen. 
 
 
 Mike Orenduff grew up in a house so close to the Rio Grande that he could Frisbee a tortilla into Mexico. While in graduate school at the University of New Mexico, he worked during the summer as a volunteer teacher at one of the nearby pueblos. After
receiving his M.A. at New Mexico and his Ph.D. at Tulane, he became a  university professor. He went on to serve as President of New Mexico State University. He took early retirement from higher education to write his award-winning Pot Thief murder mysteries which combine archaeology and philosophy with humor and mystery. Among his many awards are the “Lefty” national award for best humorous  mystery, two“Eppies” for the best eBook mysteries and the New Mexico Book of the Year Award. His books have been described by The Baltimore Sun as “funny at a very high intellectual level and deliciously delightful” and by The El Paso Timesas “the perfect fusion of murder, mayhem and margaritas.”