Death Among the Mangroves by Stephen Morrill Page B

want,” Prado said.
    “Bust, is that how you answer the phone now?”
    “It is when it’s my private cell phone and the caller I.D. says the Mangrove Bayou P.D. is calling. I heard they had hired you. Are they out of their minds?”
    “So far, yes. In fact, they made me chief, so it’s a promotion. You ever going to be chief, Bust?”
    “Shit! They can keep the stars. I want to retire to Florida and play golf.”
    “You already live in Florida and play golf.”
    “What can I say? Inadequate career goals. Why are you infesting my cell phone on what had been, to now, a fine day?”
    “I need a favor.”
    “You need a favor. Let me quickly recap your career. Your insubordination so pissed off the people here at Tampa P.D. that they fired you. Not to mention that you were so trigger-happy that you killed a teenager armed with a water pistol.”
    “It looked real to me.”
    “So you got hired on by some town that is so small it hasn’t got a traffic light or a parking meter, and yet they have you handing out traffic tickets.”
    “It’s a tough job, but som…”
    “Yeah. Right. How’s the pay scale?”
    “Lower than what I made before. But I get to be the chief.”
    “Do they give you a chief’s car to drive? Maybe with one of the old ‘bubble-gum machines’ on top?”
    “Not yet. But I’m still on probation for a few more days.”
    “You get a car when they make you permanent?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “But at least you can’t be insubordinate any more, being as you’re in charge.”
    “Not so. Now I am insubordinate to a mayor and town council. I’m moving up in the world.”
    “Christ. Good to know you haven’t changed. What’s this favor you need from your old pal in Major Crimes, and which I shall have to keep secret for fear someone will learn I still talk to you?”
    “Need to find out if one Mark Stider,” Troy spelled out the names, “is still a student at Stetson Law. If he’s not, why not? And it’s a homicide case so I’m in kind of a hurry on this.”
    “Those schools don’t like to hand out that information.”
    “Why I called you. You’ll scare them into it.”
    “Tampa or Gulfport campus?”
    “Gulfport, I think. If not, then check Tampa. And, while you’re at it, call the University of Florida law school and ask about Stider. He did his undergrad work there, so why didn’t he go on to their own law school?”
    “I know how to do my job, Troy. Get back to you.”
    Troy started to ask when, but he was talking to a dead connection. Whatever happened to the days when you could hear the phone being hung up, he thought.
    The phone rang as he was still staring at it, making him jump. The town counsel was on the phone.
    “What’s going on over there?” Frank Lawton said. “Just got a call from a friend of a friend in the legal beagle business. I won’t say who but he’s got mojo in the courthouse. He chewed my ass. Says you applied this morning for a search warrant for a motel room rented to one Mark Stider. You also applied for a warrant to search the home of said Mark Stider here in Mangrove Bayou.”
    “I did. And I did that too.”
    “Jesus! Did you know the kid is the son of Judge Hans Stider, of our very own Twentieth Circuit Court?”
    “I knew that.”
    “Well, know this too. The shit hit the fan up in Naples. The day clerk took your request and ran down the hall to Judge Stider’s office so fast he set his shoes on fire. The upshot of all that was that your requests have been denied. Fastest I ever saw Judge Stider move on anything. I mean, we call him ‘Stider the Slider’ because he hates work and likes to kick cases down the road forever. He’s a defense attorney’s dream come true. Anyway, I got chewed out for not keeping you under a tighter rein.”
    “I didn’t know you had reins on me at all.”
    “I didn’t either. Look here, whatever you’re doing, do it more carefully. My job, as volunteer part-time town counsel, for which I am