Excerpt from Dead of Winter by P.J. Parrish, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He was hired. Shit, that was all?

"Sir, will there be an oral board?"

"I am the oral board."

"Testing?"

"You passed it once didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Third, you will always wear full uniform. That includes your gun. I catch you out of uniform, I'll suspend you. You'll be issued all your leather. You own a .357?"

"No, sir. Thirty-eight."

"In this department, everyone carries the same weapon."

Louis suppressed a sigh. He couldn’t afford a new gun.

"We’ll give you one at $25 a week," the chief said. "You damn well better last long enough to pay it off. And don’t lose it. It’ll cost you $500 to replace it."

Plus, I'll be suspended, Louis thought.

"Plus you'll be suspended." The chief paused, his eyes seeming to warm a bit. "Loon Lake is a good, clean place, Kincaid," he said briskly. "And this is a good, clean department. We may be small in size but not in spirit. These men are top-notch officers, all good, honest cops. Every damn one of them, and we are a tight unit." He pointed a small plaque on the wall. "We have a motto here: Gens una sumus."

Louis waited, but no translation seemed forthcoming. "Latin, sir?"

"Yes. ‘We are one family.’"

Louis nodded.

"Never forget it. Your fellow officers are your brothers."

Louis nodded. The chief walked to the door and opened it. "Firearms testing is the first Thursday of every month. You fail, you go on suspension. Any questions?"

"None I can't ask the other officers."

"Let's go, then. I'll turn you over to McGuire."

Louis followed the chief to the outer office. Dale jumped up and came hurrying over.

"We share desks here," the chief said. "This is yours for day shift. It’s Ollie’s at night. That’s Ollie over there, sucking down the caffeine. Wickshaw, say hello to our new man, Kincaid."

A tall, skinny man at the coffee pot nodded. Louis nodded back.

"McGuire will get you started on your paperwork," the chief said. "You need a day to go home and get your things?"

Louis looked at the clock on the wall. It was after eight p.m. He would have to stay the night. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Fine. You can start Monday morning." The chief stared at Louis for a moment, then thrust out his hand. "Welcome to the force. I hope you’ll be happy here." He smiled. It was a frosty effort, but not completely unforced.

Louis shook his hand. "Thank you, sir."

The chief walked back through the gate and into his office, closing the door. Louis looked at the desk top, feeling a mix of elation and apprehension. He couldn’t believe it. Just like that, he was hired. A new job. A new start.

He looked at the closed door. The chief was kind of an odd bird, what with the French and the quotes. He was also a bit too spit-and-polish, but he seemed to lean in the right direction and maybe that was all that mattered. He surveyed the room, the fireplace, the tinsel-draped computer, and the photograph of Thomas Pryce. He felt a twinge of guilt that another cop had to die to make his chance here possible. But it felt right. This town, this job, at this time in his life. It felt right.

"Welcome to Loon Lake, Louis."

Louis shook Dale’s outstretched hand. "Thanks. You know, no one told me his name."

"Gibralter."

"Like the rock?" Louis asked.

Dale smiled. "Yup. Brian Gibralter. But don’t ever call him Brian. Or god forbid, Rocky. Nothing will get you suspended quicker. Trust me, I know."

Louis rubbed his face, suddenly tired. "I can't believe this. No test, no oral board."

"That's the way he does things."

Copyright P.J. Parrish 2001. All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author, PJ Parrish