“Detective Somerset, I’ll get the pleasantries out of the way. I’m coming here out of St. Joseph; I was assistant chief for five years, and before that, I was a patrol sergeant for ten years. I expect one thing from the men and women under my command: loyalty. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your father brought me in to clean house. This department has been a snake pit, and Cravens ran a dirty shop. The city deserves better. We’re going to turn the force upside down, give it a shake, and see what kind of shit falls out. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I asked Cravens to have you speak with me because I understand you hold a great deal of influence in this department.”

“That’s high praise, sir. I don’t know if it’s true.”

“You close cases, hard ones. You’ve got a commendation from the FBI. You’ve got history with these people; you came up through patrol here, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, don’t bullshit me, then. You’ve got juice with the men and women here. I expect you to use it on my behalf.”

Somers raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“People are going to grumble. Nobody likes change, and I run a tight operation. They’ll have plenty to say about that, I’m sure, and you’re going to be right there when they do it. I want to know who’s talking. I want to know what they’re saying. And I want you to be a little birdie on their shoulders, smoothing things out.”

“So, I’m your . . . public relations guy?” Somers thought the words sounded a tad like Emery Hazard, and he barely remembered to add, “Sir?”

“Your father is the mayor. I’m his choice for chief. Anything that happens to me, that reflects on the mayor. Am I making myself clear?”

Somers had to bite the inside of his cheek for a moment. He tasted blood when he smiled and said, “Clear, sir.”

“Good; your father told me you’d be an asset. I’m going to be hiring several new officers this week, today if possible; I understand the force has taken some blows over the last year. It’s time to start turning things around. You can send the first candidate in when he gets here.” He swiveled in his chair toward the monitor and said, “Dismissed, Somerset.”

Somers let himself out of the office. He made his way back to his desk in the bullpen; Moraes and Carmichael had cleared out, and Dulac was busily flipping through documents, which Somers recognized as paperwork from a case they’d closed a month before. Dulac didn’t look up from pretending to focus on the document, but he whispered, “Dude, what happened? The chief came out with a box, and I swear to God she was about to cry. Where’s she going? Who’s that senior stud in there?”

“Gross,” Somers said.

“He’s got a nice ass.”

Then Somers told him what had happened.

When Somers had finished, Dulac had stopped pretending to be busy with the paperwork, and he watched Somers with his head cocked. Then he said, “Bro, was he wearing a ring?”