Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

“Then I’m gonna want her to brief me. Cocktails at your place?”

It pleased Evarts that the mayor wanted to keep the update informal. Baldwin bristled at command performances, and Evarts disliked pressing her. Although not friends, Baldwin and Walsh were friendly, and the mayor had often been a guest in their home.

“We’ll look forward to cocktails with you and John.”

“Perfect.”

She hung up.

That was brisk, even for Walsh. Something else had her attention. Evarts wondered about it for only a moment, because he had an email to write and calls to make.

Most people assume that mayors and police chiefs don’t get along. They also believe police chiefs brashly yell at defiant detectives or jump into the fray to solve crimes that befuddle everyone else. Television. In the real world, the police chief is a politician who runs the largest department in a city. Most chiefs come from outside their department, and almost all work hand in hand with mayors. After all, chiefs serve at the discretion of the mayor and the council. Normally, with no history with the force, they generally develop a better relationship with the mayor and city officials than with the rank and file.

Evarts was an exception. Having been promoted from within, he was close to the people in his department, but he was still more politician than law enforcement. He filled most days with budgets, policies and procedures, staffing, promotions, union negotiations, public relations, and extra-government coordination. All boring stuff. Moving up the chain of command, he had felt less and less a sense of accomplishment. As a detective, when a case closed, he knew he had earned his keep. But Evarts had ceased becoming personally involved in investigations when made head of detectives years ago, so a long time had elapsed since he had felt the satisfaction of closure. Often, he lamented that he was little more than a bureaucrat.

Evarts wrote a department-wide email asking for volunteers and then went to his conference room. During the meeting, they adjusted local deployments assuming five fewer patrol officers and debated whether they should take any emergency measures within their own jurisdiction. Other than minor car accidents, no one had any local issues associated with the storm. During the meeting, Evarts’s assistant came in with eighteen volunteers. Cops. They always wanted to be close to the action. After some low-key arguments over who would go, Evarts dictated that the officers would be selected randomly. With that settled, he remembered what his wife had told him about the CHP. He didn’t want his force caught with no ability to get around in mud.

When working, Evarts drove an unmarked Police Interceptor Sedan. Most of his force was equipped with the utility version of the Interceptor, basically a beefed-up SUV. The utilities were all-wheel drive, and they could handle poor road conditions, but they were not engineered for off-road. They discussed alternatives, and one of his commanders took the assignment to inventory officers and dealerships for all-terrain and off-road utility vehicles.

The last piece of business covered liaising with other agencies. His administrative captain would contact first-responder departments within one hundred miles and the Law Enforcement Branch of the Emergency Operations Center. Evarts wanted clear lines of communication and no more backdoor requests for assistance.

After the meeting, Evarts returned to his office, asking his assistant to follow.

When they got inside, out of earshot, Evarts said, “Robert, find me a two- to five-year-old off-road SUV. Something serious. Maybe a Range Rover or Land Cruiser or even a Rubicon. I’m buying this, not the department.”

“Do you know something we don’t?” Cunningham asked.

“I know it won’t quit raining, I know my wife’s driving around in a car engineered to cruise at one hundred and sixty klicks on perfect pavement, I know roads are washing out, and I know I have the wherewithal to take precautions. If I need to rescue my stranded wife, I want to know I can get to her. And last, I know a couple of places I want to go off-roading after we get a few dry days.”

Cunningham left, throwing over his shoulder, “On it, boss.”

After making the mayor’s requested calls, Evarts called his wife. Baldwin answered almost immediately.

“Did you get through the detour?” he asked.

“Not yet. It’s nearly sixty miles, and I-5 traffic is being squeezed down to a single lane. At least traveling slow reduces the stress of trying to maximize our speed in the rain.”

“Still raining?”

“Harder than before. This is getting tiresome.”

Evarts told her that help had been dispatched to the CHP and about his other activities. She liked the idea of owning an off-road vehicle and said she wished she was driving one now.

“How is Ashley?” he asked.

“Salt and pepper.”

That was her euphemism for good and bad. She abhorred salt and loved pepper. Evarts, on the other hand, applied generous amounts of both to everything except ice cream. At least, that was her accusation. In truth, there were at least a dozen foods he didn’t salt and pepper to death.

While he talked, he pulled up the weather report on his computer. Sprinkling along the coastal regions and heavy rain inland. No sun in sight as far as the eye could see. If weather stayed this consistent, he could qualify as a weatherman. He was certain he could explain it all with conviction while pointing at a colorful map, smiling all the while.

“Ask Jon how I can tell if an atmospheric river has formed.”

“He says go to the American Meteorological Society site. They’ll have a banner alert if something develops.”

He did, after he said goodbye, but saw no warnings. Good. He thought about the city dam. The Gibraltar Dam was full to the brim, but everyone considered that terrific news. The dam held back water flowing to Lake Cachuma, which was exceptionally low. Any increased spill from Gibraltar would help restore the Cachuma to its historic level. And it still had a long way to go, so no problem