Legends of Winter Hill
Chapter One
ONE: Joey and the Angels
This is my son, mine own Telemachus
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The Somerville Police Department is a low concrete structure that looks like a small town library from the 1960s, with a fenced-in yard containing a fleet of half-serviceable patrol cars and a steep concrete ramp out front that leads to a walled parking lot. Right at noon, thirty-nine-year-old Joe McCain, Jr., pulls up and I climb in the passenger side of the sump-smelling cruiser and buckle myself in. Since we’re working together and so much of the “cop job” spills over to the P.I. firm, McCain has suggested I ride along with him on his shift as a police sergeant and hear about a few past cases while getting familiar with the territory. He shakes my hand with a grip like a wrestler and pushes off beneath gloomy ski ... read full excerpt from Legends of Winter Hill ebook
