A half-dozen hungover kids were slumped on the benches and propped up against the wall. The decibel level coming from the lockup indicated there were plenty more in storage. Poor Chip Bradford was beside himself. “Everything okay?” The assistant chief looked up from the desk with red-rimmed eyes. “Does everything look okay to you?” Duncan had to laugh. He had grown up with Chip, and that was the first time he’d ever heard him say something that was not completely earnest and/or helpful. “What happened?” He shook his head and whispered, “A bunch of rich kids from Boston rented a yacht and put together their own booze cruise. They docked illegally at the marine yard last night, and a fight broke out. A million at least in property damage to the boat. We’ve got eight facing charges, and guess who one of them is.” Duncan shook his head. “The governor’s kid.” “Ouch.” “Clancy tried to call you last night to help out with processing. He couldn’t get ahold of you.”
