“Well, I tell you what, Leona. As we get closer to the election, if I think there’s a need I’ll have both you and Mike Rhodes in for a familiarization session. Right now, the Sisson case is not open for discussion.”
Leona’s eyes narrowed again, this time at the sound of her Republican opponent’s name. She regarded me for a few seconds, no doubt assessing where my weaknesses lay. I’m sure that I had a sufficient number of those that the search wouldn’t take long.
“Robert Torrez is conducting the investigation?”
I nodded but said nothing.
“So one candidate has full information and the other two are left out in the cold.”
“Leona, don’t be ridiculous.” It was the wrong thing to say, of course, but I just added it to my string. Leona bristled. For the first time, it began to dawn on me just how stupid this woman really was. I leaned forward and put on my most serious gunnery sergeant’s face. “Bob Torrez is undersheriff of Posadas County, Leona. That happens to be his job at the moment-what the taxpayers pay him for. He isn’t actively campaigning, and it wouldn’t make any difference if he were. The investigation is a team effort, and he’s one of the leaders of that team. In fact, he is the leader.”
I sat back. “If and when you win the election on November seventh, Leona, I’ll be happy to open our files to you on November eighth. One hundred percent. If you so choose, you’ll walk into this office in January knowing every dark nook and corner, all the dark and dirty little secrets. But until then, the way we run an investigation isn’t for public consumption.”
She pressed on doggedly. “So how close are you?”
“To what?”
With a grimace of impatience, she snapped, “To finding out who killed Jim Sisson.”
“I think the appropriate phrase that we give to the newspapers is that ‘investigation is continuing.’” I smiled helpfully.
“Isn’t it true that you’re basing your guess that Jim Sisson’s death was a homicide on some photographs taken by Linda Real?”
“No, that’s not true, Leona. Where did you hear that zinger?”
“I have my sources, too.” Smug wasn’t one of her more attractive expressions, since it scrunched up her plump cheeks and made her otherwise attractive blue eyes small and piggy.
“Well, trade ’em in for new ones.”
“You’re saying Linda Real didn’t take pictures?”
I sighed, trying to hold my temper. “I don’t think you heard me say that,” I said. “You asked me if we had based our decisions on Deputy Real’s photographs. I said we hadn’t. Deputy Real recorded evidence photographically. Any decisions we make are based, hopefully, on evidence.”
“Well, it’s the same thing,” Leona replied.
“No, it’s not,” I said gently, but it wasn’t a discussion I wished to pursue. “So…what did you bring to show me? A nice letter from a citizen concerned with the welfare of visiting travelers from south of the border?” I nodded at her attache case.
I might as well have struck her between the eyes with a hammer. She paused with her thumb on the closure of the leather case, not wanting to take her eyes off me.
“Well?” I asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. That’s exactly what I brought. You’ve already heard about it?”
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” I said, and she reluctantly opened the case and withdrew the now-familiar piece of folded white typing paper. Without a word, she handed it across to me. With the exception of the Dear Miss Spears at the top, it was identical to those received by Sam Carter and Dr. Arnold Gray.
I let the letter fall on the desk blotter, and I sat with one forearm resting on each side of it, regarding the damn thing.
“Blah, blah, blah,” I said as I finished reading it. “Yes, I’ve seen this before.” I looked up at Leona Spears. “How was it delivered?”
“Stuck in the screen door of my house.”
“Huh. When you got home from work? What, about five, five-thirty?”
“About then.”
“May I have this?”
“No,” she said instantly. “It was written to me.”
Trying my best to keep the exasperation out of my voice, I said, “I’m sure you can appreciate that this could be evidentiary material.” I don’t know why I didn’t simply take the note as evidence, regardless of what this woman thought or wanted, but I suppose I was still trying, however ineffectually, to remain civil.
“Yes, I know that. That’s why I don’t want it to go missing.”
“Missing? Now that’s interesting. Why would it go missing?”
“Really, Sheriff,” she said, favoring me with one of those skeptical sideways looks that’s supposed to say it all.
“Really what? I’m going to steal this? And do what with it?” I took a deep breath. “Do you mind if I make a copy of it?”
She nodded. “You can go ahead and do that.”
“Excuse me for a minute, then,” I said.
Ernie Wheeler cheerfully took the letter and went to sweet-talk the aging copier.
I returned to my office and Leona Spears. “It’ll be just a minute. Deputy Wheeler has to wait for the stupid copier to warm up. About three minutes.” I sat down again. “So…”
“So? What is the department doing about this? I assume that this Pasquale person-I don’t think I’ve ever met him-I assume he’s been placed on administrative leave?”
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
Choosing my words carefully, I said, “There is no reason to place Deputy Pasquale on administrative leave, Ms. Spears. The only intimations of any wrongdoing come in these anonymous letters.” I hesitated, glaring at Leona Spears without blinking. “That’s not reason enough to ruin a young man’s reputation, or his career.”
“But you’re going to look into it?”
“Of course.”
“Why would anyone do this sort of thing if it weren’t true?”
“Oh, please, ma’am. I don’t mean to be evasive, Ms. Spears, but why would someone write those letters if the allegations were true? You express considerable interest in law enforcement procedures. If you had concrete evidence of wrongdoing on the part of an officer, would it make sense to write these cute little letters to various politicians?” I could see Leona rolling that one around in her thick skull, and I felt a surge of optimism. “Remember that it’s an election year,” I added.
Ernie Wheeler rapped on the door, then stepped in and handed me the papers. I started to hand the original back to Leona, but she waved it off.
“Oh, keep it,” she said.
“Thanks. I look at it this way: Somebody knows you pretty well. You receive this letter, and you then write a scathing letter to the editor, making it public. The publicity doesn’t do us any good, that’s for sure. Undersheriff Torrez will pay the price, that’s for double sure. Unless, of course, it becomes clear that the letters are a sham and that you were taken for a ride. Then it’s you who will be made to look foolish.” I shrugged and held up my hands helplessly. “Either way, someone gains.”
“Mike Rhodes.”
“Maybe.”
“It has to be him.”
“No, Leona, it doesn’t. Sam Carter, Mike’s brother-in-law and a longtime Republican, also got the letter.” I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’d appreciate it if you’d just let it ride for the time being and let us sort it out. I’ll give you a receipt for this, and Deputy Wheeler witnessed the fact that you turned it over to our department. It’s not going to go missing or be ignored, I assure you.”
“All right,” Leona said, and patted her attache case as if it still contained more good stuff. She stood up and looked at her watch. “God,” she muttered. “And I have to get up in the morning and go to El Paso.”
“Drive carefully,” I said. “And thanks for stopping by.”
As the two of us left my office, Ernie Wheeler rose, waited for Leona Spears to walk out of earshot, and then said, “Sir, Grace Sisson just pulled into her driveway.”