“And you, the sheriff, and the captain are the supervisors? That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Impossible. That would mean that, more often than not, you only have one officer on the road during some of the shifts. One officer for the entire county.”
“That’s correct. But we have a good working relationship with the State Police, as you may have noticed. Thankfully, we have long bouts of peace and quiet.”
“‘Long bouts of peace.’ I like that.” She turned away from the photographs with a final nod of approval, and her eyes roamed the rest of the small, comfortable office. “So.” And she sat down, arranging her jacket and slacks carefully. “There is a wonderful story here for my magazine,” she said. “One-third of your department is made up of women. Your background is a story all by itself.” She spread both hands. “Born in Mexico?”
“Yes.” Omission was a wonderful convenience, Estelle thought. She caught a tiny wrinkling around the corners of Madelyn Bolles’ eyes, and wondered how much the reporter knew-if anything. She was not poised to take notes, and there was no visible tape recorder. She appeared to be simply surveying the ore load of the mine prior to serious digging.
“Sent to the United States to finish your schooling?”
“Yes.”
“Eighteen years old before you became a U.S. citizen?”
“Yes.”
At the third monosyllabic response, Madelyn smiled broadly. “Don’t worry. I’ll get beyond the yes-or-no questions.”
Estelle rested her elbows on her desk, chin comfortable on her cupped hands, and waited.
“Married a medical student who is now a successful family practitioner and general surgeon?”
“Yes.”
“And Dr. Guzman is a naturalized U.S. citizen?”
“Yes.”
“You have two wonderful children, Francisco, aged eight, and Carlos, now almost six.”
“Yes.” Madelyn Bolles had obviously done her homework, and more than that…she had committed the demographics to memory. Estelle wondered how much Bill Gastner had told the reporter, although knowing padrino’s discretion, she doubted that any of the personal data had come from him.
“You’re now thirty-nine years old, which means that you’ve worked for the Posadas County Sheriff’s Department for sixteen years.”
Estelle took a deep breath and lifted her head, laying her hands down on the desk. “Yes, and yes. I’m impressed.”
“Trivia is easy,” Madelyn Bolles said with an offhand wave of her left hand. “Most of the time. But we have to move beyond that. Every single person I’ve talked to so far, including his wife, Ms. Gayle, tells me that your esteemed movie star of a sheriff is going to be the tough nut to crack.”
“Probably true.”
“But that’s all right,” Madelyn said easily. “That’ll be fun. Do you ever read our magazine, Estelle?”
“I confess that I don’t. I’ve seen it, of course.”
“Let me tell you what we do. We specialize in thorough, probing, tough articles about today’s women, Estelle. Not just a superficial profile of some glamorous star, or a page of gratuitous praise for a Nobel or Pulitzer winner. We like to think that we present complete portraits of women who we believe are accomplishing major goals in life, sometimes against considerable odds, women who are inspirations to others in this man’s world. We lean heavily on biography as a way to explain why our featured women are taking the paths that they are. Am I making sense?”
“Yes.”
“I love that.” She regarded Estelle, and the undersheriff could see the assessment going on behind the alert violet eyes. “We’re a highly regarded, much-awarded national magazine, Estelle, and I don’t tell you that just to blow smoke. We don’t take our assignments lightly. We’re thorough, as I said, and fair.” She reached forward and rested her right index finger on the edge of Estelle’s desk, as if the pressure she applied kept the desk from floating off into space. “I have to tell you from the beginning that although sometimes I use a tape recorder, most of the time I don’t. I trust my memory, I trust my instincts. I take my own photographs. When all is said and done, I will let you read the rough draft copy of the article, but will accept only corrections where I might have made an error in fact…not impression or interpretation.”
“All right. But I don’t need to read it. You do what you do.”
“Well, fair enough. But really most important is the way I work. I’d like to leave an open calendar for this.”
“What does that mean?” Estelle asked.
“It means that I won’t be flitting off to something that someone says is more important. I won’t be interrupted. And I’m also saying that this isn’t an afternoon thing, or one or two days. Who knows. I might be in town for two weeks. Maybe more. It depends on how much time we can find to work together-because it really is a collaborative effort, Estelle.” She tapped the desk for punctuation and withdrew her hand. “My intent is not to invade your privacy, although a certain amount of that is inevitable. I want to offer a profile of you, your department, even your family, that’s inspiring to our readers.” She sat back and waited.
“Caramba,” Estelle whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “Why would I want to do all this?”
“Because you recognize that this is a good story. It’s not a question of what you have to gain from it, since I don’t really believe you’re concerned about that. It’s what our readers have to gain. Inspiration is a wonderful gift, Estelle.”
“This is all a good deal more than I expected,” the undersheriff said.
“I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. But I’ll add this, Estelle. It is so worthwhile.” Madelyn sat patiently, without moving a muscle, while the undersheriff mulled over the proposal.
“I have a couple of concerns,” Estelle said. “First of all, I hope you realize that if I agree to all of this, I won’t discuss the department employees with you, except in the most general sort of way. Their personnel files are not public record, and it’s not up to me to talk about them behind their backs. As I said in my e-mail to you, you’re welcome to initiate an interview with whomever you like. Some of the staff will talk with you, some may not.” She shrugged. “Bobby, for instance.”
“Yes,” Madelyn said, and Estelle found herself captivated by this bright woman.
“There’s that,” Estelle continued. “Some of them, I’m sure, will talk with you. One or two might even seek you out. I’ve already told all of them that they’re welcome to cooperate with you, and that if they do so, they don’t have to feel that they have to clear anything with me…or Bobby. They’re entitled to their own opinions.”
“That’s more than fair. Most bosses aren’t so secure.”
“Most important, though,” Estelle said. “I hope you appreciate that the nature of our work, much of the time, is confidential. For instance, at this moment, we’re right in the middle of a homicide investigation. That obviously takes priority. I will not discuss that case, or any other case, or release information to you that I would not release to any other journalist. I think that’s only fair. You’re welcome to watch us work and draw your own conclusions. I’ll tell you what I can, when I can, but understand that there are necessary constraints. I’d really take offense at seeing in print a comment that might be made offhandedly concerning an investigation.”
“Believe me, I understand the legal issues,” Madelyn said. “And rest assured that we are not Police Gazette. I’m not here to scoop the Posadas Register, either. By the time we publish, the daily details will be ancient history anyway. They don’t matter to us, except by way of example.” She cocked her head and toyed with the small gold earring in her left ear. “Frank Dayan is an interesting sort, by the way.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He wants to do more about your son’s accomplishments for his paper,” Madelyn said. “He cheerfully admits that he doesn’t know how. His editor-it’s Pam?” Estelle nodded. “I wanted to talk with her, but I understand that her daughter is in the hospital? That’s so sad, isn’t it.”