Chapter 22
“Sit down, please,” Sheriff Bixby said to Annie. “What can I help you with?”
The sheriff’s office was nice, clean, and warm with plants in the room and pictures of flowers on the wall. Sheriffs were very different from police officers. They served at the will of the people. It was important that their constituency like them.
Is that why Sheriff Bixby is so polite? Annie wondered. “I’m writing about the Martelino sisters. I’m here because Marina was found in your jurisdiction and I have some questions.”
“Fire away. Hasn’t been a murder in the county since 2001 and that was a crime of passion, a domestic dispute. It’s rare for us to have a homicide.”
“Were you the sheriff back in 2001?”
“I’ve been the sheriff for twenty-six years. I’m proud to serve the people of Albamont County.” Sheriff Bixby tapped his fingers on his desk, keeping time to some unknown tune in his head.
“Do you know Pamela Kraft and her husband well?”
“No, they run in different circles.” He grinned and stopped tapping.
“But she is on the up and up?” Annie persisted.
“What do you mean? Permits and so forth?” Sheriff Bixby asked, leaning forward, reaching for a pencil.
Annie nodded.
“As far as I know, she’s as legit as it gets,” he said, tapping the pencil. The man just couldn’t sit still.
“Isn’t it odd that she has so many foreigners working for her?”
“I’ll grant you, that is strange. But she’s a good businesswoman. I reckon she knows what she’s doing.”
“What do you know about the rumor that there are gangs in Cumberland Creek?”
The sheriff stiffened. “Not my jurisdiction. You have to talk to the police about that.”
“I find it hard to believe myself, but I was over at Druid where new apartments are and I was threatened. So I went to the cops and they told me not to go there alone.”
“I’d take that advice if I were you,” he said.
“But if the Martelino sisters were killed over some gang dispute—”
“Now, hold on. Nobody said anything about that.” He had finally stopped tapping.
“I’m sorry. I’m just thinking out loud. Here’s what we know. Two sisters were killed within twenty-four hours of one another. They lived in an apartment complex, which is evidently the hub of gang activity. Do you follow me?” Annie said, cocking an eyebrow.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, placed his hand behind his head and then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if to say shame on you. Annie found it hard to look him in the eye—his mustache was distracting.
“First of all, it seems to make sense that the murders were related,” Annie went on. “And second of all, if they were involved in these gangs—”
“They were not involved in gangs,” he finally said. “They were two young women wanting to work and start a new life. That’s all.”
“Are you certain?” Annie asked.
“Look, you’re making all sorts of assumptions here. Not everybody at those apartments are gang members. Just because they were poor immigrants doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”
Annie’s face reddened. “That’s not what—”
“There’s plenty of decent families living over there. A few bad apples—”
“I think if this was a gang-related incident, people should know. The people need to know what’s going on in their community.”
“Is that all?” Sheriff Bixby said, annoyed. “Is that all, as far as your questions go?” His pleasant demeanor had vanished.
“No,” Annie said. “I promised some of the women in Cumberland Creek that I’d get the address of the Martelino family in Mexico so that they can send their condolences. Do you have any information?”
“We’re working on it, but as far as I know they had no family,” said Sheriff Bixby.
“I imagine the process is convoluted.”
“At best.” Sheriff Bixby’s buzzing phone interrupted the conversation. “Just a minute. I have to take this.” He picked up the phone and began talking.
Annie busied herself looking around his office. The man had a lot of photos of himself with other officials. Interesting. And very different from a police officer’s office.
Sheriff Bixby cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way.” His face was white as he hung up the phone. “Ms. Chamovitz, I’m sorry. I need to get going.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. I need to go,” he repeated and stood. Reaching out his hand to Annie’s, he shook it then quickly ushered her out the door.