“She’ll be released pending trial,” Burton Steel, Senior, said.
“Not if I can help it,” I answered. “She’s a threat to herself.”
“You think there’s a judge around who will buy that argument?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Because?”
“I watched her deflate. Forced to confront whatever flimsy self-justification she had sold herself. When faced with the truth, she folded. She’s standing bare-assed naked with no self-invented excuses to shield her from the realization she was duped by a psychopath who not only weaseled his way into her pants, but who also brought shame and disgrace to her sacred career. She’s sure to lose her job. Might even face jail time. She’s got nothing left. She’s the perfect candidate for suicide.”
“Have you talked this over with the D.A.?”
“I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“I don’t know,” the Sheriff said. “You say she knew that Carson was hosting sex parties?”
“Yes.”
“And by her silence, condoned them.”
“For whatever reason, she not only condoned them, she also went so far as to threaten one of the swim team girls who was refusing to participate.”
“Dumb,” the Sheriff said. “Nutty.”
“To say the least.”
We were sitting on his porch, braving the unseasonable chill of the late afternoon. The Sheriff was wrapped in a cashmere blanket, a gift from my stepmother for his recently celebrated sixty-fifth birthday.
His disease was the elephant in the room. We didn’t speak of it, but it hovered over us like the dense cloud cover that precedes a storm.
“What’s new with the murder?”
“I have a theory.”
“Were you planning to share it?”
“Not yet. So far it’s only a product of the disjointed thinking that accompanies chronic sleeplessness.”
“I sure had my share of that in this job,” the old man said.
“You should have told me about it.”
“What, and have you turn me down?”
“I might have, you know.”
“That’s why I kept my mouth shut.”
“Bastard.”
“And proud of it. How long before you go public with this disjointed thinking of yours?”
“Not long. I want to make one more foray into the truth before I succumb to the pressure.”
“It’s the pressure that kills you.”
“Another thing you neglected to tell me.”
“You take the job, the pressure comes with it. There’s no way of preparing for it.”
“This conversation gets more depressing by the minute.”
“Liar,” he said. “You love it, Buddy. You’re a natural.”
“Speaking of self-delusion.”
“Bullshit. The only self-delusion is yours if you don’t acknowledge what I’m telling you.”
He thought he had me dead-to-rights and was clobbering up to hit his nail on my head. “I couldn’t be prouder of the way you’re handling yourself,” he said.
“Don’t go all soft and gooey on me, Burton. It’s out of character.”
He flashed me a weary smile. “It is, isn’t it?”