Night of Thunder

“You will call me when she’s ready to talk, sir? I know you’ve moved her and I am not even going to ask where, because that’s your business, but I know you will call me as soon as an interview is possible.”

“You don’t miss much, do you, Detective?”

“Miss things all the damned time, but try not to. Supposed to pay attention, that’s what they pay me for.”

She smiled, her face lit up, and Bob noticed what a damned attractive woman she was.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s go and see the boss.”

The office said war. War was in the pictures, the officer in lean camouflages standing with an M4 next to Middle Eastern ruins or in front of huge vehicles with guns everywhere, some airborne, some treadborne, all desert tan, all speaking of war. A plaque with medals on the wall said war, the Silver Star the biggest of them, but there were others, impressive, a collection of a man who’d been in hard places, taken his fair share of risks and been shot at much, and had lived to tell about it.

Sheriff Wells was tall, thin, hard, and tan, with close-cropped graying hair, sharp, dark eyes, and a languid way of draping himself, as if to say that having seen most things, nothing on earth would be of much surprise. He wore the brown of the Johnson County Sheriff’s Department, with a gold star on his lapel, and a stock Glock pistol in his holster, as well as the usual duty getup of the police officer: the radio unit with curly cord mic attached to his shirt lapel, the taser, the cuffs; none of it taken off, because he had to set the example to his men and women that the gear can save your life. You wear it all the time, that’s what you do, comfort is not a part of the bargain.

“Mr. Swagger,” he said after the firm handshake and the direct look to the eyes without evasion or charm, “nice to meet you, though of course I wish the circumstances could be better. How is your daughter at this point?”

Bob told him, succinctly, keeping it tight and straight, as if he were himself back in service, reporting to a superior.

“Well, we all hope she’s going to be all right. I hope Detective Fielding has kept you abreast of our efforts. If you need any help, please feel free to contact us. Sometimes a criminal act is harder on the victim’s close relatives than on the victim herself. I know how the thought that someone tried to hurt your child can haunt a father or a mother. So please, feel free to call us. For our part, we’ll work hard to keep you in the loop. I know how tough it can be to go weeks without hearing a thing from the police. I’ve ordered all my officers to call each victim or next-of-kin once a week to keep them up-to-date on any investigation or legal proceedings. That’s our policy, and maybe you’ve guessed that although I am a sheriff by appointment I am still a full-bird colonel by inclination, and when I set a policy it is followed.”

“You sound like a straight talker, Sheriff, so can I ask you a straight question or two and set my mind to ease?”

“You surely can. Go ahead, Mr. Swagger.”

“I expressed this to Detective Fielding, as well. I know you’re all caught up in busting meth labs and you’ve got this big race in Bristol and you’re part of the manpower commitment for security on such a big deal, and I do worry if there’ll be time to investigate my daughter’s situation hard, given all that.”

“It’s true most of our issues are manpower issues, that plus the goddamned coal dust on everything. But given the size of the department, it’s a hard thing, patrolling a county that’s several hundred square miles in area, most of it wooded, much of it mountainous, what with our problems with narcotics interdiction and this damned race. So we’ve got a lot on our plates. But please know that I try and run a professional department, and we will give this thing our best effort as time allows. My motto is: No back burner in my department. Everything’s front burner in Johnson County. You have my word on that.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Now, I did want to say something to you. Detective Fielding mentioned to me that you had these doubts, which are entirely appropriate, because I know how upsetting something of this nature might be. But she also said that you had mentioned poking around on your own.”

“That is my nature, sir. I am a physical man. Though you may still hear some Arkansas in my voice, I live in the West, and in the West, we are used to doing things for ourselves. It’s not that I doubt Detective Fielding, or the department. I just know, however, that there’s only so many hours in a day, and there are pressures on you all the time. So, yes, it was my idea to poke around a bit. Is that a problem?”