Pride v. Prejudice by Joan Hess Page A

court stenographer, who lives in the same apartment complex. Tyrell’s a trustee, so he gets to talk on the phone. The other inmates are too stupid to figure out how to use the pay phone. Years ago when it was a rotary phone, some of them used to keep punching the holes until their fingers swelled up.” She centered a pad of paper on her blotter and picked up a pen. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here so I can type a memo for Harve?”
    â€œMay I speak to the deputy who’s in charge?”
    She sat back in her chair and gave me an annoyed look. “You said you wanted to see Sheriff Dorfer. What makes you think a deputy can help you?”
    I wondered if salmon felt similar frustration as they battled the current to swim upstream. “I need to discuss an investigation.”
    â€œSarah Swift’s, right? I bet you were so pissed after Prosecutor Wessell trashed you that you decided to help her. Well, let me tell you that this department conducted a thorough investigation before charging her with murder. Harve reviewed all the reports very carefully. The prosecutor hisself came over and the two of them went through a whole box of doughnuts that morning, as well as three pots of coffee. There’s nothing in the file that ain’t squeaky clean.”
    â€œI’m sure the investigation was conducted with utmost professionalism,” I said, easing back in case mascara flew off her eyelashes. “May I please speak to whoever is in charge today?”
    â€œYou think Frankie’s got nothing better to do than chat with a civilian? Two days ago we busted a truckload of illegal aliens from one of those Mexican countries, and the immigration service still hasn’t picked them up. We’ve been feeding them tortillas and canned beans day and night, but they keep right on griping. They should be grateful to have a roof over their heads and bunks to sleep in. Did they think they could sneak across the border and order room service at the Holiday Inn?”
    â€œI’ll try not to waste too much of Frankie’s time.”
    â€œYou’ve already wasted too much of my mine,” she said as she jabbed a button on the phone console. She kept an eye on me as she picked up the receiver and told Frankie that “some woman” was whining about seeing him. After a few seconds, she replaced the receiver and said, “Second door on the right.”
    I could feel the onset of a headache, but I gave her a bright smile and headed down the hall. From somewhere inside the building I heard loud male voices and the excited yammering of a sports announcer. I wondered if they were watching football or fútbol. I knocked on the door and opened it. The man seated behind a desk appeared to be slightly older than Caron. His head was nearly shaven, as if he were a recruit on the first day of boot camp. His upper lip was curled, exposing small, irregular teeth. Powdered sugar on his chin and chest suggested that he’d met his quota of doughnuts for the day.
    â€œThank you for seeing me,” I began. “I was under the impression Sheriff Dorfer would be here.”
    â€œNot a snowball’s chance in hell he’d be here on a weekend,” the deputy said, his expression leery. “He left a note saying I should go ahead and talk to you. I’m Deputy Frank Norton. What can I do for you?”
    I sat down and smiled. “My name is Claire Malloy, and I’m looking into the case against Sarah Swift. Her trial begins Tuesday, and there are a few—”
    â€œYou’re the woman what got booted off the jury! I heard you got so hysterical you had to be restrained and forcibly removed from the courtroom. Good thing your husband’s the deputy chief. Judge Priestly’s real quick to throw folks in the slammer for contempt of court. She fined some sorry-ass lawyer five hundred dollars when his cell phone rang in the middle of a