of file cabinets, a couple grease boards, and the coffee machine. There were old plaques on the wall for honors given to his late uncle by the state and a brand-new calendar from the Jericho National Bank. It was one of those big old-fashioned ones of bird dogs hunting through the brush, men in quilted coats raising guns to flying quail. The whole thing old-time wishful thinking, as the quail had died off decades ago, either from an influx of the coyotes or the invention of the bush hog, taking out their natural habitat.
Lillie set down a sack from the Sonic. “Saw you working when I left,” Lillie said. “I got you a cheeseburger and fries. Everything on it.”
“Reason I made you my chief deputy.”
“Not because I had the most law enforcement experience?”
“I figured we needed to boost your self-confidence,” Quinn said, reaching into the sack and getting the burger and fries, “since that’s in such short supply with you.”
Quinn already had a big cup of black coffee going on the desk. He didn’t bother keeping track of how many cups he drank in a day. If Mary Alice wouldn’t complain, he’d have a La Gloria Cubana going, too. Which he did, on occasion, when a window and fan were handy.
“After I came back from Memphis, your uncle wanted to go on and purge these files,” Lillie said. “He always said he wanted to have a bonfire party on your land and clear the decks.”
“He say why?”
“Officially?” Lillie asked. “He said the cases were closed and we needed the space.”
“Unofficially?”
“He was a servant of the people and said there were a great many things in his file cabinet that would embarrass some fine folks and good families.”
“Bless their hearts.”
“Funny how you and Sheriff Beckett were related,” Lillie said, stealing a French fry from the carton. “You could give a rat’s ass about what people think. Or fine families and such.”
“I don’t care what they think,” Quinn said. “But I do like to know how they might vote.”
“Something happen?”
He told her about being at Mr. Jim’s barbershop and Jay Bartlett being such a horse’s ass.
“Jay Bartlett is a horse’s ass,” Lillie said. “A sorry little prick. He hadn’t said two words to me in the last five years. He’s been listening to rumors about me, too. He thinks that maybe I’m helping spread immorality and liberal ideas throughout Tibbehah County.”
“Isn’t that how you get your kicks?” Quinn said.
“Wouldn’t you love to know,” Lillie said. She placed her big combatboots on the edge of the desk and leaned back a bit. She had on her slick green sheriff’s office jacket, hair in a ponytail and threaded through a ball cap with the insignia of Tibbehah County on it. “Now,” she said, letting the front legs down on the chair and shifting her eyes down her stack of papers, “what’s wrong with what you got?”
“I got nothing,” Quinn said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there is the incident report with an interview with Diane Tull and a half-dozen people who saw them at the carnival that night,” he said. “There were a couple half-assed and illiterate reports to follow about talking to people who lived out on Jericho Road near the old Fisher property and heard shots but didn’t see a goddamn thing.”
“Right.”
“And an autopsy report.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing.”
“No follow-up reports, nothing filed with the state, no interview with local informants? You know your uncle always had a set of CIs on the payroll?”
“OK,” Quinn said. “So it was half-assed and poorly done. Nobody ever said this sheriff’s department was progressive. My uncle once tried to keep law and order. But he never thought of himself as an investigator.”
“Stuff was taken out,” she said. “That’s not all that happened. Even if it was half-assed, there’d be twice as much here, just as routine.”
Lillie took off her cap and placed it on the table, got up, and
Lillie set down a sack from the Sonic. “Saw you working when I left,” Lillie said. “I got you a cheeseburger and fries. Everything on it.”
“Reason I made you my chief deputy.”
“Not because I had the most law enforcement experience?”
“I figured we needed to boost your self-confidence,” Quinn said, reaching into the sack and getting the burger and fries, “since that’s in such short supply with you.”
Quinn already had a big cup of black coffee going on the desk. He didn’t bother keeping track of how many cups he drank in a day. If Mary Alice wouldn’t complain, he’d have a La Gloria Cubana going, too. Which he did, on occasion, when a window and fan were handy.
“After I came back from Memphis, your uncle wanted to go on and purge these files,” Lillie said. “He always said he wanted to have a bonfire party on your land and clear the decks.”
“He say why?”
“Officially?” Lillie asked. “He said the cases were closed and we needed the space.”
“Unofficially?”
“He was a servant of the people and said there were a great many things in his file cabinet that would embarrass some fine folks and good families.”
“Bless their hearts.”
“Funny how you and Sheriff Beckett were related,” Lillie said, stealing a French fry from the carton. “You could give a rat’s ass about what people think. Or fine families and such.”
“I don’t care what they think,” Quinn said. “But I do like to know how they might vote.”
“Something happen?”
He told her about being at Mr. Jim’s barbershop and Jay Bartlett being such a horse’s ass.
“Jay Bartlett is a horse’s ass,” Lillie said. “A sorry little prick. He hadn’t said two words to me in the last five years. He’s been listening to rumors about me, too. He thinks that maybe I’m helping spread immorality and liberal ideas throughout Tibbehah County.”
“Isn’t that how you get your kicks?” Quinn said.
“Wouldn’t you love to know,” Lillie said. She placed her big combatboots on the edge of the desk and leaned back a bit. She had on her slick green sheriff’s office jacket, hair in a ponytail and threaded through a ball cap with the insignia of Tibbehah County on it. “Now,” she said, letting the front legs down on the chair and shifting her eyes down her stack of papers, “what’s wrong with what you got?”
“I got nothing,” Quinn said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there is the incident report with an interview with Diane Tull and a half-dozen people who saw them at the carnival that night,” he said. “There were a couple half-assed and illiterate reports to follow about talking to people who lived out on Jericho Road near the old Fisher property and heard shots but didn’t see a goddamn thing.”
“Right.”
“And an autopsy report.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing.”
“No follow-up reports, nothing filed with the state, no interview with local informants? You know your uncle always had a set of CIs on the payroll?”
“OK,” Quinn said. “So it was half-assed and poorly done. Nobody ever said this sheriff’s department was progressive. My uncle once tried to keep law and order. But he never thought of himself as an investigator.”
“Stuff was taken out,” she said. “That’s not all that happened. Even if it was half-assed, there’d be twice as much here, just as routine.”
Lillie took off her cap and placed it on the table, got up, and
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