Jeffery Deaver - The Lesson of Her Death

"Jamie's coming up on college age in a few years and you know all about Dr. Parker's bills."

"Five thousand'd go a long way," Corde said.

They were silent for a long time. Diane broke the stillness. "Okay, I've said what I wanted to. Why don't you go talk to Jamie? He's got to call if he's going to be out past suppertime. He just came back then went into his room without saying hello or anything and he's listening to some gosh-awful rock music that's got screams and howling on it."

"Well, maybe that means he's feeling better."

"He could celebrate feeling better by getting home when he's supposed to and listening to the Bee Gees or Sinatra."

"I'm not in the mood for giving him a talking-to tonight. Maybe tomorrow I will."

She wiped her hands, full of dust and old flour. Corde was studying the ingredients of Budweiser and didn't see her wrench her lips into a narrow grimace or tighten her hand into a fist.

He doesn't want to do anything at all for those two girls dead by the pond – who wouldn't be dead if they hadn't been where they shouldn't've, campus sluts both of them. No, no, he wants to save those cops he thinks he laid out on the concrete floor of Fairway Mall, laid them out like the broken dolls they seemed to be on the front page of the Post-Dispatch.

Well, it's too late for them, Bill. It's too late.

Diane said to her husband, "Quit looking so glum. You think about it tonight and whatever you decide we're still going to have my special burritos for dinner. Then we'll watch that Farrah Fawcett movie and I'll let you guess who the killer is. Now go water that new strip of lawn, whatever the birds've left."

And she turned back to the sink, smiling brightly and scalded with anger at herself for this complete cowardice.

At eight-thirty in the morning Bill Corde walked into the Sheriffs Department and hung up his blue jacket and his hat. Then he went into Steve Ribbon's office where he saw assembled the whole of the department except for the two deputies on morning patrol. They all nodded to him. He paused in the doorway then sat down among them – across the desk from Jim Slocum who was sitting in Ribbon's old high-backed chair.

Resting on the desk prominently was that morning's Register . The headline read: " Sheriffs Dep't Reopens Auden Slay Case ". A subhead: " Youth's Death Termed 'Tragic Accident '."

"Well, gentlemen," Slocum said, "welcome. You've all heard the announcement about Steve's move up and we're real happy about that situation. I've asked you here to chew the fat a little and tell you about some of the changes I'm going to institute. And I want to say, if there are any questions, I want you to interrupt me. Will you do that?"

Lance Miller, his volume hampered by the surgical tape around his ribs, said, "Sure we will."

"Good. First off nothing I'm going to do is too, you know, radical but I've been thinking about the department and there are some things we can do different that'll be helpful." He looked down at a sheet of paper. "Well, number one, we're going to change the radio codes. We're used to a lot of casual talk on the radio and I don't think we should be doing that. You can get yourself into some real unprofessional situations that way. From now on we're going to be using the Associated Public Safety Communications Officers' Codes. That's like you see on TV. Ten-four. Ten-thirteen. All that. There are thirty-four of them and you'll have to learn them all. Oh and I don't want you to say A, B, C, you know. I want Adam, Boy, Charles and so on. We're not going to use the military ones. I know some of you boys learned Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta. We're civilian and there's no reason for us to be ashamed of it."

Two deputies nodded to show that they weren't ashamed.

God bless you but … Bill Corde shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

Slocum said, "Ten-four?"

The deputies smiled politely.

"Another thing, I don't want you to worry about calling me by my first name. I've been Jim to you for years, and I don't want you all going grandiose on me and calling me 'Sheriff' or especially 'sir' or anything. Promise me that?"

"Yessir!" one of the deputies saluted sharply, and they all laughed.

"I've also been seeing about getting you boys walkie-talkies. Mayor Cooper thinks it's a good idea but where the money's going to come from is a whole 'nother thing so you may have to wait a while on those. But I just want you to know they're on our wish list. Now let's get down to brass tacks."

Over the next ten minutes Corde tried his best to pay attention as Slocum described his plans for dividing New Lebanon into precincts and the special drug task force he was going to establish.

One deputy frowned and said, "I don't think I ever arrested anybody for real drugs, Jim. Not more'n a little pot. Or coke at Auden." He turned to another deputy. "Anybody?"

The other deputies said they rarely had.

"Ain't been don't mean won't be," Slocum said and held up a Time magazine cover about crack in small towns.

It was then that Corde, mentally, left the room.

A half hour later the deputies departed, carrying their photocopies of the new radio codes that they'd be quizzed on next week. Corde scooted his chair closer to the desk.

"Glad you stayed, Bill. There's some things I wanted to talk to you about."

"Me too."

Slocum said, "I've been doing some thinking and I'd like to tell you what I've decided. This is a pretty odd situation, you being senior to me and me getting the job. So I've come up with something I think you're going to be pretty pleased with."

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to create a new job here. It'll be called vice sheriff." Slocum paused and let Corde taste the full flavor of the words. When he didn't respond Slocum said, "And guess who's going to be appointed it?… You bet." Slocum beamed. "Sounds real nice, don't you think?"

"What exactly does it mean?"

"Oh, don't think I'm doing you a favor. No sir. The fact is you're going to work for it. I've been thinking about where your talents are, Bill. And it's pretty easy to see you're a better administrator than me. I'm going to throw a lot of stuff at you. Scheduling, overtime, personnel problems, payroll. So what do you say to that, Mr. Vice Sheriff?"

Corde got up and closed the door then returned to the chair. He easily held Slocum's eye. "Jim, you're the sheriff now and I think you'll probably run the department pretty good. But I'm doing one thing and one thing only and that's tracking down Jennie Gebben's killer. I'm finding him whether he's in New Lebanon or Fredericksberg or Chicago or Mexico City and I'm bringing him back for trial. Now, tell me, what's the budget for deputies?"

"What?" Slocum was too surprised to frown.

"The budget?" Corde asked impatiently. "Didn't Steve show you the department budget?"

"Yeah, somewhere…" He inspected the desk for a moment, looking for something he had no desire to find. "But, Bill, the thing is I don't know I can have you assigned to just one case. We're down one man already, what with Lance's broken ribs and all. This's a pretty big request. I'll have to think about it."

"I believe that's it there, that computer printout."

Slocum pulled it out and opened it up. "What, is it this column? It says 'Personnel'."

Corde said, "That's actual. I need to know budgeted."

"What's that?"

"Here, gimme." Corde scowled. "That's what I was afraid of. We've hardly got enough left for raises. Not enough for a new man."

"Raises? Should I give the men raises?"

Corde was making notes on his index cards. He said, "We've got about five thousand in travel and equipment left for the rest of the year… Well, I'd like you to leave that alone. I'm going to need a good portion of it if not everything."