High Country Nocturne (David Mapstone Mystery 8)

I nodded, not exactly sure but it wouldn’t be good. It would prevent us from discussing the case, perhaps even deny Lindsey counsel.

“Don’t think it can’t happen. So you need to be very careful. The country changed after 9/11 and nothing got softer with the election and re-election of Obama. These are dangerous times and the government holds enormous power to protect us.”

For a few moments it was silent enough to hear glasses clinking behind the bar.

Melton shrugged. “Me, I tell my wife everything that happens in my day. You’d better not say a word of this to Lindsey.”

“So how can she help herself?”

“She can tell who she was working with inside the government…”

“Flip,” I said. “Become a snitch.”

“She might be able to work for the government again.”

I wondered if he was wearing a wire. “She did nothing wrong. But if a person did what you claim, I don’t think he’d get off so easy.”

“Provide help and the charges could be reduced or dropped,” he said. “I’ve seen it happen. She might have to work at the Genius Bar at the Apple Store for awhile but it beats thirty years in prison for espionage.”

“And the sheriff of Maricopa County knows all this, how?”

He slapped the table. “I’ve said too much already. Are you in?”

“Goddamnit, slow down! I need to talk to Lindsey first…”

And then I was aware of the murmur twenty feet behind me. Turning, I saw dozens of people, young, beautiful, stylishly dressed, waiting to get into the bar.

“No time, David.” His eyes bore into me. “Are you in?”

Thucydides, the father of historians, said that men are motivated by fear and then by honor and self-interest. And here I was.

But I was not beyond churlishness.

“I want my old office back.”

He made an amused face. “The historic courthouse has been remodeled. I’m afraid your old space is now a courtroom.” He smiled. “But there’s another office on the fourth floor you’ll find to your liking.”

He fished a key out of his pocket and placed it on top of the file.

I signed papers from the Sheriff’s Office and a certification document from the Arizona Peace Officers Standards and Training Board. Next came a Bible out of that damned messenger bag. We stood up and he swore me in at the rooftop bar. So help me, God.

He fished out a business card and scribbled numbers on the back. He held it up and I took it.

“You’ll report directly to me. Read the case file and call me in the morning. We’ll get started.” He paused and then put his hand on my shoulder like we were good buddies. “It gets better, David. Trust me. You’re from Maricopa County. This is your hometown. You owe, don’t you think? To leave it a better place for our kids than we found it?”

I wanted to break his hand.

“Do y

ou want a ride home?”

I shook my head. “I’ll take light rail.”

“Glad somebody uses it. I hear it runs empty all the time.”

I picked up the file, slid the badge case in my blazer pocket, and walked away.

As I reached the elevators, the crowd was surging into the bar, and Call-Me-Chris Melton had disappeared.