Jimmy A. Sweeting III had seven generations of ancestors in the ground in Dayton County and kept getting elected on the strength of his connections and the firmness of his handshake. He looked and acted like a Southern sheriff in a movie -- tall, fat but solid, a backslapping buzzcut good ol’ boy who was suspicious of anyone whose great-grandpappy hadn’t worn Rebel gray. He was immensely popular with the electorate, and what he knew about law enforcement you could just about fit in a book big enough to shove up a titmouse’s ass, provided you had some filler for the book and the titmouse was small for its age.

Right now it was half past two and Jimmy was staring at me across his desk. Coop leaned against the wall behind me and studied his fingernails and stayed out of the conversation.

Sweeting had taken the time to get into uniform before leaving his house, probably because he thought it made him more intimidating. It really only made him look ridiculous. The dark green blouse was as tight as a sausage skin. His face was red from the constriction of his too-small collar. His neck was fat. His earlobes were fat. Even his nostrils were fat.

"This whole thing stinks, son," he said.

"Can you breathe in that thing?" I said.

Sweeting’s eyes narrowed. "I think it’d pay you to stick to the subject at hand for once in your goddamned life, Salinski."

"Salewski," I said. The fat bastard had known me for eight years and got my name right maybe one in every ten tries.

"How about you go over the whole thing again?" he said.

"Nope," I said. Behind me, Coop groaned.

Sweeting’s face got redder. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but there it was. "You wanna say that again?"

"I said nope. You got my statement. You got it transcribed, signed and witnessed. You got Dave Tanner down here in the middle of the goddamn night to vouch that I was working for him. You got everything I have to give, and it’s a hell of a lot more than I’d give under ordinary circumstances. I’m done, I’m tired, and I want to go home."

"You can go home when I’m ready to let you go, you little sumbitch," Sweeting said.

"You planning on charging me?"

Sweeting just ground his teeth at me and sat there breathing fatly.

"Then fuck off," I said.

A vein throbbed in Sweeting’s forehead and he shot to his feet. His chair crashed into the wall behind him. He leaned across the desk and reached for my collar.

"Touch me," I said. "I’d love the county to fund my retirement."

His hand froze an inch away from me. We stared at each other. I could feel Coop behind me ready to step in, but if Sweeting wanted to pop me one he could probably break my nose before anything could be done about it. I kept looking at him and tried to breathe normally.

Finally he sighed and straightened up. He retrieved his chair and sat down and waved his hand at me.

"Get out of here," he said.

"On my way."

I got up and walked to the door and opened it. I was halfway out when Sweeting said, "Time was in this county a longhaired little pissant like you couldn’t talk like that to the sheriff and leave any way but on a shutter. Whole world’s going to hell."

"The future’s all yours, ya lousy bicycle," I said.

Sweeting just stared at me. He had no idea what I was talking about.

"Unbelievable," I said, and walked out.

###

Coop followed me out to my car. The rain had stopped and the sky was the kind of clear it only ever is out in rural counties. We stood in the parking lot and lit cigarettes and smoked at each other.

"Paul Newman, right?" he said.

"See? You’ve got some culture."

"You still ain’t gonna revise that bullshit statement?"

"Wasn’t bullshit, Coop."

"Okay," he said. "Let me rephrase. You gonna tell me what you left out of that statement, thereby rendering the rest bullshit?"

I drew in a lungful of smoke and looked at the stars. "You guys ever send Tanner home?" I asked.

"Yeah, we got nothing to hold him for. He says he was home all night and we don’t know otherwise. Of course the other people at the motel, them that even answered their doors, say they didn’t see nothing. You ain’t gonna answer my question, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fair enough." He tossed his butt and ground it out and looked me in the eye. "Both of you are lying through your fuckin’ teeth about something here," he said.

"Coop, do you even like Tanner for this job?"

He sighed and pulled his pack and lit another pill. "Nah," he said. "Man didn’t kill her. Don’t mean Jimmy won’t hang it on him sooner or later, though. Unless you got some ideas that’ll point him in another direction."

"Coop, the woman was lying to me about her name, lying to her husband about where she spent her nights, and I found her with a goddamn sandwich bag full of Bolivian marching powder in her suitcase. If anything, I have too many ideas."

He looked at the ground and nodded. "Yeah, it is a fuckin’ mess," he said. "And I guess you’re gonna keep poking at it even if I warn you off."

"Yep."

Coop sighed.

"Do it clean. Tommy wouldn’t talk to me for a week if I had to run you in. Some reason, he likes your skinny white ass." Tommy was an orthodontist who lived in Jacksonville. He and Coop had been together for nearly a decade, even though Tommy was out and proud and Coop, in order to keep his job, was so far in the closet Tommy probably had to toss mothballs at him every couple of months. Either Tommy was the most understanding guy in the world, or Coop was very good at sex.

"I only rate a week of silent treatment?" I asked.

"Most he could stand," Coop said. "I’m very good at sex."

One mystery solved, at least.

Coop held his fist out for a bump and I gave it to him. Then I got in my car and drove back to the island and tried to sleep. I didn’t.

Next Chapter: FIVE