by J. R. Adler
Through the double front doors Kimberley was greeted by a sweet and homely woman behind the front desk. Her hair was gray and curly, sitting on top of her head, most likely from a fresh perm. She was average-sized, around seventy years of age and dressed in a floral-print top and navy-blue chinos; a mix of professionalism and her own personality, Kimberley presumed. She looked as though she was a permanent fixture in the building and had likely seen more elected sheriffs come and go than she could even count anymore. Kimberley was going to be floored if her name wasn’t Esther or Barb or some other extinct name.
“Well, hello! You must be Kimberley!” The woman leaped up from her desk and glided over to Kimberley with a speed and lightness of foot that she frankly found alarming.
“How did you know?” Kimberley asked, as she hadn’t announced when she would be coming in for the day to do meet-and-greets.
“Oh, you can just tell these things. You don’t look like someone from around here, and we don’t get many visitors who aren’t in handcuffs. So, I just put two and two together.” She beamed up at her.
“Good hunch. Maybe you should be the new chief deputy,” Kimberley said with a smile.
The woman let out a roaring belly laugh. “Who me? No way!” She flicked her hands.
“What’s all the racket out there?” a man’s voice called out from the back, followed by footsteps. Behind a cubicle partition, a tall man came around the corner.
“Oh, Sheriff Walker. I was just introducing myself to Kimberley here. Silly me, I forgot to tell you my name. I’m Barbara Anne.” She shot out a hand to Kimberley.
Kimberley grabbed it in kind and returned the gesture. “Pleased to meet you.” Fucking called it, she thought to herself.
“Kimberley, eh? Nice of you stop in a day early to get a lay of the land.”
Sheriff Sam Walker strolled over and sized her up from her tennis shoes up to her face, where a pair of discerning and sharp eyes stared back at him, giving him the exact same treatment. He shook Kimberley’s hand and gave a pleased smile.
“Barb, would you mind getting Kimberley a cup of coffee?” Sam asked.
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Do you take cream or sugar?” Barb smiled.
“Just black.” Kimberley nodded.
She wasn’t used to people taking her coffee orders. Even as a detective in the city, she got her own coffee, but this she could get used to.
“That’ll be an easy one for me to remember,” Barb said as she walked away.
Kimberley returned her attention to Sheriff Sam Walker. The man in front of her wasn’t the one she had pictured when they had spoken on the phone. In her mind, Sam was fifty and potbellied with graying hair and a “who gives a shit” attitude about his job. But that wasn’t the case at all. The man standing in front of her clearly took care of himself and couldn’t have been older than late thirties. He was a rugged, six-foot-three man with some facial stubble. His ash-brown hair was military cut, and he sported a strong square jaw with a clean smile. Despite being younger than she expected, Kimberley noticed he was a little worn-looking. Perhaps it was due to the demands of the job. But something in his eyes told her it wasn’t just that. His dark eyes had a sadness to them, as if he had endured more in his life than most others. Sure, the job can do that to you—dead bodies, missing children, rape, all the worst parts of humanity rolled into one lovely package, delivered to your doorstep daily that you get to keep opening again and again—but this wasn’t that, this was… personal.
“Officially, and in person, I’m Sheriff Sam Walker,” he said, holding out his large hand.
Kimberley shook it. “I’m Kimberley King, or I guess Chief Deputy King now.”
“In here, I’ll call you Detective King. I know what that means out where you came from, and it was no simple feat, especially in the NYPD, the most respected police force in the country, maybe the world. In my book, once a detective, always a detective,” he said with a wink.
He was clearly impressed with her credentials. He had mentioned on the phone that they never had anyone on the force come from the NYPD before. She assumed it was a major reason why she got the job. The NYPD immediately garners respect, as does the title of detective. Put them together and people look at you like you’re some sort of action hero.
“Let me show you around,” Sam said, motioning with his hand.
They walked through a couple sets of doors before coming into a large room with two rows of three desks. A deputy sat at one of them, typing vigorously on his keyboard. He glanced up and nodded at the sheriff. He looked young, maybe early twenties, with blond hair and a goatee that was barely visible, just like his presence.
“Deputy Burns. This is our new chief deputy. Kimberley King,” Sam introduced.
Deputy Burns stood from his seat. Kimberley could see now he was average-sized. His features were soft, almost feminine. He gave a crooked smile and saluted Kimberley, like a toy soldier.
“Burns, what the hell are you doing?” Sam let out a sigh, shook his head, and scratched at as his eyebrow.
The deputy lowered his hand and dropped his smile. “Uhh… sorry.”
Kimberley let on a smile and shook the deputy’s hand. “Nice to meet you. If you feel more comfortable saluting me, I won’t stop you,” she teased.
He cracked a smile back.
“Almost done with those reports?” Sam asked.
“Just about. They’ll be on your desk before end of day.”
Sam gave an approving nod.
The deputy returned to his desk, immediately diving back into his work.
Kimberley looked around the large room. A couple of the desks were tidy. A couple were messy with papers strewn about on them. The walls were covered in several large bulletin boards. One was plastered with posters of lost animals. One was a splattering of information related to unsolved crimes, like hit-and-runs and robberies. And another was probably the handiwork of Barb: deputies’ birthday, kudos, events in the community. Unlike the other bulletin boards, it was colorful, well organized, and up to date. She didn’t know Barb, but she suspected that this was definitely Barb’s touch.
“Here you are, Kimberley,” Barb’s voice called behind her.
Kimberley turned around to find Barb with a wide smile holding two cups of coffee. “I got one for you too, Sheriff. You both take your coffee the same way,” she said with a wink while handing each of them a steaming hot mug of black coffee.
“Thanks, Barb,” Sam said with a slight tilt of his head.
“Thank you,” Kimberley said, taking the cup.
“Anything else I can get for you two?”
“Nope. All good here.” Sam nodded.
She upheld her smile as she backed away and exited through the set of doors she came through.
“She seems great.” Kimberley took a small sip to test if the coffee was temperate enough to drink it.
“Barb? She’s worked here longer than I’ve been alive. If you don’t like celebrating your birthday, don’t tell her when it is. She brings in balloons and cake and gets everyone to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’” Sam said with a grin.
“Noted.”
They stared at one another for a moment too long; the moment beyond that one single moment that makes the moment a little awkward. Sam cleared his throat and gestured with his free hand around the room.
“So, bathrooms are on the right and the door on the left side leads to a small kitchen break room with a fridge, microwave, table, and chairs. Most people eat at their desk or on the road, but it’s there if ya want to use it.”
Kimberley followed Sam, walking down the aisle that separated the two rows of desks.
“Most of the daytime and nighttime deputies share desks—we’ve got four on days and five on nights. Deputy Bearfield is our most senior deputy, so he’s got his own space.”
“Where’s the rest of the deputies?” Kimberley asked, glancing around.
“Patrolling. Burns is our newest deputy, so he’s
on paperwork.”
Kimberley nodded, following behind.
At the far end of the room were two side-by-side offices with big glass windows so they could look out into the rest of the sheriff’s station. On the left, a nameplate on the door read “Sheriff Sam Walker.” The office on the right had a nameplate that read “Chief Deputy Kimberley King.” He walked into the office and flicked on the light. Inside was a desk with a computer, a swivel chair and two chairs on the other side of it. A filing cabinet and a storage wardrobe were against one wall, and the other wall had several shelves filled with random books and binders. On the desk sat a large succulent with fleshy, thick green leaves in a black pot.
“The succulent is from Barb,” Sam commented.
Kimberley smiled. “Of course it is.”
“Nothing special about the office. It doesn’t have a window or anything, but it’s your own space. You can store clothes in the wardrobe rather than having to use the locker room. The desk chair is comfy. We can get rid of all these books for you.” He pointed to the shelves on the wall filled with books and binders. “Some of the deputies here think those shelves are for storage,” he said, shaking his head.
“It’s perfectly fine. I mean I never had an office in the NYPD, so this is a massive upgrade.” Kimberley nodded, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Really? Even as a detective?”
“Yup. No room for it. Detectives sit in cubes. Patrol officers don’t even get that usually. They have to share space. Only captains and above got offices and those were still smaller than this.”
“Well, welcome to your mansion then. At least we were able to one-up the NYPD in one area,” Sam quipped. “I’ll issue your badge and gun tomorrow. Your car is in the shop for inspection and won’t be ready ’til the end of the week. Sorry about that. Do you have a way to get around in the meantime?” Sam raised his mug to his lips and took a large gulp, peering at her over the cup.
“I’ll make it work.”
Kimberley walked to the other side of the desk and set her cup down. She looked over everything, pulling out drawers, and inspecting the chair. She sat down and adjusted it to the height that was most comfortable, while the sheriff observed her.
“Good.” Sam rocked back on his heels and then opted to take a seat in the chair in front of her desk, facing Kimberley. “So, let me tell you a little bit about the team first.”
Kimberley looked up at him, eager to know more about the people she’d be working with.
“You met Burns out there. He’s a good kid, just a bit green.”
“I gathered that from his toy-soldier salute.”
Sam cracked a smile but continued on. “I also mentioned Deputy Bearfield. He’s been on the force for about eight years. He’s thorough and reliable, but I must warn you, he’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder right now.”
Kimberley raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“You. He applied for the position of chief deputy, and obviously I went with an outside hire.” Sam gestured to Kimberley. “He’s a good deputy, but let me know if he gives you any grief.”
Kimberley slightly narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like coming into a situation where people she didn’t even know had an issue with her.
“Will do. Anyone else already have a problem with me?” Her tone was a mix of sarcasm and her New York attitude, which sometimes she just couldn’t help.
Sam sighed. “No, and his issue should be more with me than you. I’m the one that didn’t hire him. We also have Deputy Hill. He’s new to day shift. I had to remove him from the night shift after he accidentally discharged his weapon during a suspected DUI violation.” Sam rubbed his forehead.
“Jesus. Did he shoot anyone?” Kimberley sat forward in her seat.
“Yeah, his own foot. He’s recovered now, got a bit of a limp and a severely bruised ego, but he’s determined to work his way back up, so he’ll fall right in line.”
“You got quite the team here,” she said sarcastically.
“Now you can see why I hired you.” Sam smirked. “And let’s not forget our crown jewel, Deputy Lodge. You won’t meet him for a while as he’s on suspension.”
“They just keep getting better.” Kimberley shook her head. “What’s he on suspension for?”
“Domestic violence.”
“And he’s still working here?” Kimberley already hated the man, and she hadn’t even met him.
“Trust me. If I could have fired him, I would have. His dad is on the county board and I know that doesn’t sound like anything where you’re from, but here it means something. Like I said, you won’t meet him for a while though, so no need to worry.”
“How long is his suspension?”
Sam looked down at his watch. “He’s got another five weeks, pending AA and therapy completion.”
“Good.” Kimberley nodded. “I respect that you’re holding him accountable.”
Sam folded his arms in front of his chest, not commenting any further on the matter. “So, that’s the daytime team. Any questions?”
“Not about the team. I’m sure I’ll get to know them all well in due time.”
Sam nodded and scratched his head as if he were thinking of what more to tell Kimberley.
“Oh, yes. Barb’s got a map in that binder you’ll get tomorrow of the area of Custer County we patrol, so you’ll have that for a visual. There are twenty-seven thousand residents in the county, but we tend to stay away from Clinton and Weatherford as they have their own dedicated police departments. Those two communities account for twenty thousand residents. We help them when needed, but otherwise we leave it to them.”
“This department is responsible for only seven thousand people?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. A big dip from NYC’s eight million plus residents. We cover the smaller towns and everything between them, so Anthon, Thomas, Custer City, right here in Arapaho, Butler, and good old Dead Woman Crossing.”
“Well, alright then.” Kimberley clapped her hands together.
“And you mentioned on the phone, you’re living over in Dead Woman Crossing on the Turner Farm?”
“That’s right.” Kimberley nodded.
“Well, since you’re living there, let me tell you a little bit about Dead Woman Crossing.”
“What’s there to know?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Not a lot.” Sam chuckled. “But I’ll give you the basics. This ain’t New York. I’ll shoot straight with you. You and I both know that in New York you saw more shit in a one-week period than most of my boys have and will see in their entire careers. Your expertise and experience will be highly valued and don’t ever forget that. Around here most of the crimes we come across are traffic incidents, DUI’s, some burglaries, domestic abuse incidents, a little bit of drug possession, mostly meth, and every now and then a missing/stolen livestock incident.”
“Livestock and meth? Sounds like a riot.” Kimberley smiled.
Sam squinted his eyes slightly, caught off guard by her directness. He brought his foot up and laid it across his knee, getting a little more comfortable in his chair.
“We have some town troublemakers. You’ll encounter them plenty, I’m sure. I had Barb put together some of the main ones with past offenses, photos, where they live, etc. You’ll get those with the rest of the paperwork tomorrow. Then, we got The Trophy Room. It’s our local bar and the town trouble spot. I’m sure you’ll be there at least once a week breaking up a brawl or escorting a drunkard out.”
Sam drained the rest of his coffee. “Any questions?”
Kimberley hesitated for a moment, thinking of the high-octane pace of her NYPD job. How every day was different, and she never knew if a call would lead to an intense situation like a chase or a murder scene, or if it’d be something mundane like a suspicious person report or a disturbance. A slight pang ensued as she remembered the excitement, but she quickly forced it to subside, reminding herself of all the reasons she came here. Repeating them over in he
r head. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. To forget. To move on. The words slipped into her mind just as quickly as the memory tied to it.
“Are you sure you two want to see this?” an officer with a potbelly and a bald head asked.
Detective Hunter looked at Kimberley and shook her head, giving her a smirk. “Yes, Officer Richardson,” she said, holding up her NYPD homicide detective badge. Kimberley followed suit, flashing hers.
“Oh, sorry,” he stammered. He pointed to the ladder that led up to the attic. “Right up there.”
Detective Hunter started up the ladder first with Kimberley following behind. The attic was almost entirely empty, save for the victim, a forensics team, and a couple of officers. A Hispanic woman with long dark hair and high cheekbones was strung up by her neck and wrists with the ropes tied to the rafters. Dozens of rope burns and bruises revealed he had pulled her up, strangling her, and then let her down again, up and down, and up and down, for as long as her body could take it, as if she were some sort of string puppet.
“Fucking Jesus,” Kimberley said.
“Jesus didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Has this been photographed?”
“Yes,” a young officer replied.
The camera flashed over and over and over again.
“What do we know about the victim?” Kimberley asked. She always wanted to get to know the victim as best she could. It was her way of remembering and honoring the person. Detective Hunter had taught her that.
“Maria Velasquez, age thirty-two, legal secretary, lived on the lower eastside,” an officer holding a notepad said. “We’ve been looking for her as her husband reported her missing a week ago.”
