He lowered his head. “She was unfaithful to the country, too.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
“You know about the F-35 fighter? It’s our most advanced jet. We’re fortunate that Luke Air Force Base was chosen as the primary training base.”
I looked him in the eyes.
“You’re giving me a chamber of commerce pitch,” I said.
“Unfortunately not.” He leaned in a few inches. “You may also know that China stole important information about it. An airplane we thought would give us a twenty-year advantage. Now the Chinese are incorporating its features into their advanced fighters, especially the Shenyang J-23. Try explaining that to the young men and women who will die in combat if push comes to shove in the South China Sea or over Taiwan…”
“This is a long damned way from being Maricopa County sheriff.” I tried to throttle down the anger in my voice and failed. “Running the jails humanely. Serving warrants. Dull job, but necessary.”
“Listen to what I’m telling you, David. The feds have reason to believe Lindsey actually helped the Chinese gain access to the F-35 designs. They know a man she was sleeping with did it and he is about to be indicted. They think she was involved, too.”
“She was working for Homeland Security!”
His voice was calm, the eyes sympathetic. “There’s so much you don’t know.”
“You’re accusing my wife of treason.” I couldn’t stop the heat from burning my cheeks. I tried to center myself by staring at the empty swimming pool, the water as flat as glass.
Melton said, “You can help her…”
“By working for you? I’ve said too much already. You’re probably wearing a wire. What I need to do is get the best lawyer in town and go to the papers.”
His shoulders hunched in tension.
I said, “If Lindsey did these things, why isn’t she in prison already?”
“Because federal investigations take time. There are open questions. But the White House is putting on pressure to go after leakers and spies, especially involving China. Listen to me, David. I can help you if you’ll help me.”
“Me, working an old DB case can somehow balance the scales of an active investigation of treason? Involving my wife?” I spat the words. It was not my best moment.
“This ‘dead body’ case, as you put it, is important to me. As for your wife, I can buy you some time. I know people, more than you realize, and they can work in her favor. That’s a guarantee. And maybe with that time and influence, Lindsey can…well, do whatever she needs to do.”
What the hell did he mean? Clear her name? Leave the country? Meet up with Peralta to split the diamonds?
“I want to know more about the accusations against Lindsey.”
“I can’t do that, David. I’m already out on a limb for you. Washington could come in with a National Security Letter. Do you know what that is?”
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 you 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.
Chapter Nine
I walked out of the hotel in a trance, oblivious to the perfection of the evening, crossing First Avenue mid-block. I was about to step over the light-rail tracks, across the low concrete barrier where it was stenciled DO NOT CROSS, when the horn shook me into the moment.
The train was no more than half a block to my right, the operator flashing his lights and laying on the horn. I stepped back and let the train come into the station, walking around it.
The majestic old county courthouse was as lovely, dignified, and enduring as when it opened in 1929, an art deco interpretation of Spanish architecture. It had been built as a combined city-county building. So, here, facing Washington Street, was the courthouse. On the west side, guarded by carved Phoenix birds, was the entrance to old city hall. With such attributes, it amazed me that Phoenix had not torn it down.
Enough damage had been done. When I was a boy, lush grass and shrubs, shaded by queen palms, surrounded the building. Now all that was gone, replaced by dirt and the skeletons of palo verde trees. Somebody thought they were saving water, even though it was being misused to fill artificial lakes in subdivisions thirty miles away.
I wondered about the workers that had ripped out those noble trees back in the 1980s and whether they had realized the damage they were doing.
Then I made the mistake of looking back at the graceless, sterile cube of CityScape and how it overpowered the flawless art deco Luhrs Tower in the next block, its fourteen stories with elegant setbacks built for a low-rise city that held 48,000 people. CityScape, heavily subsidized by the taxpayers, was doing fairly well for now. It had a comedy club and a bowling alley. The bottom of the Luhrs Tower was empty except for a Subway shop. This was Phoenix.
At the front of the courthouse, the old fountain was still there. A plaque read: