There, seated at a scarred wooden desk, her father had ruled supreme, running a much smaller but seemingly more effective Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. In terms of crime statistics, Hank Lathrop’s administration put all succeeding administrations to shame.
Just for curiosity’s sake, once Joanna turned off the highway into the County Justice Complex, she played tourist and drove all the way around the whole facility-past the jail with its razor-ribbon lined exercise yards and auto-impound lot, past the building housing the county justice courts, and around to the back parking area where a large posted sign said EMPLOYEES ONLY. The parking lot was only partially full, but directly behind the building the reserved spaces with a shaded canopy over them were 100 percent occupied.
The county Blazer Dick Voland usually drove was parked in the spot marked CHIEF DEPUTY. His personal car-a late-model Buick Regal-sat squarely in the spot reserved for SHERIFF. From that space, a separate and seemingly private walkway led to a door that entered directly into the far back corner of the office complex.
Finding Dick Voland’s car parked territorially in the sheriff’s spot was probably fair enough, Joanna reasoned. He was, after all, the officially designated acting sheriff. But still, something about the way the car was parked there tugged at her, bothered her in a way she couldn’t quite pin down.
Shrugging off that fleeting shadow of doubt, Joanna drove back to the designated visitor parking area at the front of the building. When she went inside and gave her name to the young woman behind the counter, the clerk didn’t seem to make a connection or attach any particular significance to it. Certainly, no one in the outside office had been told to expect a possible visit from the incoming sheriff.
For all the courtesy and attention lavished on her, Joanna Brady might just as well have been a traveling ballpoint-pen salesman, with no advance appointment, wandering in off the high way for a cold call.
The clerk suggested Joanna take a seat, telling her that Mr. Voland was busy on the phone at the moment but that he would be with her as soon as possible. ‘How soon was that?” she wondered as she waited first five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. While Joanna stewed in her own juices, the people behind the counters, apparently intent on their jobs, continued working, barely acknowledging her presence. It was almost as though she were invisible. After a while, impatient and unable to sit still any longer, Joanna got up and roamed the lobby, pacing over to the long lighted display case that decorated the spacious room’s back wall.
There, among a collection of photos dating back to Arizona’s territorial days, Joanna found the official portrait of her late father, Sheriff D. H. “Big Hank” Lathrop. She had seen the display before, but seeing her father’s picture there among the others caught her by surprise and made Joanna wonder what her father’s reaction would be if he could see her now. Would he be proud of her for running and ultimately winning the election? Would he understand why she did it, or would he be puzzled or upset or even disappointed?
Without having the opportunity to know him as an adult, there was no way for his daughter to guess at his possible reactions.
Afraid to return to her seat for fear her tumbling emotions might betray her, Joanna examined the entire display, carefully reading through an encapsulated and officially photographed history of the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. The last photo in the group, the one on the far right, was also the newest, a portrait of Walter V. McFadden. Next to his was a blank spot.
With a lump in her throat, Joanna realized that, had things been different, Andy’s picture most likely would have hung there eventually. Now that spot would be hers instead, filled no doubt by the picture she’d used for her campaign brochure.
Realizing that eventually her picture would be with her father’s did something to her spine and strengthened her resolve. Most of those previous sheriffs of Cochise County had been fine, upright citizens, doing the best job they could under whatever difficult circumstances had been handed them.
Her father, Big Hank Lathrop, had been a straight shooter in every sense of the word. In his book of sherifflike behavior, scheduled appointments always came first, taking precedence over everything including the always unscheduled demands of a ringing telephone.
And thinking about that reminded her of stories Andy had related to her from time to time, stories about how Dick Voland was prone to throwing his considerable weight around. He had some times bragged about leaving people with appointments cooling their heels in the lobby for as long as he wanted. For the fun of it. Because he felt like it. Because he could.
By the time Joanna turned away from the display case, twenty minutes had passed, and her temper was on the rise. More than 140 people were employed by the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. Once she was sworn into office, whether in one week or after the standard two months, she would be those employees’ chief administrator. Their boss. And whether they liked it or not, some things about the Sheriff’s Department were about to change.
Joanna hit the wall at exactly twenty-three minutes and counting. She left off pacing in front of the display case and started for the outside door just as Dick Voland sauntered into the waiting room carrying an unsightly brown-stained mug filled with newly poured black coffee.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he drawled casually. “Got tied up on the phone and just couldn’t get away.”
“That’s all right,” Joanna returned coolly. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”
Noisily sipping away, Dick Voland nodded sagely, making no move to invite Joanna away from the public part of the building.
“What with everything that went on overnight I’m afraid we’re a little behind on our paper,” he said. “I just checked with the transcription clerk She hasn’t had a chance to get cracking on any of last night’s work yet. She says it’ll probably be another fifteen or twenty minutes, if you don’t mind waiting that long.”
Joanna was taller than Dick Voland expected, and she caught sight of the supposedly well-concealed smirk that leaked out over the top rim of his coffee mug. Seeing the look, Joanna Brady knew intuitively that Marianne Macula was right, and she was wrong.
Dick Voland’s being a professional law-enforcement officer made not the slightest difference. His car being parked in the sheriff’s space outside and not in the chief deputy’s was in fact, an open declaration of war.
He knew it, she knew it, and so did all the people toiling away in the outer office.
The same thing went for being kept waiting.
“That’s unfortunate,” she said without raising her voice. “I didn’t really have a spare half hour when I arrived here twenty-four minutes ago. I have even less now. I came here as a courtesy to sign that statement. If I still happen to be here when it’s ready, I’ll be happy to sign it. Otherwise, you’ll have to have someone from here bring it to me.”
Her curt response wasn’t quite what Dick Voland expected. The self-satisfied smirk faded.
“I do have another minute or so, however,” Joanna continued without giving him an opportunity to respond. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get an advance look at my office.”
Dick Voland might have read the election results in the newspaper. He might have seen them on television. But Joanna Brady saw the man’s face at the moment her words hit home, when the reality of the election outcome finally sank in.
His jaw stiffened. “You mean right now?”
A moment before, no one else in the public area had showed the slightest interest in Joanna Brady, but now an almost electric charge seemed to crackle through the room. Every eye and ear was aimed in their direction, hanging breathlessly on every gesture, every word. It was a test of wills, a critical first step that Joanna Brady could ill afford to fail.