Three
The sheriffs department was located in the basement of the
Purcell County Courthouse. For the second time in as many
days, Alex parked her car in a metered slot on the square
and entered the building.
It was early. There wasn't much activity in the row of
offices on the lower level. In the center of this warren of
cubicles was a large squad room, no different from any other
in the nation. A pall of cigarette smoke hovered over it like
a perpetual cloud. Several uniformed officers were gathered
around a hot plate where coffee was simmering. One was
talking, but when he saw Alex, he stopped in midsentence.
One by one, heads turned, until all were staring at her. She
felt glaringly out of place in what was obviously a male
domain. Equal employment hadn't penetrated the ranks of
the Purcell County Sheriffs Department.
She held her ground and said pleasantly,' 'Good morning.''
"Mornin'," they chorused.
"My name is Alex Gaither. I need to see the sheriff,
please." The statement was superfluous. They already knew
who she was and why she was there. Word traveled fast in
a town the size of Purcell.
"He expectin' you?" one of the deputies asked belligerently,
after spitting tobacco juice into an empty Del Monte
green bean can.
"I believe he'll see me," she said confidently.
"Did Pat Chastain send you over?"
22
Alex had tried to reach him again that morning, but Mrs.
Chastain had told her that he'd already left for his office. She
tried telephoning him there and got no answer. Either she
had missed him while he was in transit, or he was avoiding
her. "He's aware of why I'm here. Is the sheriff in?" she
repeated with some asperity.
"I don't think so."
"I haven't seen him."
"Yeah, he's here," one officer said grudgingly. "He came
in a few minutes ago.'' He nodded his head toward a hallway.
"Last door on your left, ma'am."
"Thank you."
Alex gave them a gracious smile she didn't feel in her heart
and walked toward the hallway. She was conscious of the
eyes focused on her back. She knocked on the indicated
door.
"Yeah?"
Reede Lambert sat behind a scarred wooden desk that was
probably as old as the cornerstone of the building. His booted
feet were crossed and resting on one corner of it. Like yesterday,
he was slouching, this time in a swivel chair.
His cowboy hat and a leather, fur-lined jacket were hanging
on a coat tree in the corner between a ground-level window
and a wall papered with wanted posters held up by yellowing,
curling strips of Scotch tape. He cradled a chipped, stained
porcelain coffee mug in his hands.
"Well, g'morning, Miss Gaither."
She closed the door with such emphasis that the frosted-glass
panel rattled. "Why wasn't I told yesterday?"
"And spoil the surprise?" he said with a sly grin. "How'd
you find out?"
"By accident."
"I knew you'd show up sooner or later." He eased himself
upright. "But I didn't figure on it being this early in the
morning." He came to his feet and indicated the only other
available chair in the room. He moved toward a table that
contained a coffee maker. "You want some?"
"Mr. Chastain should have told me."