until elections.”
I looked at Carter quizzically and then asked, “Why would they want to do that?”
Surprise flickered across his face, and the fingernail went back between his teeth. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to us just now,” he said.
“I’m retiring in September,” I pointed out. “And the department has three good sergeants. You could appoint any one of them and you wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep over your choice. Bob Torrez is senior, and he’s smart, steady, and a good leader. Howard Bishop is no ball of fire, but he’s honest and thorough. Eddie Mitchell’s got his rough edges, but he’d do the job.” I shrugged. “The last thing the county needs is a sixty-eight-year-old warhorse with enough health problems to keep the county hospital solvent.”
“I can’t imagine Bob Torrez would take it any too kindly if we passed him by for one of the others,” Carter muttered.
“He’d get over it. And if he’s got any political ambitions, he keeps ’em to himself. But he’s your natural choice.”
“What about Estelle Reyes-Guzman? You don’t think she’d jump at the chance? Hell, she didn’t lose that last election by too much. If you didn’t want the job, wouldn’t she be next in line? And the way you two work together, you’d probably recommend her.”
The tone of his voice told me what his real worry was, and I took a deep breath.
“If she were staying in Posadas, sure. And a better sheriff you couldn’t have. But her husband has taken a job in Minnesota. It’s a hell of an opportunity for them. I don’t think she’s about to stay behind just so she can be appointed to fill in until the election. I think one stab at politics was enough for her, anyway.”
Estelle had run against Martin Holman in a surprisingly genteel and civil race, and the loss she’d taken at the polls had told both of us that Posadas County wasn’t ready for a female Mexican sheriff.
Carter leaned back again, relaxing. He held up both hands. “Let me tell you what the others have in mind. And I agree with ’em. This all hit us pretty fast, you understand. But it’s a concern. The commission wants you to fill in until November. That gives everyone who wants a shot at the office time to run through the primaries this June, and to go about it without rushing into something they might regret.”
“And gives you folks time to find a candidate you like,” I said with a smile. I wondered who he and his political cronies had in mind, but I didn’t care enough to ask. Martin Holman had certainly been a good, straight-arrow Republican, a member of all the right service clubs. On top of that, he’d turned out to be a quick study. I knew I was going to miss him, and I knew I didn’t have the energy left to train a replacement.
Carter shrugged. “Politics is politics, Bill. The county sheriff’s position is one of the most important ones there is. With all the civil litigation and so forth, we’ve got to have someone in there who knows the ropes.”
“If you want my advice, Torrez is your first choice. Then Bishop. Then Mitchell.”
“If one of them wants to run for the office, then that’s fine,” Carter said. “But until that time, the county commission wants to appoint you. You know Martin Holman’s policies better than anyone else. You know what he was trying to accomplish. Nothing else makes sense.”
“I’m no administrator, Sam. I’m a cop. I don’t even do the civil legwork for the department. Holman always did that, along with Sergeant Bishop and Deputy Mears.”
Carter leaned forward, reached out and touched my knee. “Then think of it this way if you want to get right down to cases. Who does more road patrol work, you or Bob Torrez?”
“He does, of course.”
“And who does more road work, you or Eddie Mitchell?”
“Mitchell, hands down.”
“You supervise them, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Does it make sense, in a county as strapped as this one is
I looked at Carter quizzically and then asked, “Why would they want to do that?”
Surprise flickered across his face, and the fingernail went back between his teeth. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to us just now,” he said.
“I’m retiring in September,” I pointed out. “And the department has three good sergeants. You could appoint any one of them and you wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep over your choice. Bob Torrez is senior, and he’s smart, steady, and a good leader. Howard Bishop is no ball of fire, but he’s honest and thorough. Eddie Mitchell’s got his rough edges, but he’d do the job.” I shrugged. “The last thing the county needs is a sixty-eight-year-old warhorse with enough health problems to keep the county hospital solvent.”
“I can’t imagine Bob Torrez would take it any too kindly if we passed him by for one of the others,” Carter muttered.
“He’d get over it. And if he’s got any political ambitions, he keeps ’em to himself. But he’s your natural choice.”
“What about Estelle Reyes-Guzman? You don’t think she’d jump at the chance? Hell, she didn’t lose that last election by too much. If you didn’t want the job, wouldn’t she be next in line? And the way you two work together, you’d probably recommend her.”
The tone of his voice told me what his real worry was, and I took a deep breath.
“If she were staying in Posadas, sure. And a better sheriff you couldn’t have. But her husband has taken a job in Minnesota. It’s a hell of an opportunity for them. I don’t think she’s about to stay behind just so she can be appointed to fill in until the election. I think one stab at politics was enough for her, anyway.”
Estelle had run against Martin Holman in a surprisingly genteel and civil race, and the loss she’d taken at the polls had told both of us that Posadas County wasn’t ready for a female Mexican sheriff.
Carter leaned back again, relaxing. He held up both hands. “Let me tell you what the others have in mind. And I agree with ’em. This all hit us pretty fast, you understand. But it’s a concern. The commission wants you to fill in until November. That gives everyone who wants a shot at the office time to run through the primaries this June, and to go about it without rushing into something they might regret.”
“And gives you folks time to find a candidate you like,” I said with a smile. I wondered who he and his political cronies had in mind, but I didn’t care enough to ask. Martin Holman had certainly been a good, straight-arrow Republican, a member of all the right service clubs. On top of that, he’d turned out to be a quick study. I knew I was going to miss him, and I knew I didn’t have the energy left to train a replacement.
Carter shrugged. “Politics is politics, Bill. The county sheriff’s position is one of the most important ones there is. With all the civil litigation and so forth, we’ve got to have someone in there who knows the ropes.”
“If you want my advice, Torrez is your first choice. Then Bishop. Then Mitchell.”
“If one of them wants to run for the office, then that’s fine,” Carter said. “But until that time, the county commission wants to appoint you. You know Martin Holman’s policies better than anyone else. You know what he was trying to accomplish. Nothing else makes sense.”
“I’m no administrator, Sam. I’m a cop. I don’t even do the civil legwork for the department. Holman always did that, along with Sergeant Bishop and Deputy Mears.”
Carter leaned forward, reached out and touched my knee. “Then think of it this way if you want to get right down to cases. Who does more road patrol work, you or Bob Torrez?”
“He does, of course.”
“And who does more road work, you or Eddie Mitchell?”
“Mitchell, hands down.”
“You supervise them, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Does it make sense, in a county as strapped as this one is
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