Read Online High Country Nocturne by Jon Talton - Free Book Online

emphasizing that the sheriff was “soft” because he was “a Mexican himself.” “What part of illegal doesn’t he understand?” one bumper sticker read, with Peralta’s face on it.
    Melton beat Peralta by ten thousand votes in the Republican primary where the turnout was twenty percent. The county’s population was four million.
    And now he sat across from me.
    â€œI know this is awkward,” he said.
    The server arrived and saved me from saying many unhelpful things. In addition to the campaign, I could have mentioned the Justice Department investigation of the Sheriff’s Office, brought on by Melton’s highly publicized “sweeps” to round up illegals. This had destroyed years of effort by Peralta and the Phoenix Police to build cooperation in a community that was often victimized by crime. Now it was back in the shadows.
    With deputies playing immigration police, response times had risen around the county, even for priority calls. Violent crime in the areas policed by MCSO was increasing. There were allegations of failure to investigate sex crimes. Jail conditions had deteriorated and prisoners had been abused. The county had already paid out three million dollars to settle lawsuits against the department. Local wags were already calling him “Sheriff Crisis Meltdown.”
    And this was only from what I had read in the struggling local paper. From a few conversations with old friends in the department, I sensed things were even worse. That the model law-enforcement organization built by Peralta had been trashed.
    Melton had even changed the department’s uniforms from light-tan shirt and brown slacks to intimidating LAPD black. He had moved into the new Sheriff’s Office headquarters that was Peralta’s handiwork, the product of years of fighting the county supervisors for funding.
    In the newspaper, Melton had called the building, “A sign of the positive changes I’m bringing to this department.”
    The craziest part was that Melton was more popular than ever, at least among the old Anglos who voted. He probably reminded them of their favorite grandsons, in addition to being “tough on crime,” as they imagined it.
    A lazy thinker would fall for it. He didn’t look like a bigoted Southern lawman from the fifties. No, he was svelte and boyish and well-spoken. It would be easy for a lazy thinker to like him.
    I was pretty toasty from the martini with Lindsey but ordered a Four Peaks Hop Knot IPA.
    â€œMake it two,” Melton said.
    I wondered what his constituency in the suburban megachurches and LDS meetinghouses would think.
    Looking around, downtown Phoenix seemed almost on the verge of being cool. From the rooftop bar, we had views of the Suns arena, multiple skyscrapers, and the South Mountains and Estrellas in the lingering twilight. Steps led up to an azure swimming pool. Gray columns were topped with ice-blue lighting that matched the color of the still water. Lindsey and I would have fun here.
    His voice brought me back to the unpleasant business at hand.
    â€œI’m sorry about Peralta.” He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “You probably think I’m a bad guy for the campaign. But it was politics. He understood that. Phoenix has changed and he didn’t change with it. So voters wanted a change.”
    I stared at him.
    He released his arms and shook his head. “But this jewel robbery. Bad stuff.”
    â€œA person is innocent until proved guilty.”
    The woman brought our beers and withdrew.
    â€œI’m afraid it doesn’t look good and the FBI will be digging very hard into Peralta’s time as sheriff.”
    â€œThey won’t find anything but good police work.” I took a big swig and let the liquid burn my insides.
    â€œWe can hope so,” Melton said. “I wanted to talk about you.”
    I put the glass down and said nothing.
    â€œI was sorry