Page 74 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
Pelletier sighed. “We’re going to hold off the official part of the meeting until the sheriff gets here.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Paul looked disgusted.
“What’s the problem?” Hadley looked from one man to the other. “You guys always have trained law enforcement officers as sheriffs up here, right?”
“Our previous sheriff was, yes, a twenty-plus veteran of the force.” Pelletier pressed his lips together. “Unfortunately—very unfortunately—he was diagnosed with cancer. His best chance was in an experimental program at Sloan Kettering, so he resigned.”
“And the new sheriff?”
Pelletier didn’t say anything.
“The county exec appointed a ‘hospitality executive.’” Paul made finger quotes around the title. “He owns more motels, hotels, and inns in the county than anyone else.”
“What?” Hadley didn’t mean to screech. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
Pelletier clasped his hands together. “Arnold Turner is considered quite a local success story. He grew up around here, made his fortune in Florida, and returned to his hometown to, ah…”
“Build a real estate empire and throw his weight around.” Paul shook his head. “He was probably one of a thousand hustlers in Florida, but up here? He’s the Man.”
“The county executive thought the department could benefit from his business and leadership expertise.” Pelletier looked physically pained by his words.
“How long until the next election?” Yíxin asked.
“Less than a year, now.”
“And is he running?”
“Oh, yes.”
The conference room door bounced open, and Turner made his entrance. Hadley didn’t need to ask; the fact he was wearing a suit and was deeply tanned in the middle of December identified him.
“Hello, everyone!” He smiled broadly. “Charlie, good to see you.” He slapped Pelletier’s arm. “And these must be the folks you told me about.”
Pelletier introduced them, and Turner went around the table shaking everyone’s hand. When he got to Yíxin, he held hers tightly and looked into her eyes. “I had a Korean doctor in West Palm Beach. Best physician ever.”
The attorney made a faint sound.
“Okay, let’s get to work.” Turner took the seat at the head of the table. “Brief me.”
They started with Yíxin, who tacked up her photos on a corkboard and outlined Flynn’s undercover work.
“This wasn’t official, though? This was kind of a sideline y’all were pursuing?”
“It was the continuation of an official investigation,” Yíxin said firmly.
“Fine, fine!” Turner waved his hand. “I like initiative. Go on.”
Hadley took up the narrative at the whiteboard, listing the dates and activities as she and Van Alstyne, and then Paul, tracked down the militia encampment.
“And they may be camping up there illegally? You need a permit for a big group, don’tcha?”
Pelletier nodded. “We’ve checked with the DEC. No permits have been issued for Santanoni Preserve.”
Paul handed Turner the medical examiner’s report and told how they had found Pierre Laduc’s body. Hadley was impressed with his restraint. If she hadn’t known, she never would have guessed he was talking about a well-loved relative.
Then it was Yíxin’s turn again: the hunting shack, and the radio repeater, and the trucks with snowmobile trailers.
Turner looked at Pelletier. “Did we run those license plate numbers?”
