“There's dried blood on the back floor.” “How do you know?” “Clete and I were inside it … Clete salted the shaft but the Lafayette cops didn't find what they were supposed to.” “I don't believe what you're telling me.” “You said you wanted it straight.” “This is the last time we're going to have this kind of conversation, sir.” I picked up my mail and walked down to my office. Five minutes later the sheriff opened my door just far enough to lean his head in. “You didn't skate after all,” he said. “Sweet Pea's lawyer, what's his name, that grease bag from Lafayette, Jason Darbonne, just filed a harassment complaint against you and the department. Another thing, too, Dave, just so we're clear on everything, I want this shit cleaned up and it'd better be damn soon.” I couldn't blame him for his anger.
