“I could, if I had any more than rumor to go on.”
“Jen saw the report. The one the county administrator hired the fraud consultant to do on Dengler’s department.”
“How did Jen get hold of it?”
Jennifer Pilarski is the administrative assistant to the acting sheriff. She was also my co-conspirator in classroom shenanigans starting in kindergarten and all through school.
“When Bruce Dengler resigned, the county administrator gave the report from the fraud guy to Lamey to review it for criminal investigation. Jen got a peek at it. There was stuff in there about Dengler taking county equipment for personal use, hitting up vendors for tickets to Bucks games, directing county business to his buddies. But Lamey basically said nothing to see here, and that it didn’t need a criminal investigation.”
“I can’t accuse Art of covering up for his buddy without seeing the evidence myself. And I can’t get hold of evidence when I have no standing. I’m just an ex-cop running for office. Why don’t you run a story in the paper?”
“Touché. Same reason you have. I haven’t seen the report either. I can’t use Jennifer as a source, she’d lose her job. No one in the Forestry Management department will talk on the record. Though off the record, they’d all like to see their ex-boss Dengler face some consequences.” I slumped back in my chair.
“Can’t you hit the county with an Open Records Act request for the report?”
“Sure. We already did. But guess who the records custodian is? Don’t bother. It’s Lamey’s cousin. Eventually she’ll have to release it. But she can drag her feet until after the election. And even then she’ll redact the heck out of it. And once Lamey’s elected there’s no way to get rid of him without a recall.”
“I know Art’s a problem. That’s why I’m running. I want to focus on the issues: transparency, community policing, accountability. I’ve got no taste for politics. I want to talk about the good I can do, not the bad that he may have done.”
“I get that. But I just think you could draw a stronger contrast between the two of you. Try it at the League of Women Voters tomorrow. You don’t have to accuse him of corruption—although he’s definitely corrupt. But ask him where he stands on the public’s right to know. Ask him what happened to the Dengler case, and why he chose to close it.
“You’ve got to hit him and hit him hard on candidates night. You already have the edge against him in a visual side-by-side. You’re a half-foot taller and your voice doesn’t sound like a reed instrument gone rogue. I’d keep Kristin in the background until you’re elected, though. If they don’t know you have a girlfriend, the ladies can still dream—and vote.”
Kristin Norcross is an assistant district attorney Coop has been dating for a few months. I like her.
He shook his head, but I was on a roll.
“Talk more about the things you’ve done. The work you did on the drug task force. The Top Cop award you got. The citation for valor when you were with the Madison PD. The murder cases you’ve wrapped up—no need to acknowledge me as your mentor and guide,” I added. He gave me some side-eye on that.
“You’ve got the track record, you look the part, plus you’re smart, and you’re ethical. I don’t know why you’re not running away with this race, to be honest. Even with GO News in Lamey’s corner. You need to own your excellence,” I said, borrowing a favorite phrase of Miguel’s.
I was really getting wound up, thinking of all the things Coop could fire at Lamey, all the ways he could challenge the job he was doing, what a missed opportunity it would be if he stayed with his strong-silent-type lawman persona. Then I noticed the glint of laughter in his gray eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just listening to my mentor and guide. Just listening and learning.”
“All right, all right. You already thought of all those things. You already have a plan. You could have just said that.”
“It seemed better to let you run down than to throw myself in front of your speeding thoughts.”
“It’s just that you’re the best one for the job, Coop. I’m trying to have your back here.”
“I know you are, and I appreciate it,” he said. “But I can do this. You’ve got enough going on without worrying about my campaign. Besides, that’s what my dad’s for.”
“Hey, where is Dan, anyway? It’s eleven o’clock, don’t you give him a curfew?”
“Usually he’s in by ten, but you know him. He likes to talk. Said he was going to Omico to do some campaigning. He’s been trying to get Lester to endorse me. It’d be nice, but it’s a long shot. Early on, he wished me luck but said he was going to stay neutral. Kristin thinks it’s because Art Lamey has something on Lester.”
“Yeah? I like the way that girl thinks. Still, I doubt Sheriff Dillingham has a dark secret. I’m sure Rebecca would have uncovered it when she was digging around to discredit him last year.”
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Rebecca had been the publisher at the Himmel Times, my boss, and my nemesis until she was killed the year before. She had also been Coop’s wife for a few months, and his obsession for longer than that. It wasn’t until after she died that he’d discovered the enormity of her deceit and the lengths to which she would go in pursuit of her goals. She was still a fraught topic. I moved on quickly.
“You couldn’t ask for a more connected campaign manager than your dad. And I mean connected in a good way, not a sleazy old-boys-network way. Sometimes when I’m with him, it’s like he knows all sixty-five thousand people in the county. On a first-name basis.”
“He pretty much does,” he said as he began ticking off Dan Cooper’s networks on the fingers of one hand.
“He’s done construction and finish carpentry work all over the county. He volunteered at every local high school with a building trades program, so he knows kids, parents, teachers, and administrators. He was on the County Board of Supervisors for eight years. And he was chair of the Winterfest Weekend for five years running. That’s a lot of networks.” I like the pride in his voice when he talks about his dad.
Just as he finished, the kitchen door opened, Barnacle’s tail began a happy thumping against the kitchen floor, and Coop’s double walked into the room.
When I say double, I might be exaggerating a little, but not much. It’s easy to mistake a photo of Dan from years ago for one of Coop today. Both he and his son are lean and fit, just over six feet. Now in his late sixties, Dan’s hair is all silver now, but it used to be a brown so dark it was almost black, like Coop’s. Dan’s eyes are a brilliant blue, usually with a hint of laughter in them, in contrast to Coop’s dark gray, steady gaze, but they both have the same strong nose. Their smiles are wide and generous, though Dan’s are more frequent. Where Dan is outgoing, Coop, though friendly enough, is quieter and calmer.
“Leah, hello! You haven’t been around much lately, good to see you.”
Dan came over and wrapped his arm around my shoulder for a quick side hug.
“Hi yourself,” I said, leaning a little into him. “I’m glad to see you, too. Things have been a little crazy lately.”