He was becoming a public embarrassment, and we don’t like embarrassments here in Jackson.”
“What do you mean?” Joe felt a coldness growing inside.
“He was arrested twice for driving drunk. That was after a half dozen warnings. He spent a night in my jail when he was so blitzed he couldn’t even get out of his own truck. He was arrested again just a couple of weeks ago for threatening one of our local business leaders.”
“Will?” Joe asked, incredulous.
“Will. I arrested him myself out at the ski resort, where he was having the argument. Bet you didn’t know that?”
“No,” Joe said, “I didn’t know that.” He doubted that Trey did either, or he would have told Joe.
“Will just kept getting worse. I could see it coming.”
Tassell gestured toward the room. “And so could anybody who knew him. He was in a death spiral and it was only a matter of time.
“The ME concluded that Will’s death was suicide,” Tassell said. “There’s no doubt about it at all, if that’s what you were thinking. He got drunk, ate dinner, and shot himself at his table. Simple as that. There was a photo of his family on the table, which was probably the last thing he looked at. His fingerprints were the only prints on the gun.”
“Is it true that all he ate was meat that night?”
Tassell looked at Joe quizzically. “Where did you hear that?”
“Just a rumor.”
“Yeah, it’s true. He cooked himself up quite a bunch of meat that night. All of the frying pans were dirty, and there was meat still on his plate when he died. It smelled pretty good in there, actually. But so what?”
“I’m not sure,” Joe said.
“It’s not that unusual, is it?” Tassell asked. “Hell, I do it myself. I ask the wife about once a month for what we call ‘the Meat Bucket’ dinner. Steak, pork, elk sausages. Maybe a piece of bread. She doesn’t like it—she’s a healthfreak type—but she cooks it up.”
“There wasn’t an autopsy?”
Tassell shook his head. “No need. The cause of death was clearcut. We don’t do autopsies in Teton County when the cause of death is obvious. We have to watch our budget too.”
Of course—so you can afford diversity training workshops, Joe thought but didn’t say. He wondered how many murders there had been on Sheriff Tassell’s watch. Joe couldn’t recall hearing of any recently in Teton County.
As if reading Joe’s mind, Tassell went on, “We lose a couple of people a year here, but not because of crime. A tourist or two may drown in the whitewater, or a skier might crash into a tree, or a ski bum will overdose on a slick new designer drug. But just because we don’t have major crime doesn’t mean we’re not trained to handle it. This is a tight little community, and there are important people here with lots of money and influence. They don’t like things happening that take place in bad country and western songs, you know? Those things should be left to the rest of the state. And they don’t like bad news, either, because this is their special playground.”
Joe watched Tassell carefully. What exactly was he getting at?
“This place is special,” Tassell said. “We’ve got the highest per capita income than any county in the U.S., because of all the millionaires and billionaires. There are people here who don’t think they need to play by the rules.
And you know what,” the sheriff said, arching his eyebrows, “they don’t. They don’t like a sloppy suicide happening in their town. Neither do I.”
“I’m confused,” Joe said.
Tassell looked away. “What’s done is done. I don’t want it dredged up again.”
“You think I’m going to do that?”
“Maybe. That’s what Barnum said you’d do.”
Joe paused before responding. Tassell was obviously warning him off, but was it because there was something to hide or simply because a further inquiry would look bad and attract unwanted attention? Joe guessed the latter.
“Don’t worry,” Joe said. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve got anything to fear from me.”
“Let’s hope not,” Tassell said with finality. “Let’s hope not.”
Then he excused himself, saying, “I want another hit of that cheese.”
“About those keys,” Joe said.
“Come by the office around five,” Tassell said. “We should be done with our workshop by then.”
Joe watched as Randy Pope gave Susan Jensen a long hug. Joe thought Pope held the clench three beats too long, moving it into the category of inappropriate behavior. Susan didn’t appear to be hugging back.
Finally, Pope said something sincere to her and took his leave. As he passed Joe, Pope looked up.
“On behalf of the department, right?” Joe said.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Pope snapped, his face flushing pink.
Susan Jensen worked her way through a group of wellwishers and walked purposefully up to Joe and said, “May I have a few minutes, please?”
