I wasn’t attacking you before, but …

Just finished a call to the local sheriff, a man I’ve known and worked with throughout my career, of whom I’ve always thought pretty highly. A copy of the department’s quasi-annual state audit was on my desk this morning. The audit looked relatively clean, so I was just calling for a boilerplate quote to round out my seven-inch snooze fest.

But there were two minor comments the auditor mentioned — piddling stuff about bank deposits being a little late. But since he’s a longtime source, I started with that question so we could close out with the easy stuff and move onto family updates and such.

But wow, he did not like that. The sheriff snapped back like he’d been burned, brushing me away for daring to focus on the little negatives when “I’ve had stellar audits here for 16 years and no ones written that …”

Come on. You had the audit sitting on your desk. You knew there were minor problems, things that could be easily explained; all you had to do was explain them. Why yell at me for being the first reporter to ask you the most obvious question, especially when it’s the same reporter who’s faithfully lauded your every groundbreaking seizure of uninteresting contraband the last seven years?

Now, I wonder what happened with that money between the jailhouse and the overnight deposit box? I wonder what other jewels of impropriety is hidden in the nondescript figures I have here.

I’ve never had a bone to pick with the sheriff here, except that deputy who ticketed me for running a stop sign on a deserted road at 2 a.m. But now …

What are you so worried about, sheriff?


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