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When I ran for Sheriff of Wabash County, Illinois, I knew that I would be taking a step back from the grind and hustle of working in a metropolis like Chicago. I even expected that I’d feel like a fish out of water. I anticipated the slowness. The limited scope of the crimes. The paperwork.
I prepared for all of that.
What I did not prepare for was howridiculousit gets down here. First, it’s calls about a cat crossing onto someone’s property when they’ve “told the cat not to.” Then, it’s suspicions of a peeping Tom that turns out to be the shadow of a balloon caught on a gutter.Now, it’s stolen deer bones.
If this “crime” follows the pattern, maybe it’s possible Constance misplaced them.
My radio goes off. “Sheriff Unit 3, this is Unit 727, do you copy?”
I give Constance an apologetic look. “Give me a second.”
She sniffs the air, but does not budge.
“Unit 727, this is Sheriff Unit 3. Go ahead.”
“Ummmm…” The officer’s hesitation crackles through the speaker. I resist an eye roll. Things down here don’t operate nearly as strict as they do in the city and time is apparently never of the essence. “We got a 10-54 at 5 Sycamore Road in Horace Township.”
My heart speeds up. A 10-54? That’s a possible dead body.
“At least I think it’s a 10-54.” He’s obviously a rookie, still getting a handle on things.
I turn away from Constance, trying to have at least some semblance of privacy in this conversation. “What do you mean youthinkit’s a 10-54?”
“Well, it’s just bones. Is there code for just bones?”
“Bones?!” Constance screeches from behind me.
I grit my teeth. “Officer, just stick with the code, all right?”
“Got it, boss. I mean—Sheriff.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder. Constance juts her face toward mine, her eyes wide. “The bones! They could be my bones.”
I shrug her off. “Relax, would you? Give me a—” I huff in frustration and say into my radio, “Be there as soon as possible, Unit 727.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Unit 3. Unit 727 ou-out.”
The radio goes silence and I roll my head back. Great. Now I havemorebones to worry about and a bone fanatic on my hands.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Chaplin, I’m going to have to go attend to this and?—”
“Well, I’m going with you,” Constance says.
I smile. “Ha. No you’re not.”
I head toward the door to the entry way, but Constance heads me off at the pass. She’s quicker than I’d expect. “What do you mean?! This could the answer to the case and?—”
“I’m afraid that we’re potentially looking at an actual dead body,” I say firmly.
She shakes her head. “Not in Horace.”
“What do you mean ‘Not in Horace?’”
“I meannot in Horace. People aren’t murdered in Horace, they’re?—”
“People die everywhere, Dr. Chaplin. For all different reasons. And who knows, maybe this will be the first in Horace,” I say. “Now, I’m sorry to excuse myself, but?—”
I try to sidestep her again, but she weaves in front of me. I try the other way and again, she stops me.
