Free The Conviction by Robert Dugoni Page A

consolidation of resources, but what it means in practical terms is fewer police and firefighters covering a whole lot more territory. The alternative is private police forces and volunteer fire departments.”
    “Who pays for it if the state is bankrupt?” Sloane asked. “It’s got to cost money.”
    “It does. In this case it’s the citizens of Truluck through a business tax, though Victor Dillon subsidizes the expense,” Barnes said.
    “Who’s Victor Dillon?” Molia asked.
    “Sorry,” Barnes said. “I take some things for granted around here. Dillon owns the Gold Rush Brewery just outside Truluck. You might have seen signs for it driving in. He bought it about twenty years ago when it was failing and built it back up. Made a fortune. Since then he’s pretty much bought up all the land around it to grow his hops, including Truluck.”
    “He owns the whole town?” Sloane asked.
    “Every building.”
    “I thought it was a historical landmark?” Molia asked.
    “That was Dillon’s doing.” Barnes pointed to his temple. “You get the state to make the town a historical landmark, slap a coat of paint on the buildings, and it increases the tourists. More tourists means more business. Everyone in Truluck either leases space from or works directly for Victor Dillon, and they pay a tax to support a private police force.”
    Molia rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s why they didn’t make a phone call,” Molia said. “How T.J. and Jake could be brought before a judge so quickly. Wade and his pals don’t work for the citizens of the state, so those small things you mentioned like due process and civil rights don’t concern them like they do the rest of us.”
    “Technically they aren’t public servants,” Barnes added.
    “So constitutional safeguards just get tossed out the window?” Sloane asked.
    “Pretty much,” Molia said. “They can’t be sued for civil rights violations.” Another thought came to him and he turned his attention back to Barnes. “Why would a town like Truluck need its own police force? I can’t imagine it has much crime.”
    “Ordinarily, it doesn’t,” Barnes said. “Just makes everyone feel better, I guess. Dillon likes things run orderly.”
    “Sounds like a common trait around here,” Molia said.
    Barnes nodded. “Between us girls, I hear you. And I don’t much care for the way Judge Earl does things at times, but he’s the law in Winchester County, has been for seventeen years, and that’s not likely to end before I either put in my thirty and retire or the state goes through with their consolidation and puts me out to pasture. So we deal with it best we can.”
    “I intend to deal with it,” Sloane said, “as soon as I get out.”
    Barnes grimaced, as if the bad smell had returned. “Can I make a suggestion? Hold off a bit longer on that kind of talk. Judge Earl’s got a short fuse, but it tends to burn down just as quick. After he’s had a chance to simmer a while he calms and I can usually talk sense to him. If he thinks he’s getting pushed you’ll only relight his fuse. Let me have one of my deputies get you something to eat and drink and I’ll take a walk over and assess the situation, like I said. I’ll talk to Archibald Pike. He’s the county prosecutor and a reasonable enough fellow. I doubt seriously he wants to prosecute an officer of the law on a contempt charge, and between the two of us, I think we’ll be able to convince Judge Earl to let this one go.”
    Molia looked to Sloane, who gave a resigned shrug. Under the circumstances they didn’t have much choice.
    F RESH S TART Y OUTH T RAINING F ACILITY
S IERRA N EVADA M OUNTAINS
    Jake’s head bounced against the window. He opened his eyes and sat up, fighting to stay awake. Officer Bradley ground the gears and the bus lurched as it slowed into another bend in the road. Coming out of the turn, Bradley shifted again, this time the engine revving as the bus ascended a steep grade,