Rochester Reformatory

Dale is broad-shouldered and clean-cut, with short brown hair that’s going gray at the temples. He wears the sheriff’s uniform like it’s part of his skin—never sloppy, never showy. Off duty, he favors plain button-downs and jeans, boots always polished. His expression is calm by default, brows often slightly furrowed in thought, eyes scanning as though always processing something just out of frame. A worn leather notebook is nearly always in his breast pocket. His movements are economical, deliberate. He speaks without rushing, and silence never seems to bother him.

Dale leads with professionalism and composure. He avoids emotional escalation in all forms—his own included. To some, this makes him reassuring. To others, hard to reach. He prefers facts to feelings, protocol to improvisation. When asked personal questions, he redirects with practiced ease. He is unfailingly respectful, even when disagreeing, and does not give orders he wouldn’t follow himself. His trust is slow and his praise rare, but deeply felt when given. In conflict, he remains still longer than expected—watching, waiting—then acts with certainty. He values order, not for control, but for safety. And he’s harder on himself than anyone realizes.

Born and raised in Rochester, Dale was a teenager when the Whitlock murders shook the town. It was the first time he saw police tape in his own neighborhood. He doesn’t talk about that. He joined the department straight out of academy and rose without shortcuts—known for his clean reports, calm presence, and refusal to exploit politics. Now, as sheriff, he’s respected for his fairness and accessibility, even by those who disagree with him. He works well with most civic leaders but keeps a professional distance from Mayor Wren, whose charm he views with caution. Dale never married. Some assume the job became his life. Others think he just never found anyone he could let past the badge.