“Your attorney’ll be here soon,” said Barker as he unlocked the chains.
Howard, who—in his opinion, at least—had up to that point held himself in check, now let his filthy mouth fly. He didn’t need an attorney, except to sue them for false arrest, and he’d better be out of there by that evening! He had important business to take care of!
“Stay and watch him ’til the public defender arrives,” Barker told Olsen once Howard was safely behind bars.
“I told you, I was on the couch passed out!—” Howard’s voice rang down the corridor as Barker escaped back upstairs. Just as he reached the top, Stacey came in the back door with Sig.
“Is he back?”
The senior officer nodded.
“How’s his arm?”
“He’s had so much whiskey—hasn’t had time to feel the pain yet.”
Bingham and two of the part-time city prosecutors stepped out of the captain’s office. “Great job, Stacey,” one of them said. “You too, Sig.”
Sig took three quick steps toward captain Bingham and pawed at his shoe.
“Get this stinkin’ dog out of the office,” the captain snarled, instinctively giving Sig a little kick in the snout.
Feeling threatened—and snubbed, to boot—Sig latched his teeth tightly to the offending foot’s olive-gray pant leg, sending the captain off balance and to the floor.
“Off!” Stacey commanded, at which Sig let go, took two steps back, and sat down.
Captain Bingham, pulling himself up and away from the nasty set of jaws, flew into an obscenity-laced tirade, demanding that the dog be removed.
“I don’t know what got into him,” Stacey apologized. “Come, Sig.” He slapped his thigh and they both headed for the door.
“That damn dog is off the job until further notice!” yelled Bingham. “And you better get him locked up!”
Clear of the office, Stacey knelt down. “What’s the matter, boy?” he said, sandwiching Sig’s head between his hands. Sig struggled free, crouched to sniff at Stacey’s front right pocket, then nibbled at it with his front teeth. Stacey reached inside to find the scrap of seat from the old Chevy.
Simultaneously, the captain was checking out the six-inch tear in his pant leg. “I knew that dog would cause trouble,” he muttered. “I should never have let the s.o.b. on the force.”
Maryann poked her head inside the door. “Captain Bingham, Judge Demick’s office called to say that Mr. Sands was appointed to be the public defender on this case.”
“That high-and-mighty Demick!” came the captain’s gruff reply. “Always gettin’ in the way.” Then he suddenly realized that his mouth was still in gear without his brain being attached; he was rambling, perhaps recovering from the scare hidden deep beneath his words. And there, peering from behind Maryann, were the two city prosecutors, speechless.
“He’s here to see his client,” she finished. Grimacing as one would after accidentally dropping a baby on the floor, she stepped back and bustled away to avoid the conflict.
The sarcasm in Mr. Sands’ voice was unmistakable. “The Honorable Judge Demick would be interested to know what you think of him, I’m sure.”
“Good evening to you, too, Sands,” the captain retorted, trying to regain his composure. “He’s downstairs.” Sands swung his briefcase around and huffed out of sight.
Meanwhile, Stacey and Sig headed for home. He’d already been off duty more than an hour and was mad at himself for having gone back to the station. More than anything, though, he was puzzled. Why had Sig identified the captain? Had Bingham somehow gotten in the car and contaminated the crime scene? Or was Sig confused? Stacey had too many unanswered questions. On his way, he decided to drop by the hospital to see how Deek was feeling.
“You can go now. Please close the door as you go up.” Sands waited until the door slammed shut before he spoke to Howard, the only prisoner in the small, three-cell jail. “My name is George Sands,” he began, sticking out his hand. “I’ve been appointed as your Public Defender. Are you coherent enough to discuss your case?”
“What I am is ready to sue the pants off these people for false arrest.”
“What were you falsely arrested for?” Sands asked. “They say I broke into their impound lot and shot a cop.” “Did you?”
Howard bellowed out a few choice words, then, just as abruptly,
stopped. “I was passed out on the couch all night,” he explained. “Just ask my old lady.” Howard coughed and hacked, then leaned over to spit a mouthful of thick brown saliva at the open floor drain, half the foul ooze dripping through, the other half clinging to the edge.
Sands shuddered, then turned his attention to his briefcase. “I already did.”
“Did what?” the drunk asked.
“Asked your wife,” Sands said matter-of-factly, reviewing his notes. “She said she pulled a double shift at work and didn’t get home until after midnight. The detective was shot at eleven-thirty. Your house is only six blocks from the station. You could have easily been home by twelve.”
“She’s a lying bag a’ wind!” Howard coughed again.
“According to her, she got rid of all your brew when you were in the county lock up. When you got out you were all upset. She didn’t bring her check home until late that night. You beat her until she gave you twenty dollars, then you went out and bought two bottles.”
“I didn’t beat her....She gave me the 20 bucks before she left for work.”
“Where’d she get the black eye then?”
“Probably fell or somethin’. She’s always doin’ that.” Howard leaned over again and spit. “Sounds like you already got me convicted.”
Stacey made his way to Deek’s room while Sig waited in the car. He cautiously poked his head into the room, crowded with visitors.
Deek spied his fellow officer almost immediately. “Stace, come in.”
“I better come another time when you’re not so well-liked,” he said, smiling at Deek’s wife, Dianne, and their children.
Dianne greeted him warmly. “No, come in Rick. The kids and I were just leaving. It’s past their bed time, anyway.” She began herding the children toward the door. “See you in the morning, dear.”
“Bye, daddy,” two of the children called out.
“It’s time for us to go, too,” an older woman, standing by her husband, said.
“Stace, these are my parents.” Deek motioned to the older couple. “Mom, Dad, this is Officer Stacey.”
“Oh, yes, Deek’s told us so much about you and your dog. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The woman leaned over and kissed Deek.
The old gentleman turned and waved to Stacey before opening the door for his wife. “Keep up the good work.”
“Nice to have met you, too.” The room became quiet. “So how are you doing, Deek?”
“Better than this morning. My reflexes are even better than the doc hoped. He thinks I’ll be out of here in less than a week.” “Sounds like good news.”
Deek’s spirits were up; he wanted to talk. “I heard you busted old man Howard for the shoot.” Mitchell stopped by when they came in to get Howard stitched up, Deek explained. “So how do you feel about the bust, Stace?”
Stacey could tell that Deek had his doubts. He stared down at the crystal-clear water in the cup that sat on Deek’s bed tray. Unlike the water, his mind was muddled. “Something’s not right.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know for sure.” He paused again as he thought. “I’ve never seen Sig so confused. He should have identified everything in the house, including Howard. He didn’t find a thing inside. Before we went in, he was messing with the dryer vent. I called him off for the entrance. He went back after we started a second sweep. Then a few minutes ago down at the station he hit on the captain’s shoe. Bingham took a kick at him before Sig took him down.”
“What did Bingham do?” Deek asked, now very interested.
“Don’t know. Took him off the job, though. Told me to lock him up.”
“Where was the captain during the Howard bust?” Deek seemed to know the answer before he asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t show up ’til we were through. Why?”
“Just as I thought.” Deek gave a weak grin and leaned back on his pillow.
“Deek, what’s up?” Stacey asked, a bit impatiently.
“I thought I recognized the shooter as he high-tailed it out of the impound. I thought I was dreaming—until now.” Deek paused. “It was the captain! I heard his radio echo my call to Mitch.”
Stacey shook his head. “Come on, Deek. Howard’s wife confirmed the whiskey was gone, and Howard had it. I think Bingham climbed in the car and contaminated the scene.” Stacey refused to think their leader was to blame for shooting a fellow officer. “Besides, why would Bingham be out driving that old clunker?”
Deek countered, “Why would old man Howard bring the Chevy back to the lot after taking a hundred-mile joy ride? Then shoot a cop? Howard’s never been violent before,” he pointed out.
“He was violent this afternoon. You should see Barker’s face, and the house.”
“You woke the old fool from a drunken stupor. What did you think he was going to do?”
“Yeah, you’re right. So why would the captain use the car and cut the lock?”
Deek gave a shrug; he was showing signs of tiring. His eyes flickered in memory. “Just before we interviewed Ashley, Bingham got a call. He wasn’t very happy about it and closed the door to talk. He’d told me earlier he wanted to be in on the interview, then, right after the call, he took off. We were the only ones there at the time. Did you notice the gate or car when you left?”
“I came and went out the other way.” Stacey was growing more interested with each passing moment.
Deek slowly drew himself up on his elbows, his face now white as the hospital sheet. “Sig was confused,” he ventured, “because the car smelled like a week-old drunk, but the seat smelled like a day-old captain. Bingham knew Sig would hit on him, so he stayed away from the bust.”
Stacey pondered Deek’s theory. “So why’s Howard’s wife lying?”
Deek lifted an index finger in response and leaned toward Stacey, supporting his weight on his left elbow. “Suppose Bingham saw her coming home at the same time he was there to plant the gun. So he went around back, shoved the gun and sweats up the vent, then confronted her on the porch and told her how she could be rid of the wife-beater once and for all. She wasn’t sure, so he smacked her around a little to help make up her mind. Getting smacked around by the police captain—a big ol’ ugly one, to boot—is worse than the drunken husband. So she agreed to put the old drunk away.” Deek sank back on the mattress.
“Great theory, Deek. How do we prove it?”
Deek paused to take in several deep breaths. “Go see Howard’s wife tomorrow. Tell her the captain sent you to verify what kind of whiskey her husband was drinking. Ask her which hand he smacked her with, in case she gets interviewed again. See how she reacts.”
“I’ll do it, buddy. Now you get some rest.” He stood to leave.
Deek’s head came back up off the mattress, his face a pasty white. “Stace, keep this between you and me. We don’t have a clue what’s going on.” Then suddenly he reached for the basin at the side of his bed and shot a stream of vomit in one side of the basin and out the other, covering the floor.
“You okay Deek?” Stacey turned and darted out into the hall, shouting, “Nurse, we need some help down here!”
Don sat on the back deck, watching the stars and recovering from the constant commotion of the children. A cool breeze rolled down from the hillside and through the orchard behind the home. Don was about to go inside for a jacket when the back door slid open and Christina came out. “Daddy, I’ve been looking for you.” She sat down next to Don.
“I’m just here looking up at the sky and wondering what’s out there.”
“Alan seems to know. Ask him,” Christina volunteered. She’d been included in the family’s morning scripture study and prayers. Don, too, had been invited, but hadn’t felt comfortable joining in. What’s more, he’d never thought God would have a place for him, what with his volatile temper and criminal record.
Don sighed. “I talked to Pauline tonight on the phone. Your grandpa isn’t doing too well.” Don wanted to help Christina prepare for his death.
“I know,” she said. She folded her arms and shivered from the cold. “We talk about that, too.” In a way, Christina seemed better prepared than he was.
He reached out and pulled his daughter close. “Here, sit with me. We’ll keep each other warm.” He engulfed her thin body in his strong arms and held her tight.
A few minutes passed in silence. Then Don and Christina got up and stepped back into the house to escape the night air. The late news had just started, the arrest of the alleged cop-shooter the lead story. They caught, mid-sentence, the well-modulated voice of an on-the-scene reporter: “...with the arrest of Howard Reid of Mapleton, the prime suspect in the shooting of Detective Kiser Derickson. After throwing an officer through the front window of his home, Reid, allegedly drunk, was subdued by Sig, the local K-9 hero belonging to Officer Rick Stacey. Police sources tell us a gun matching the caliber which shot the officer was found on the scene. The suspect has been arrested more than fifteen times over the last five years on charges ranging from spousal abuse to disorderly conduct...”
Accompanying the story was footage of Mrs. Reid leaving the rest home where she worked, attempting to hide from the camera a large black eye and swollen cheek.
“I went past there tonight on my way home from work,” Don interrupted. “The place was a mad house.”
Christina shushed him. “Dad, we want to hear.”
Don headed upstairs to bed. It had been a long, exhausting day.
Stacey returned home, his mind racing with questions—in marked contrast to Deek, who seemed to have it all figured out. He flipped on the computer and accessed the National Crime Information Computer, or N.C.I.C. After entering his code and password, he stopped to think. Let’s see, where was Captain Bingham from? Stacey rapped the desk with his fingers, trying to remember. Deciding that the parameters of the case were too wide, he shut down the system and picked up the phone. “Hi, Jimmy! Stacey, here. Put pepperoni on it tonight....Half an hour? Sounds good. Did you lose anything on the game? Oh....Later.”
Ambling into the kitchen, he opened two cans of dog food for Sig and scooped them into the dog dish, in hopes that this time it would keep the smart aleck from carrying on about the pizza box.