Fatal Divisions

by Claire Booth

  She decided to do the women first this time. It was a much quicker inspection on this side. There was only about one female inmate for every four men. She walked along the corridor. Most of the inmates were still asleep. She would be too, in this place. Thank God there was no one of either gender on suicide watch or with severe medical problems. She’d lucked out with that. She gave her nerves a good steeling and crossed over to the men’s side. She was immediately met with cat calls and worse. She kept a bored look on her face and walked the circuit at the leisurely pace she’d settled on the first time she’d done it this morning.

  Earl buzzed her back into the control room. Where Hank stood waiting. Arms crossed. Smoke coming out of his ears. Well, not in actuality, but in spirit, definitely. He must have seen the Daily Herald story.

  ‘Why are you in here?’ The words came out like cut glass.

  She spread her arms wide. ‘Do you see anybody else?’

  He looked around and seemed to register for the first time that the man who’d let him in was Earl Crumblit, desk jockey. Earl stepped back under the heat of his glare. That wouldn’t do. She raised her arm and was starting her reprimand finger-point when Hank seemed to give himself a mental shake.

  ‘Earl. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was you. A little too focused, I guess. Or you’re conducting yourself exactly like a deputy and I didn’t notice any difference.’

  He gave Earl a smile that was pretty good – Sheila could tell it was forced, but Earl couldn’t. He broke into a grin and stood tall, straightening his borrowed coat.

  ‘Now that I’m here to help out, how about you go out and check the phone? Just in case there are any messages that are important. Don’t bother with anything you think isn’t, but maybe just give it a check, OK? Then come on back.’

  Earl gave him a cheerful salute and hustled out toward the lobby. Hank turned slowly back to Sheila. She braced herself.

  ‘I hear there was a homicide.’

  ‘Yes, there was.’

  ‘And you chose not to call me.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  His hands were in his pockets, probably so they wouldn’t be balled into fists. She hooked her thumbs on to her duty belt, relaxed.

  ‘You’d only been gone a day. And you took the time off in the first place to get your head right.’

  He started to interrupt. She held up a hand. She’d decided this morning as she sat in her dark kitchen that when this conversation finally occurred, no words would be minced.

  ‘No. That’s why, and we both know it. And twenty-four hours is nowhere near enough time to accomplish that. You needed a break. By telling you about the murder, I would have been ensuring that you didn’t take one. You would’ve come back immediately.’

  To his credit, he didn’t argue that point. He argued another one.

  ‘I’m the damn sheriff. I need to be here. Regardless of the supposed necessity of my time off. I need to be here. There are public duties that are part of this kind of thing.’

  ‘Duties that you hate.’

  He glared at her. His hands were still in his pockets. He started to pace. He could only go three strides each way in the little room. He did that a few times and then slowly turned.

  ‘You knew I would react this way, right? Which, let’s be honest, isn’t a great mood for me to be in, considering my “need for a break”. So why risk it? Why risk more distress to me by keeping me out of a homicide case? You’re always the one weighing the scales. Did it occur to you that not telling me might have a greater cost than telling me?’

  Now he was standing stock still, staring at her.

  He thought this was a very valid analysis. But Sheila just stood there, silent.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  She patted at her hair for the third time. He doubted she even realized she was doing it. It usually meant she was flustered, but other than that hand movement she looked calm as pie. It was not helping his temper.

  ‘There is a command structure, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is. And when you are out of pocket, I’m in charge.’

  He raked his hand through his hair. ‘No. I wasn’t that. I wasn’t even halfway across the state.’

  Now he got the eyebrow, arched above her brown eye like a sarcastic question mark. She was going to stick with that ridiculousness: he wasn’t in command when the killing occurred and didn’t have to be informed. He thought about insubordination. There was no going back if he uttered that word, though. His fingers dug into his palms as he jammed them back into the pockets of his jeans and tried to pace again.

  ‘I know you don’t think you were that bad,’ she finally said. ‘That you were going about things just like normal, and no one could tell that you were upset over the car crash.’

  He stopped pacing.

  ‘And that’s not true,’ she said. ‘Everyone could see it. The line deputies, the civilian staff, everybody. And those kinds of people don’t get worried, Hank. They get unsure. They get doubtful.’

  ‘Doubtful? About what? I’m here, I’m fully present. If anything, doubt would be caused by me not being here.’

  She shook her head and took a breath.

  ‘No. It’s the opposite. They saw the shape you were in. And the doubts were starting – about your ability to lead, your ability to handle tough situations. If I’d called you back for the murder, none of that would’ve changed. It would’ve been on even greater display. You’d have started … you’d have started to lose your authority.’

  It was like ripping a Band-Aid off a still bloody wound. Who knew it would end up hurting worse when it was someone else’s rather than her own? She felt behind her for the counter where the computer monitors sat and gripped the edge. Hard. Hank stood raw and exposed in front of her. She wanted to turn away and give him some privacy, but she hesitated – she didn’t want him to think she was being dismissive. She was trying to protect his authority, not undermine it. Because as Hank went, so did she. And no one was more conscious of that than she was.

  He straightened, to the full height she hadn’t seen him bother with since the car crash, and started to speak.

  ‘I think—’

  The buzz knifed through them both, seizing Sheila’s breath and making Hank slam into the counter as he whipped around toward the door. Earl waved through the window. Hank spun back toward her, knowing the room was soundproof. He seemed to have just remembered the oddness of a civilian in this area of the jail.

  ‘What the hell is going on? Where is everybody? Are you the only one in here?’

  ‘Yes. Which is why I need Earl. He’s been a really big help, actually. We closed to visitors and he’s been spelling me in here while I do walk-throughs.’

  Oh, God, that was what Tyrone had been referring to. Not the murder, but the staffing.

  ‘It’s a sick-out, isn’t it? Because of the new overtime. You. Should. Have. Called. Me.’

  She allowed herself a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me, hands-on-hips glare for that one. ‘Oh, yeah. Because that wouldn’t be stressful at all for your mental health. Hi there, Hank. Wanted to let you know that half your department’s in open revolt. And the rest of them are just waiting to pick over the carcasses when it’s all over. Wanna come back and watch it happen?’

  He raked his hand through his hair. Then, in a masterful avoidance tactic, he reached over and opened the door for Earl. A big smile and a hearty hello and the two men were off and running with Chiefs football opinions. Sheila stomped out. If anybody said so much as a word to her on her rounds down the cellblocks, she’d leave them hog-tied on an anthill.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The drive was aimless. It made Sam feel like he was doing something, taking some action, even though he really wasn’t. He was still almost paralyzed. Usually decisions were easy. Do what was sensible, do what was right. But not this one.

  He could side with the other deputies and keep them from making his
life a living hell, or side with the bosses and keep his cushy gig helping them out. He sniffed, but just because the heater in the Bronco was turning the air and his sinuses bone dry. That was the only reason, he swore, as he sniffed again.

  The sensible thing would be to side with the deputies. There wasn’t much of an upside if he did – nobody was going to throw him a parade or anything – but the downside if he didn’t would be enormous. Plus, these were the guys who taught him the ropes when he started the job, guys he went fishing with, guys who invited him to their kids’ birthday parties.

  But he knew the department was sinking financially. It had to cut costs somewhere. Sheila’s overtime plan was definitely the best way to do it without having to lay off people. Why couldn’t everybody see that?

  He sighed and headed farther east. So there was the choice that was sensible for the department, and the one that was sensible for him personally. He scratched his ear. When he thought about it that way …

  He was thinking about stopping for a soda at the Conoco by the Highway 76 junction when his cell rang. He saw that it was Ted Pimental. He pulled over on the grassy shoulder, took a deep breath, and answered it.

  ‘Did you take a report a couple days ago about a stolen car?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Ted repeated the question. Sam struggled to switch his brain into the proper gear.

  ‘The … what … you … you aren’t calling about the sick-out?’

  Ted snorted. ‘No. I’m patrolling out by Stone County. Someone called in a suspicious vehicle out near Rozwell Road, south of the Hercules Glades Wilderness Area. It matches the description of the one stolen from those folks out off Highway Sixty-five. I thought since you took the report, you could check it out. I’m swamped over here.’

  ‘I don’t have a squad—’ Sam cut himself off. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in a department vehicle. ‘You bet. I’ll head over there now. And any other calls that come in you need covered, just lemme know, OK?’

  Sam took a last look at the fallow field and pulled the Bronco into a sharp U-turn. The location was in the middle of nowhere, but so was he at the moment. He could be there in ten minutes. It would’ve taken Ted more than forty-five. He sped toward the mile marker. It’d be great to recover a stolen vehicle, even if it did belong to those insurance fraudsters.

  Hank was starving, but that wasn’t why he sent Earl out to pick up lunch for the three of them. He buzzed Sheila back into the control room and they stood across from each other, two foes in a dusty Old West town, ready to draw. Except she was the only one with a gun.

  ‘Where’s Earl?’

  ‘I sent him to the Whipstitch for sandwiches.’

  She nodded and stayed silent. He knew she would stay that way – she would not be the first to speak. She had nothing else to explain. She thought she’d done the right thing. He knew she hadn’t. But a stalemate wouldn’t do either of them any good as the whole place went up in flames around them. He softened his stance, leaning back against the counter. He was the boss; he should talk first.

  ‘I’d expected that we would spend the day discussing the homicide and … your decisions. I hadn’t expected the sick-out. So we obviously have a lot on our plate. We will revisit all this – but right now, what’s the staffing like? How bad is it?’

  She told him, and it was worse than the worst he’d conjured up as he waited for her to finish her rounds. Only Molly March was expected to report for jail duty today. And as for patrol, there were two men on the street – Ted Pimental and Derek Orvan. Hank felt like he’d been punched. Only two? And neither name was the one he’d expected. He nodded slowly.

  ‘OK. Then that’s what we work with. Are you all right here with Earl? I can get out and help with patrol.’

  ‘I should be fine. Having another person on the streets would really help.’

  He made no move to go. They were back to the gunslinger standoff in the dusty street.

  ‘When would you like an update on the homicide investigation?’ she asked.

  Thank God. That was how it should be under normal circumstances – the commander gets briefed on important cases. Her bringing it up just like it was a normal briefing showed that she considered him fully back at work. And she was prepared. She gave him a run down in about five minutes. It didn’t take any longer because they didn’t have a whole lot of leads. The victim’s son, who was apparently already a guest of their fine jail facility, looked good for it. But they hadn’t been able to confirm that all of his alibi was no good. And then there were the bocce guys, who hadn’t been completely cleared, either.

  ‘I’m sorry … the what? Bocce?’ He didn’t think he’d heard her correctly.

  That took even longer to explain. He still didn’t feel like laughing, but he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Hey,’ Sheila said, ‘for all we know, one of these yahoos is the killer. So you best keep a straight face.’

  He tried to oblige, which was difficult until he considered how much he would have enjoyed taking this one from the beginning. A jolt of anger hit him because now here he was, nothing but a late-to-the-party rube who’d never catch up. He tried to refocus on what she was saying.

  ‘I think it goes way back. The motive for this. The poor guy’s wife died nine years ago, and that’s when the relationship with the son really went off the rails. Which could just be further evidence that he’s the killer. But … I don’t know …’

  She had his full attention now. ‘Don’t tell me what you think,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you feel.’

  ‘There’s something else there. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s the son. Their crappy relationship was the same as it’d been for years. The only thing that changed recently in Clyde’s life was that damn bocce group.’ She shrugged. ‘My head says Lonnie, my gut says bocce.’

  ‘OK. At least we can be reasonably sure nobody’s going to flee the area while we’re dealing with this bullshit today.’ He straightened from his lean against the counter. ‘I’m going to check out a sidearm and grab a patrol car. Keep me updated?’

  She moved away from the door, which she’d been standing in front of since re-entering the little room. As she did, she gave him a piercing appraisal that felt like an X-ray of his head. He knew she was wondering if he was back on an even keel. He wondered if she’d figured out the answer. He sure hadn’t.

  The way Ted had phrased it, Sam expected the car to be sitting here abandoned. It wouldn’t be unheard of out here in the middle-of-nowhere middle of the county. Instead, there were only tire tracks on the grass shoulder that looked like they’d turned in on a dirt track and then come out again. He walked along the road for about twenty yards in each direction and found nothing else. Then he started into the woods.

  The cover wasn’t too dense. Many of the trees had lost their leaves and their bony limbs didn’t block the weak winter sun. His worn Scarpa boots kept traction on the slick floor of wet leaves. The slightly peculiar rhythm of navigating that surface came as naturally to him as walking across a carpeted floor. And with every stride, he felt himself relax. The outdoors always did that to him. He took a deep breath and then almost choked on the laugh that caught him unawares. He should have been doing this to help him make sense of the whole work controversy, not driving around like a damn gas-guzzling fool. He was an idiot.

  He moved farther into the trees and the narrow dirt track that the car had come down. The tracks were ridiculously easy to follow. For all he knew, though, the car had every right to be here and it was a nosy caller who was in the wrong. He kept at it and got about a mile in. At that point, he sided with the caller. Nobody had business coming in this far. If he’d had something else to do, he might’ve turned back. Judging by the tracks, the car had obviously come out again. So it hadn’t been abandoned out here or anything. But now he was curious. And he figured the more curious he got about something, the more illegal it probably was.

  He finally got to where the car had
stopped. Not very well, either. The tracks cut deep into the leaves and the tires had obviously spun. Sam outlined the world’s worst three-point turn and walked over to where the driver had stopped in the middle of executing it. The car had been perpendicular to the road, with the hood facing the trees on one side of the track and the trunk facing the trees on the other. He walked to the trunk side because nothing was ever dumped out of a hood this far back in the woods. You loaded up a trunk and—

  It had rolled a ways down the slight incline. It was wrapped in black plastic, with duct tape around the neck and ankles. Because it was clearly a body. Sam swore. Loudly enough to send a hawk into the air from its perch at the top of the nearest shortleaf pine. He swore again, then skirted the area until he was around at the downslope side of the body. He hadn’t seen footprints. The asshole must’ve just given it a good shove and not bothered to walk out past the car.

  Sam knelt down to get a closer look. The person was average-sized, or at least not out-of-the-ordinary tall or overweight. Otherwise, he couldn’t tell a damn thing. And he couldn’t touch anything until crime scene got here. He had to walk back up the incline to get a strong enough signal to call Alice. Kurt had a well-known dislike of nature and the hiking that outdoor crime scenes usually required. Fortunately, his partner loved it. She said she’d be out in a jiffy. He watched the hawk circling in the gray sky for as long as he could justify, then took a deep breath and called Sheila. Circumstances – or the crime gods or whatever – had overridden her decision and, whether she liked it or not, he was going to end up spending his day working.

  TWENTY-NINE