“Once a neighbor, always a neighbor, hey?” She sounded out of breath.
“Am I interrupting you?”
“No. I was doing stairs and wall sits.”
That’s what Patrick should have been doing all winter when he couldn’t run. Ronnie was a better man than he was, and she was a woman. “I’ll make it quick. Perry went off by himself last Saturday up at Meadowlark. It turns out he may have seen Jeannie Renkin’s shooter. He just told us this today, while we were at the basketball tournament in Laramie.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Patrick. Do you Flints wear trouble magnets on your backs?”
He chuckled, even though the trouble wasn’t a laughing matter. “I want to get him in to give a statement as soon as possible, while it’s still fresh in his mind. And this person might have seen him, too. We’re a little concerned about his safety.”
“With good reason.”
“I know it’s a Saturday night, but do you think I should go ahead and take him in?”
Ronnie’s voice was firm. “Let me just shower and grab my things. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
It was a relief she was taking the situation seriously. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
“That’s a hell yes, buddy.”
Chapter Fourteen: Snit
Buffalo, Wyoming
Saturday, March 12, 1977, 9:00 p.m.
Trish
Trish slipped her feet into cowboy boots and grabbed her slate-blue down coat. Brandon was meeting her outside the movie theater in fifteen minutes. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late. She took a second to check her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her door. Behind her in the glass she could see her room. She and her mom had worked together to duplicate her old one, down to copying the blue and tan floral wallpaper and moving her hanging basket chair and burlap-covered, ruffle-edged bulletin board.
Adjusting the bottom edge of her high-necked white Laura Ashley top, she gave herself a smile. The blouse was edged with lace around the neck and wrists, as well as around the tiny buttons, and it had pleats and poofs in the shoulders. She loved it. And she loved the gloss on her lips. Lip Smackers Strawberry. Hopefully Brandon would think she looked pretty.
“Trish, we’re waiting on you,” her mom called from downstairs.
She slung a thin-strapped leather purse over her shoulder. “Keep your pants on,” she muttered. Her parents thought everything was about them.
As she walked down the hallway, she glanced into the bathroom she shared with Perry. He was doing curls with barbells, shirtless, watching himself in the mirror. She burst out laughing. Perry’s face crumpled, but anger quickly replaced embarrassment.
He slammed the door. “Stop spying on me.”
“Like I care what you do, squirt.”
She trotted down the wooden stairs to the living room. She liked the stairs in their old house better. They’d been covered with carpet and were much quieter. On these floors, everyone always knew when she was on the move. Her parents were sitting side by side in front of the fire on the cruddy old couch that they’d had ever since Trish could remember. Some kind of knubby woven material with different colors of tan and brown threads.
She stood between them and the hallway to the garage, hand on her hip. Her strategy was to say as little as she could and get out of there as fast as possible. “Well?”
Her mom said, “Your dad needs to talk to you.”
Patrick scowled at Susanne. It didn’t look like he’d gotten that memo. Her mom had never been afraid to yell at or spank Perry and her, but she saved the very worst of their supposed transgressions for their dad to handle. This isn’t going to be good.
Her dad cleared his throat. “What you told me earlier today, about the threat Mrs. Lewis made to you, and about Ben being out of juvie—it has your mother and me concerned.”
Trish stared at him, willing him to hurry up and get to the point.
“Combined with some of the frightening things going on with the trial, we think—”
Trish couldn’t let that go—she had to know what he meant. “What frightening things?”
“Judge Ellis in Sheridan died, which means the Kemecke trial is moving to Buffalo. But someone shot and killed Mrs. Renkin, the wife of the judge here, on the same day the Sheridan judge died.”
“I know that, Dad. I was there.”
“There’s reason to believe that someone opposed to the trial is killing people involved.”
“Mrs. Renkin wasn’t involved.”
Her dad sighed. Trish felt a sense of accomplishment. She was getting under his skin without even trying. “Not directly. But who’s to say the shooter wasn’t aiming for Judge Renkin?”
Trish stared at him. What did any of this have to do with her plans tonight? “Dad, I understand. But Marcy is waiting on me. I’ve got to go.”
Her parents shared an apprehensive look. Her mom took her dad’s hands. Trish’s stomach knotted up.
Her dad said, “Because of all of this, we’re not going to be able to let you go out without us, except to school, until the trial is over. I’m sorry, but that means you’re not going tonight.”
Blood rushed to Trish’s neck and face, making them hot and tingly. “What? For how long?”
“No more than a few weeks. Probably less.”
“A few weeks?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I’m on house arrest for a month?”
“Not house arrest. House protection.”
She put her hands on her hips. “This is about Brandon’s family again, isn’t it? You think they want to hurt me.”
Susanne raised her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”
Trish shook her head rapidly. “Brandon will protect me. He’s not like his family.”
“But he trusts them. And we don’t. So, until this is over, those are the rules.”
Trish stomped her foot and shouted. “Unbelievable. I knew you’d find some way to mess things up with me and Brandon again.”
Susanne got to her feet. “We didn’t mess things up with you and Brandon before, and we’re not now. Time will pass before you know it. Besides, wasn’t it Marcy you were going to the movies with tonight?”
“It was,” Trish sputtered. “I’m just talking about, like, in general.”
“Nothing is more important to us than your safety.” Her dad stayed seated, looking sick to his stomach.
He hated disciplining or disappointing them, Trish knew. Once she’d ridden off on Goldie and left Perry behind. When Trish got home, her mom had demanded her dad spank Trish with his belt. He took her into her bedroom and whispered, “Yell really loud.” Then he’d smacked the belt across his own knees, and told her, “Don’t make me regret this.” She hadn’t left Perry ever again, as much as she’d wanted to.
But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him this time. Not when it was too late to call Brandon and tell him she wasn’t coming. Brandon would just be sitting there in the dark, thinking she’d stood him up. How long would he wait around for a girlfriend who wasn’t allowed out of her house before he got bored? And what would happen if he ran into Charla then?
“You’re ruining my life.” She turned and fled up the stairs to her room.
Chapter Fifteen: Listen
Buffalo, Wyoming
Saturday, March 12, 1977, 9:15 p.m.
Perry
Perry traipsed after his dad from the parking lot into the courthouse, where they were making a quick stop on their way to meet Ronnie. It was dark and dreary there at night, and there were no welcoming lights on inside. He could barely see his own feet as they came down the sidewalk. It was a little spooky.
The door opened when his dad pulled it. “Someone must still be at work.” His dad smiled, like that was a good thing.
They scurried inside. The building was chilly and dark.
“Dad, I was thinking. If we went skiing tomorrow as a family, you would be with me the whole time and keep me safe.” His p
arents had given him the same “safety” and “new rules” speech Trish had gone nuclear about—he’d listened from the top of the stairs—adding that the person he saw at the ski mountain could have been the murderer. Unlike Trish, he’d said, “Yes, sir,” and “Yes, ma’am,” to them, then asked if that meant he could watch a few more television shows a week. Just Shazam and Happy Days. They’d okayed the first and torpedoed the latter as, “inappropriate.” Whatever that meant.
Patrick chuckled. “Says the same kid who skied off and left his old man last weekend.” His dad had on cowboy boots. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, firm and manly. Perry’s tennis shoes squeaked like a little mouse.
But his dad had a point. “I wouldn’t do that again. I’m pretty good at skiing. Maybe I can give everyone a lesson.”
“I doubt your mom would let you skip church, buddy.”
“Then after.”
“We can talk to her when we get home. Here are the stairs. Watch your step. We’re going to the second floor.”
Perry grabbed the smooth wooden handrail and put his foot on the first tread. The stair well was like a black hole. “So that means you vote yes?”
“It means we talk to your mother.”
Perry knew better than to push it any further.
When they reached the second floor, his dad turned left down the hallway. Perry followed him, holding his nose. It smelled like cigarettes up here. John had pulled out a pack at recess the week before. They were gross. Perry was never going to smoke.
“Do you know where we’re going, Dad?”
“I’ve been here once before.”
They stopped in front of a big wooden door that was hanging ajar. Perry heard a man’s gruff voice.
“I told you last week already. I won’t pay you another goldarned cent.”
Patrick put his hand out across Perry’s chest. He made a soft shh sound.
After a pause, the man hollered, “We had a deal!”
Perry sucked in a breath. The man was so angry. Perry felt a little scared, even though his dad was right there with him.
Something thunked against wood in time with the man’s words. “Powder River Production Company didn’t pay me nearly as much for that ruling as you think they did.” The thunking stopped. “And nobody was hurt by it.” Then, after only a few seconds pause, the man said, “Whether I run for Senate or not is none of your business. Go to Mr. Ochoa or Governor Rawlins for all I care.”
Perry wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but it sounded like this guy had done something bad, and somebody else knew about it and was blackmailing him. Whatever the man did, blackmailing was still wrong.
The man—Perry decided it was probably the judge, since that’s who his dad had come to talk to—sighed. Perry heard a whump, like the sound of someone sitting down heavily in a soft chair. “How much to make you go away forever?”
Patrick turned and gave Perry’s shoulder a soft push. He whispered, “Let’s go.” They started walking as quietly as they could down the hall. Perry was careful not to let his shoes squeak.
“I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”
There was a clack and ring. He must have slammed that phone down hard. Then quick thumps. Footsteps. Coming closer, and fast. Patrick snatched up Perry’s hand and wheeled him around. The hallway flooded with flickering light. The fluorescents buzzed overhead. A big man stared at them.
“What are you doing in here?” he boomed. His cheeks were red, and his eyes looked funny. Like they had a wet film over them.
Patrick said, “Just on our way up to see you, Judge Renkin.”
His dad’s voice sounded so calm. Perry wondered if his dad ever felt scared. He didn’t act like it. He was also six feet tall, though. Maybe when Perry was as tall as his dad, he wouldn’t be scared anymore either.
The judge glowered. “Were you outside my door just now?”
“We were just coming up the steps.”
The judge drilled Patrick with his eyes. “Let me ask you a different way. Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”
Patrick didn’t flinch. “What conversation? We just got here.”
Perry struggled to keep his face from giving away the truth. He’d never heard his father tell a bald-faced lie before. He was always going on and on about a man’s word being his bond, and that there was no legacy as rich as honesty, and other stuff Perry didn’t understand except that it meant his dad really, really didn’t like lying. Perry had lied about his report card once, and he’d been grounded from TV for a month. So, he knew that whatever they’d just heard, it was pretty darn important for his dad to lie about it.
The judge took off his glasses and dabbed at the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, then put the glasses back on. “I apologize. It’s been a tough week. Jeannie’s death. The trial coming. That’s why I’m in here working so late.”
“It’s why we came by, too.”
The judge gestured at the door. “Come on in.”
Patrick said, “Perry, wait out here, please.”
“But I thought you said I couldn’t stay by myself until the trial was over.”
“I’m right here. You’ll be fine.”
Perry was bummed. He really wanted to listen in on the conversation. The visit to the courthouse was turning out to be very interesting. But he was also still scared. The hallway was long and wide with lots of doors. Whatever his dad said, Perry didn’t like being out there alone. At least the lights were on in the hallway. He shivered. But anyone could have come in the open door downstairs earlier. There were a million places to hide. He leaned against the wall and rotated his head back and forth slowly, keeping an eye out, just in case.
Luckily for him, the judge was a loud talker. “Have a seat,” the judge said.
Perry heard the whump of two butts hitting chairs.
“What is it you’ve come to talk to me about?”
Patrick cleared his throat. “I know you’ve just gotten the Kemecke case and have a lot of other things going on, but do you know when it will be starting?”
“I expect we’ll start Wednesday. Your family will be notified by the court before then.”
“Susanne and I talked to the county attorneys in both Big Horn and Sheridan about a trial issue. We never heard back from either of them on it.”
“What was it about?”
“Well, let me back up to the beginning. My wife and daughter feel very threatened by Kemecke’s extended family.”
Perry heard a squeak in the stairwell. It sounded like his tennis shoe. He held his breath and listened as hard as he could, but he didn’t hear it again.
“So much so that your daughter dates his nephew?”
Ouch. But the judge had a point. Perry didn’t understand why Trish dated Brandon, given who his family was and what they’d done to her. Then again, he didn’t understand a lot of the things she did.
His dad’s voice sounded tight, like he was pretending he wasn’t mad. “We don’t judge Brandon for his family.”
“You’re a better man than I am, Dr. Flint.”
“Be that as it may, Kemecke’s sister, Donna Lewis, threatened Trish that she and Susanne would never make it to the trial to testify. And now his nephew and accomplice Ben Jones is out of juvie. With that and the deaths of your wife and Judge Ellis, Susanne and I are very concerned that someone is trying to keep key players out of the courtroom. Trish and Susanne, of course, couldn’t be more key.”
“If you’re seeking protection, you need to go talk to the sheriff, not me.”
“I’m not. Not from you, anyway. I’m here to ask if there’s a chance Trish and Susanne could testify via affidavit. If they weren’t going to testify in court, there’d be no reason to harm them to keep them from it.”
There was a long pause, then the sound of wheels rolling back, and a crash. Perry flinched.
“This is a death penalty case, Dr. Flint. Do you know what that means?”
“Of course.�
��
The judge went on like Patrick hadn’t responded. “It means that if the jury does its job, we’ll be sending Billy Kemecke for the first lethal injection since its reinstatement by the U.S. Supreme Court last year. I am the judge presiding over a case of this magnitude. Juries don’t rely on affidavits when sending a man to death. The defendant, piece of trash though he may be, has the right to cross examine witnesses about the accusations against him. Do your daughter and wife have accusations against him?”
“Of course they do. You know that.”
Perry heard the squeak again. This time it was louder and closer. He turned toward the noise and clapped his hand over his mouth to trap his scream. A mustached man with mutton chops, bell bottom pants, pointy snakeskin shoes, and a maroon shirt with long lapels was standing at the top of the stairs. He locked eyes with Perry for a second, then he did an about face and disappeared the way he’d come. Perry whimpered into his hand.
“Then your request is to be made through the county attorney, not by ambushing me late at night, with your child tagging along no less.”
“Time is short. I’ve already talked to two county attorneys and gotten nowhere.”
“And you’ll talk to ours, or not talk to anyone at all. Either way, the result will be the same.” The judge started to shout. “Because if our county attorney brings me such an idiotic request, he won’t have time to cover his butt with his hat before I kick it and him back out the door.”
Wheels rolled again. His dad’s voice was icy but polite. “Thank you for your time, then, Judge.”
The man on the stairs had frightened Perry so bad, he’d nearly peed in his pants. He wanted to run in and cower behind his dad. But he didn’t have to. Patrick appeared beside him.
“Dad,” Perry whispered. “A man. There was a man on the stairs.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Perry’s dad took his arm and pulled him along so fast it hurt.
“Ow. Did you hear me?”
Patrick let go of Perry at the stairs. “I heard you. People work here during the day. And there are other people in here at night, cleaning. It was probably one of them.”
Sawbones Page 9
