“Hungry?” she asked.
“Starving.”
“Tired?”
“Beat to shit.”
“Sleepy?”
“Getting there.”
Satin smiled at him. “Welcome back,” she said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Crockett returned to reality to the scent of a Kona and Honduran blend and Satin’s hand lightly shaking his shoulder.
“Time to wake up, sweetie. Coffee on the end table.”
“Wha?”
“Sorry to disturb you, but it’s almost noon.”
“Noon?”
“Yeah. The dozer guy’ll be here in a hour or so.”
“Almos’ noon?”
“Yep. You slept a lot.”
“Jesus,” Crockett grunted, and lurched up on an elbow. It felt like his head stayed on the pillow. “Oh, man. What a headache. Have you checked my vitals?”
Satin smiled. “All I could with the time available,” she said.
“Ugh. Do we have a ferret?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Musta been something else that slept in my mouth. God, help. I feel like shit.”
“I don’t doubt it. You went over forty hours without sleep, then crashed for about fifteen.”
“The dozer guy’s coming?”
“He called a couple of hours ago to confirm your appointment.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s today. Okay, okay. I’m awake. I’ll pour this coffee over my head and take a shower. Down in a few minutes. Which side do I put my leg on?”
“The short one. You hungry?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Poached eggs and toast comin’ up,” Satin said, and left him alone.
*****
The Dozer guy and Crockett drove north up the east side of the property until they came to a marginally cleared strip leading into the land. They got out of the guy’s truck and walked in.
“This is where you came in to work on the north side of the lake,” Crockett said.
“Would you look at that,” the guy said. “This has filled up real good. Heck of a pond.”
“Thank you. I’m in the process of stocking it now. You fish?”
“Ever chance I git.”
“Well, give it two or three years, and c’mon out.”
“I’ll bring my two boys. They’ll thin yer bluegill for ya.”
“How much land you figure we have on this flat behind the ridgeline here?” Crockett asked.
The Dozer Guy looked around for a minute or two. “’Bout three acres, more or less.”
“Good. I need this space thinned out. On the side toward the pond I need an area about a hundred by a hundred and fifty feet cleared completely. That’s where the house’ll go. North of it a ways, I’ll need another clearing about a hundred feet square, with a lane big enough for a truck between them. That’ll be for a helicopter pad. I may wind up having a slab poured there. I don’t know for sure right now.”
“You got a helicopter?”
Crockett laughed. “God, I hope not. There might be one coming and going from time to time, though. Thin the trees out around the two clearings so overhanging branches and things won’t be a problem, leave some of the good trees in the rest of the space. Push everything else into piles around the north and west sides. The critters’ll love it.”
The dozer guy spent a few minutes walking around and marking trees with a spray can of orange paint, then returned to where Crockett stood. “Okay,” he said. “Clean it out over here and back there. Connect them two with a roadbed, thin the rest of it out kindly like a park, an’ lay a good cleared bed for a drive from the house to the road. Right?”
“Sounds good. Use your own judgment. You’re the expert.”
“This being a high spot, we won’t even need a culvert out by the road. Be out early tomorrow an’ git goin’.”
“How long do you think?”
“Two days. No more than three.”
“While you’re here, can you go up by the damn, clean the road up a bit that runs up by the house, and doze a ramp down to the water so I can take a small boat in and out?”
“Sure. We’ll rock it, too.”
“Perfect, Crockett said. “I’ll’ call the gravel guys. When I get the first layer of heavy stuff in, can you come back and roll it?”
“I’ll just bring the roller with me so I can smooth out the cleared dirt real good. I’ll call the gravel pit an’ set it up with them so they’ll git here with the three and four inch rock while I’m still on the place. Put down about a foot of it and roll it right down into the clay. I’ll wait a day, and order enough crush an’ run to give ya about a eight to ten inch bed. After they dump it, I’ll spread it an’ roll everthing again. That crush an’ run’ll set up durn near like concrete.”
“Good,” Crockett replied. “I’ll let you handle everything.”
“You got somebody to build the place?”
“Manufactured housing. They’ll bring it in on wheels, set it up, connect all the lines, and leave.”
“Who’s gonna do the foundation?”
“I don’t know. I guess the guys that did my house.”
“Got the specs yet?”
“They should be here soon.”
“Hell,” the dozer guy said, “If you don’t wanna mess with it, I’ll put in the drives and the pads, pour your foundation, run the trenches for electric, put in the sewer pipe, dig ya a septic pond on the north side a the slope so you can’t even see it from the house, fence it, and clean everthing up so all anybody else has to do is inspect it, hook up the power, an’ drop in your propane tank. No point in you fussin’ with all that stuff. I got the guys and equipment. I’ll contract it for ya.”
“Really?”
“Take a lot a bullshit offa your shoulders and save ya some money, too. Everthang is guaranteed, I’ll write up an estimate and agreement and git the permits an’ stuff from the county. Be ready for that house in three weeks, dependin’ on the weather.”
“They told me that they couldn’t guarantee water and power hook up for two months.”
The dozer guy grinned at him. “You don’t know who yer dealin’ with, do ya?”
*****
Around five o’clock, Crockett walked out on the deck with fresh coffee and joined Satin in the swing.
“How ya feelin’?” she asked.
“Like it’s almost bedtime again.”
“You were exhausted,” she said. “Physically and emotionally.”
“That’s enough about me,” Crockett said. “Let’s talk about…me.”
“Whatcha been doing in there on the phone for the last hour?”
“Controlling Stitch’s life. I talked to the guys down at the cabin place in Arkansas. When they bring the cabin, they’re also gonna bring a kinda combination carport and machine shed. Thirty-four by thirty-four, twelve feet at the peak, completely open on the east, and done in the same logish steel siding as the house. They’re also bringing a sixteen by fourteen foot storage barn, with a twelve by sixteen foot open sided shed roof off the east side. It’ll have the same siding and roof as the house. The specs and sketches’ll be here by the end of the week.”
Satin smiled. “Sounds great,” she said.
“I learned some things putting this place together. The house, the carport and the storage shed will all be connected by a parking and drive area in rock. Spray it three times a summer for weeds, then it’ll be damn near care free. Every three years or so, bring in another three or four inches of crush and run for upkeep, and that’s it.”
“This is gonna knock Stitch on his butt.”
“I called him, too,” Crockett went on. “He said Ivy was all for him moving here. Wants to come out in a week or two and talk about a crib, dude.”
“Ha! Will the dozing have started by then?”
“By then the drive and gravel pads will be done. Maybe even the foundation and septic.”
“Life goes on, Crocke
tt.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”
*****
Crockett was up very early the next morning. Satin saw him and Dundee walking up the slope from the pond. He had an insulated mug of coffee in one hand and a container of floating fish food in the other. She blew on her coffee and settled into the swing.
“Morning,” she said, as he climbed the stairs. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“My sleep schedule’s shot to hell,” Crockett replied, sitting beside her and patting her leg through her ratty robe. “Today should do it, though. Us old folks have to be careful about maintaining our routines, you know.”
Satin gazed out over the slope. “Hungry fish this morning?”
“Whole herd of the little shits. They seem to like the cover I put in.”
“What cover?”
“Oh, I dragged some limbs and stuff down to the edge of the water and pushed them in. Gives the kids someplace to hide.”
Satin smiled. “God, you’re easy.”
They sat for a few minutes before she spoke again.
“How you doing with the shooting?”
“What the hell. The kid didn’t give me any real choice.”
“How are you doing with the shooting, David?”
Crockett looked at the floor. “I fucking hate it,” he said. “I mean, this ain’t my first rodeo, ya know? I’ve killed people before. Several of them, in fact. I’ve killed from revenge, from anger, from pollution control, because I wanted to, or had to, or needed to. But this kid, this kid. He wouldn’t listen. He was so wrapped up in whatever had a hold on him that he wouldn’t listen. I tried to talk him out of it. Gave him a chance. I woulda given him more, but the shithead wouldn’t let me.”
Satin let it float for a while. When it became evident Crockett wasn’t going to let any more go, she spoke up again.
“Did you notice what Shelly said when she came to tell you about the girl freaked out in the john?”
“What? Uh, I guess. She described the girl.”
“Yes, but did you notice how?”
“Not that I remember.”
“I didn’t think so. You were in cop mode. She described the girl the way you would have, if you were talking to a policeman.”
“Huh?”
“You know, ‘white male, six-one, one-ninety, short blond hair,’ stuff like that.”
Crockett thought for a moment. “She did, didn’t she?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting. She say anything unusual to you while she was driving you around?”
“Nope. She was just Shelly.”
“Hmmm. Blond and blue, cute little waitresses usually don’t go in much for copspeak,” Crockett said.
“No, they don’t.”
“Something to think about,” he said.
“Just thought I’d mention it. Right now, I’m thinking about another cup of coffee.”
“I’ll fix the French toast if you’ll clean up.”
“With sausage?”
“Demands,” Crockett said. “Always demands.”
*****
A little after one, Dale Smoot phoned to tell Crockett that the test and autopsy results were in on the Castor boy. The hearing would take place at seven that evening in the county courtroom. He was requested to be there for it and the after action review.
Oh, hell.
*****
Crockett arrived at the courthouse at about six forty-five. He encountered Judge J.R. McPherson in the hallway. The judge was wearing dress slacks, a short-sleeved cotton shirt, and his customary reading glasses.
“Mister Crockett,” the judge said. “I do hope you’re well this evening. Dreadful business, sir. Absolutely dreadful.”
“Hello, your honor,” Crockett replied. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You and your lovely new bride are suitably entangled in wedded bliss, I hope.”
Crockett grinned. “We are, sir. Thank you.”
“Very well. I will see you and the rest of the august assemblage in the courtroom forthwith.”
“Indeed you shall, sir.”
“Oh. By the way. Earlier this day I was unfortunate enough to be verbally accosted by your illustrious mayor. It seems he holds you in somewhat less than what one might call high esteem.”
“You have a real gift for understatement, your honor.”
“If you held only a city police commission, he would have you flogged before you were fired. Since you maintain a commission to the county constabulary, he has little sway over your fate. He came to me in search of a way to possibly dispense with you, sir. I offered him no assistance.”
“Thank you, judge.”
“Very well,” McPherson replied and went on his way.
Crockett entered the courtroom and took a seat in the second row next to Dale Smoot. On hand were the prosecuting attorney, Eugene Macklin, the county coroner, Doctor Kenneth Jacobs, and three or four other men Crockett had seen in the cafe and elsewhere, probably members of the county commission.
Judge McPherson entered the room, without robes or formality, and took a seat on the wrong side of the defense table, facing the gathering. In his company was a lady with a note pad. She sat at the prosecuting table, placed a small recorder in front of her, and took pen in hand.
“Gentlemen,” said the judge, “this is a hearing and report. It is in no way a legal action or trial. Certain facts will be introduced, certain opinions shall be presented, and certain questions will be asked and answered. It is my job to mediate this function. That is what I shall do. I see Doctor Jacobs is in the room. It is my understanding that certain facts are now available to him. Doctor Jacobs, will you come sit with me and disclose your information, please.”
Jacobs took his seat, facing the group.
“Earlier this day I performed an autopsy on the body of one Robert Gene Castor, a white male, twenty-four years old. I found Mister Castor’s death to have been caused by a massive wound from a very large caliber bullet that entered his body from the front, less than half-an-inch below his heart, and exited his body to the rear, parting his spine as it destroyed his sixth thoracic vertebrae. Mister Castor had also been struck by three other missiles, none of which caused his death. I have learned that this damage was the result of one shot-shell containing a one-ounce slug, and three roughly thirty-caliber balls. Additional examination of the body revealed a condition known as ‘meth-mouth’. Meth-mouth is a shrinking of the gum tissue and the blackening, and or, loss of teeth common in those who smoke methamphetamines, or as the substance is also known, crystal meth. Results from tests in the laboratory in Jefferson City confirm that Mister Castor had significant amounts of both methamphetamines and alcohol in his system at the time of his death, and that a sample scraping I took from the body revealed GSR, or gunshot residue on his right hand. This would indicate that Mister Castor had recently fired a weapon.”
A voice came from behind Crockett. “What kind of gun was it?”
“I don’t know,” Jacobs replied. “That is not my area.”
Jacobs was released and Dale Smoot called to testify. He gave a generalized account of the scene, the confiscated nine-millimeter Taurus handgun taken from the scene, the fact that the suspect’s fingerprints were on both the pistol and the bullets it still contained, and a condensed version of witness statements from the club and the car stop on Ninety-two highway.
McPherson spoke up.
“Sheriff Smoot,” he said, “by virtue of what you have learned, was the shooting in question justified?”
“It was.”
“If you were the responding officer in such a situation, would your actions been in line with what occurred?”
“They would.”
“Thank you, sir. Mister Crockett, would you come forward now.”
Crockett related the events of the evening, from his original contact with Shelly through his time writing a statement, to his talk with the Castor boy’s father. At the end of his testimony, one of the co
mmissioners spoke up.
“Officer Crockett, do you carry a handgun?”
“Yessir, I do.”
“What kind?”
“A Beretta forty-five autoloader.”
“If that is so, why did you shoot this boy with a shotgun?”
“I wanted to hit him,” Crockett replied.
“That’s a flippant answer!”
“Nossir, it isn’t. I was approximately fifty feet away from the subject in question. Do you shoot handguns, sir?”
“I do not.”
“The vast majority of handgun shootings involving police take place at twenty feet or less. A great deal of them at less than ten feet. When using a handgun, unless one is willing to practice extensively, accuracy is very questionable. The suspect was firing at me alongside a trafficked highway. A nine-millimeter slug is traveling at anywhere from a thousand to fourteen hundred feet per second when it exits the weapon. The gun he had still contained eleven rounds when he was shot. I thought it prudent not to allow him to discharge those rounds at me or into the traffic on the highway. Nor did I believe it prudent for me to discharge several rounds at him, any of which could have struck a passing automobile. Therefore, I used the shotgun. One shot, no stray rounds, and the suspect was incapable of doing any further damage. All of the city and county police vehicles contain shotguns, sir. They are standard issue. Are there any other questions?”
There were none.
“Gentlemen,” Judge McPherson said, “this hearing and after action investigation is resolved. As unfortunate as this situation was, I deem Officer Crockett to have acted in a responsible and appropriate way. I also congratulate him on his bravery in the face of fire, and his concern for the welfare of others who might have been injured should he have acted in any other manner. Thank you all for coming. This meeting is concluded.”
Behind the Badge Page 17
