There was a space of about five yards between the two men, but it seemed like it took Evan’s words several minutes to cross that distance. Quillen stood frozen, his face unreadable. Evan had time for an image to pop into his mind – an old grandfather clock, ticking away the seconds. Then, the upturned corner of Quillen’s lip twitched even higher, and he responded.
“There were actually two individuals who had access to that file, Sheriff Caldwell. One of them is so well liked and trusted by the good people of this county that he has been elected to the county commission eleven times. The other one just drifted into town a few months ago. If there are any questions about stolen evidence or other unsavory behavior, which of those two men is more likely to be suspected of misconduct?”
“I didn’t say anything about misconduct, sir.”
“Well, your tone implied it.”
“My tone implied that it’s been a rough week and I could use that file,” Evan said. “Nothing else.”
“I know you have a lot on your mind just now, so we’ll let it slide.” Quillen said this without his smile faltering in the least. Before Evan could respond, Quillen said, “Again, congratulations on a well-run investigation. I will see myself out.” Then he turned to the door and left.
Evan looked at Goff, who shrugged. “You ever rub anybody the right way?” the old man asked.
Evan was coming up with a quip when his intercom buzzed.
“Yeah,” he said as he depressed the button.
“This is Vi,” said Walter Cronkite.
“Yes, Vi.”
“Chief Beckett is on the line for you.”
Evan connected the call. “What’s up?”
“You might as well come on back out here,” Beckett said.
“Why?”
“Tommy’s politely requested two things: a PB&J, and another talk with you.”
“That was fast,” Evan said.
“I’d hurry before he changes his mind,” Beckett said.
Evan hung up on him, grabbed his cell, a pen and his smokes from his desk, and hurried out to Vi’s office. She looked up at him as he stopped short by her desk. If there hadn’t been carpet, Goff would have slammed into him.
“I need a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he said.
Ten minutes later, a waxed paper parcel in hand, Evan strode down the hall with Goff on his heels.
“Goff, I need you to take that search warrant and a couple of deputies and get on over to Morrow’s house,” he said over his shoulder.
“On it,” Goff answered. He stopped short behind Evan again as Evan came to a stop in front of the main staff area, where half a dozen deputies either sat at their desks or stood at the coffee counter.
“Listen up!” Evan said loudly. Everyone stopped and gave him their reluctant attention. “I apologize for assuming that someone here had roughed up a prisoner. I apologize that the sheriff is dead. I apologize that I got shoved into his job, and I apologize that I’m from Miami.”
Evan looked at each man in turn before going on. “I don’t care about being the damn sheriff. I’m just trying to do my job. I don’t have the luxury of quitting rather than taking Hutch’s place. I have…responsibilities and I need my paycheck, just like the rest of you.”
A couple of guys shrugged, one nodded, but in a noncommittal way. Peters, who was standing by the coffee machine with his arms across his chest gave out a grunt. “Well, I reckon I would have beat his ass, but it was the Master Chef finals and I had to get home,” he said.
Evan tried not to smile, but did so anyway. “Well, I’d appreciate it if my apology spread as fast as everything else around here,” he said, and headed for the front doors.
TWENTY-FOUR
OFFICER PRUITT MET EVAN in the lobby of the police station, then led him back to Beckett’s office. The Chief had his black Justin ropers propped on his desk, next to two plates of peach pie.
“I had Becky fix a plate for you, too, Bigtime,” Beckett said. “I don’t often do that.”
“Are we celebrating?” Evan asked.
“Not yet,” Beckett said. “Let’s see what the kid has to say, first.” He swung his feet down off the desk and led Evan to the interview room. Another officer was standing against one wall, swiping at his phone. Tommy was staring at the wall until they entered, then looked over at them as Evan closed the door.
“Thanks, Jake, you can go,” Beckett said to the officer.
Evan waited until the door closed again, then held out the wax paper package to Tommy. “I brought you your sandwich, Tommy,” he said.
“Oh, thank you,” Tommy said, taking it in both hands. He put it down on the table, and Evan reached over.
“Let me unwrap that for you.” He opened up the wax paper, smoothed it out, then sat down across from Tommy.
The desperation that had colored Tommy’s face earlier was gone, replaced by a calm resolve. On the table between them sat a tape deck that looked like it had been manufactured in the early 80’s, and probably ran on D cells. Beckett punched a button and slid it to the side.
“You were right, what you said before. You were right about that. It just took me a little while to realize it,” Tommy said, and then took a bite of his sandwich before he continued. “Strawberry. He made me promise not to tell what happened. He said if I told anyone, it would all be for nothing. But, he also swore to me, he swore there was no way I’d get blamed for this. He said he’d thought it all out and no matter what, I couldn’t get caught. “
“He played you, Tommy,” Evan said. “No matter what else may be true about this situation, that’s what matters now. Your partner in this set you up to take the fall. You don’t owe him anything. You help us nail him and I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Tommy shook his head. “No, man, you don’t get it,” he said. “You can’t nail him, because he’s dead.”
Evan shot a look over to Beckett, who just raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
To Tommy, Evan said, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
But in the back of his mind, he was suddenly worried that maybe he understood a little too well. Tommy and Hutchins were the only two people they’d tied to this case.
“I told you I didn’t murder nobody,” Tommy said after swallowing another huge bite. “It wasn’t murder, it was suicide. I mean, sure, I pulled the trigger, but he wanted me to, begged me to. That’s why he got me released early. It was part of our deal.”
Evan narrowed his eyes, searching Tommy for any tell or hint that the kid was fabricating. He could find none. Behind Tommy, Beckett mouthed the words, “What the hell?” Evan gave him a slight but bewildered shake of the head.
Evan took a deep breath and let Tommy’s words sink in. He sat back in his chair, let the breath out, then pulled a note pad from his jacket pocket. “How about you start at the beginning, Tommy. It sounds like there’s a lot of story we need to hear.”
Tommy nodded. “I guess you would piece enough of it together, you know, over time, so that it wouldn’t matter if I told you or not. It all made sense when Hutch told me. I mean, not at first. At first, it was just nuts, you know, I thought he was messing with me. You know how cops are,” Tommy laughed. It was a self-deprecating, sad sound.
“But then he told me what he would do for me, and how we would do it, and why he wanted it done, and it all kinda just made sense. I mean, he was, like, an authority figure. He was coach and sheriff. We always did what Hutch told us to, you know, growing up. So, when he comes and tells me he can get me out of jail and keep my brother in college and all I gotta do is…well, he didn’t spell it out at first, not the whole thing, you know, until I was already caught up in it, and then it was too late. I was committed, you know, past the point of no return, or whatever.”
“Hutchins told you ‘all you gotta do…’ was what?” Evan asked.
“He said, he told me there was this real bad guy, this guy that did terrible things and he needed to be put down, right, li
ke vigilante justice type stuff, like super hero type stuff. That’s the way he sold it, see. He said there was this real bad dude. Somebody needed to kill him, but Hutch said he couldn’t do it, said it was complicated. But he said I would be able to get close to the bad guy and put him down and no one would ever suspect me. And the world would be a better place once this bad dude was dead.”
Evan felt slightly nauseous. He wanted a smoke.
“Anyhow, I drove out there that night when he called, just like he told me, but when I got there it was just me and him,” Tommy said. “He was standing by his truck, just leaning on it. And when I asked him where the other guy was, he said there wasn’t no other guy.”
“Damn,” Evan heard Beckett whisper, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Tommy.
“He took out this pair of gloves and give ‘em to me, and then he handed me this gun wrapped up in a towel. And he said I had to shoot him.”
Evan let out a slow, even breath. “Did he say why?”
“Cause he couldn’t stop beatin’ up his wife,” Tommy said slowly. “He said he tried, tried real hard, but he couldn’t quit it. He said he loved her an’ knew it was all wrong, but he just couldn’t quit.” An uncharacteristic hardness settled over the kid. Evan thought it made him somehow ugly, the way a friendly dog will sometimes turn ugly if it’s on its own too long. “And he knew how I felt about my momma.”
Tommy swallowed hard. His eyes moistened and he blinked the tears away.
“What about your mother, Tommy?”
“He knew I felt real bad cause I didn’t do somethin’ to stop it,” Tommy said. “He knew it scared me to death when my daddy beat on her. And one night he beat on her, and me and my brother hid on the back porch, just listening. And when I got up lookin’ for my breakfast the next morning, she was just layin’ there dead in her bed.”
Evan glanced up at Beckett, but Beckett’s eyes were on Tommy, his face unreadable.
“I was real scared at first,” Tommy said. “When Hutch gave me that gun I was shakin’ so bad and I said I couldn’t do it, couldn’t do it at all, but he said if he did it himself his wife wouldn’t get no money from the sheriffs, and she deserved to get that money. He said she deserved a lot more, but it was all he could give her.”
Tommy looked down at the second half of his sandwich, but he didn’t feel like eating it anymore. Then he looked back up at Evan.
“But then he told me that it was my big chance,” he said.
“To what? Help your brother?”
“To make it up. To do the right thing. He said I might not of helped my momma, but I could redeem myself. I could be a man and do the right thing.”
Evan sighed, looked down at his note pad. He hadn’t taken a single note. “So then what happened?” he asked.
“He got down on his knees. Down there in the dirt, and he was prayin’. I was still real scared, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t. But I let him pray a while, and I thought about how scared I had been when daddy was beating up momma. And I thought about how scared she must have been, and how she looked when we found her. And then I shot that gun.” He sat up straighter in his chair, pushed his skinny little shoulders back. “I shot that gun and I got redeemed.”
Silence settled over the room, slowly, the way silence settles over the night after a gun has gone off. The echoes of Tommy’s story hovered around the room like a conversation between ghosts.
Eventually, Evan said, “Tommy, we’re gonna take a little break.” He looked up at Beckett. “I need a cigarette.”
Beckett nodded and headed for the door.
“You shouldn’t smoke, Sheriff,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Ain’t any good to anybody, those things.”
Evan nodded as he slipped out the door.
TWENTY-FIVE
BECKETT ASKED THE RED-HAIRED officer to go back in and mind Tommy Morrow, then he and Evan stepped outside. They smoked in silence for at least two minutes before Evan spoke.
“Hutchins manipulated that kid,” he said.
“You brought that boy out to my station for a little ‘objectivity,’ remember?” Beckett said. “Let me offer some of that to you now. Tommy Morrow put a .45 caliber handgun to a man’s head, a sheriff’s head, and pulled the trigger, knowing full-well what he was doing. At that point, the ‘why’ ceases to matter. You have him for murder in the first, and it’s going to be real hard for him or anyone else, to argue that down to manslaughter, or self-defense, or anything else. Really, this is murder of a law enforcement officer and conspiracy. That kid’s dead in the water.”
“I already get all that,” Evan said, lighting another cigarette.
“You even hint at suicide and it’d be like drop-kicking a hornet’s nest into a bus-full of preschoolers. It won’t be line of duty anymore. Not only that, but Hutch committed conspiracy. Since he hired some poor kid to blow his brains out instead of doing it himself, Marlene’s not even gonna get the life insurance.”
Evan slowly exhaled. Something slimy was creeping up his spine. “What are you getting at, Beckett?”
“Marlene getting screwed, this kid getting the death penalty, that doesn’t help anybody.”
“It’s not about helping or not helping, it’s about the law.”
“Don’t preach to me, Hollywood. I’ve been enforcing the law since before you lost your virginity,” Beckett snapped. “But what does humiliating Marlene accomplish for the law? Her being broke as hell after all the crap she took? I hated that man, but this might be the one damn thing he did that I can almost respect.”
Evan swallowed and looked away, stared at the boarded-up feed store across the street.
“Look, Caldwell, I know where you’re coming from, and believe it or not, I’m not much for bending the law as it suits me, either,” Beckett said. “But if we can get that kid to change his story a bit, leave the suicide thing, the abuse, out of it, he might be able to live to see forty, Marlene might get to live the rest of her days with some kind of peace, and your little sheriff’s office over there gets to keep its pride.”
“I don’t care about pride,” Evan said.
“It’s not about you,” Beckett said. He lit another cigarette himself. “Let me ask you something. Who benefits from knowing what we just heard?”
Evan cut his eyes at Beckett. “We have an obligation to do our jobs. Tommy killed Hutch, whether we wish that was true or not.”
“And he’s going to prison for the rest of his life for it,” Beckett said. “Does he need to get the penalty for it for the debt to be paid? The kid’s not right in the head, man! He thinks he did something good.”
Evan shook his head. “I need to go for a walk,” he said, and headed off across the parking lot toward nothing in particular.
Forty minutes later, Evan peeked through the little window in the door of the interview room. Tommy was sitting there with a plastic pint bottle of milk in front of him. Across the table, the redheaded cop was scribbling on a piece of paper. It looked like a game of hangman.
Evan moved on down the hall and walked into Beckett’s office. Beckett was sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. He looked ten years older than when Evan had left. Evan closed the door behind him.
“I know,” Beckett said quietly. “We can’t sell it. Tommy can’t sell it.”
“No,” Evan said. “Maybe he could once, for an official statement. But he’s…like you said, he’s like a kid. He wanted to tell the truth. He might want to tell it again, and then we’re both in prison, and he and Marlene are right where they already were.”
Beckett stared at the pencil he was flicking back and forth. “Hutch’s death is gonna be for nothing. This kid’s life is gonna be for nothing. And Marlene’s gonna be poor and pitied.”
“Yes,” Evan said.
Three days later, Evan finally had some time off. Two whole days, like regular people. He’d spent the first day and a half fishing off the pier and buying two more pairs of dress shoes and a plastic tote with locki
ng lid to store them in. He’d visited Hannah, gone to the farmer’s market, and anything else he could think of that needed to be done and might also help him bide his time while he processed his changing perceptions of his former boss, Chief Nathan Beckett, and the differences between morality and ethics.
As far as Hutch went, there was revulsion there, but like Beckett had said, a small, grudging respect as well. Hutch had been wrong to use that poor kid to do what he couldn’t do himself. But maybe he’d really thought it was the only way to save his wife.
Beckett, well, Evan didn’t know if he’d ever like the man, but he wasn’t so sure he had him pegged, either.
As for Tommy and Marlene, Evan suspected he’d wonder for a while if he’d done the right thing. Or if he could have done the right thing a little better. He’d been sitting on the sun deck for almost two hours mulling that one over, and he was no closer to knowing the answer, or sticking to just one.
Plutes, sitting over on top of the cooler, didn’t care whether Evan found any resolution or not. Evan drained the last of his golden milk, and set it down just as his cell rang. Evan picked it up and recognized Shayne’s phone number. His wife’s boyfriend.
He called every few weeks, just to check in, and Evan was still of a mind to tolerate it, though he wasn’t sure why. Penance?
He connected the call. “Hello, Shayne.”
“Uh, hey, Evan,” the other man said.
Evan pictured him on the other end, with his sun-bleached hair and his professor glasses, and his sympathetic eyes. Evan hated him.
When Shayne asked, Evan reported that Hannah was doing well, but doing the same, which really wasn’t the same thing at all. No, there were no changes. No, Evan didn’t need anything for her.
They were all set to say goodbye when Shayne popped it out like an afterthought, which it probably was. “Oh, hey. How’s Plutes?”
That took Evan a second. “Plutes?”
“Yeah, the cat. My cat, how is he?”
Evan looked over at Plutes, who was polishing his armor, and wanted to punt him over the side. “This is your cat?”
Dead Reckoning Page 21
