by Rick Raphael
Fisher nodded.
Quinn took Kevin by the arm and walked him to the far corner of the room where he conversed rapidly and in a low voice with the younger man. Shellwood nodded several times and then smiled. He turned and walked back to Martin.
"Let's go, sergeant," he said.
Martin took Shellwood out a side door of the Patrol captain's office and into a corridor leading to the detention rooms. Walking down the hall with the officer, Kevin asked, "How soon do you think I'll get into court?"
Ben glanced at his watch. "It's a little after nine right now, Kevin, I'd say that you probably will come in for a `preliminary' sometime before noon."
"What's that mean?"
"At that time the judge can set your trial date, assuming that you plead 'not guilty' and, at the same time, he can set bond if he feels you should be freed pending trial," Ben answered.
"Is there a question as to whether he will allow bond?" Kevin asked anxiously.
"Well, that's up to the judge," Ben said. "But just uessing that in light of the fact that there were no in juries or accident involved in your case and because of what you did later on, I'd say that he'll probably allow bond."
They reached the end of the hall and Ben motioned Kevin through a door into the detention room. A Patrol sergeant moved up to the booking desk. Ben laid the plastic sack with Shellwood's possessions on the counter together with a copy of the arrest report. The desk sergeant glanced at the report and then took Shellwood by the arm and led him to an upright metallic cabinet at one side of the room.
"Please stand inside the cabinet," the officer directed, "facing in this direction. Place your hands on the two arm rests you see at your sides and grasp the knobs."
Satisfied that Kevin was in position, the desk sergeant punched a series of buttons. "You can come out now," he said a minute later. When Shellwood emerged from the cabinet, a complete body analysis had been recorded. He had been photographed, finger printed, retinal image recorded, bone and muscle structure detailed, dental work described and encephalic pattern graphed. All of the information had been simultaneously transmitted to Patrol Headquarters records division at Colorado Springs, to be taped into his file together with his license, violations and convictions. Kevin Shellwood had been booked.
The desk sergeant inventoried the contents of the plastic bag, gave both Ben and Shellwood receipts and then took Shellwood back through another door to the actual detention cells.
Ben headed back for the dispatcher's desk. The newsmen were still there, apparently waiting for Shellwood to reappear. When Ben showed up without the man, they again crowded around him. "Where's young Shellwood, sarge?" "Is it true he tried to bribe you?" "How much did he offer?"
Ben held up his hand. "Mr. Shellwood has been detained in custody of the Patrol until his appearance in court, probably later this morning. I'm sorry but that's all I can tell you at this time,"
"Aw, come on, sarge," one of the teevee newsmen called out, "give us a break. We've been waiting since before dawn. You can tell us a little more than that."
Ben grinned at him and brushed the three chevrons on his sleeve. "I've put in a good many years getting these stripes," he said. "Any discussion of any Thruway violation case by an officer means automatic dismissal. Sorry, gents. I've got nothing more to add to what I've already told you." He turned his back on the crew and signaled to the dispatcher.
The grumbling newsmen gathered up their gear and streamed out of the room in search of a new lead to the story.
A half dozen other Patrol officers were checking assignments at the dispatch counter. On the wall behind the dispatcher, a mural-sized map of the western segment of the North American continent was emblazoned with lighted paths indicating the many Thruways that crisscrossed the land. Varied colored lights and symbols along the Thruways showed road conditions, repairs and other out-of-the-ordinary situations that would affect traffic on the roads. The outgoing Patrol officers made notes of the changes on their patrol logs. On another wall was an illuminated dispatch board with car numbers, the names of the Patrol crews to man those cars and their Thruway assignment. Car 56—Beulah—and her crew, wouldn't be back on the board for five days while the cruiser was given a thorough going-over by the shop crews and re-serviced and re-supplied. Three of the days ostensibly were for rest and relaxation for the crew before heading out on their next ten-day patrol.
One of the dispatchers came down the long counter at Ben's signal.
"Officer Ferguson is completing the cruiser report," Ben told him, "and he'll file our closing clearance in a few minutes. Tell him, please, that I'll be in the BOQ and also notify Medical Officer Lightfoot that I'd like to see her as soon as she is clear."
The dispatcher nodded and Ben walked out of the building to head for the transient Patrol quarters. The newsmen had vanished and only the blue coverall uniforms of Patrol officers dotted the walks leading to the various buildings of the Los Angeles Barracks. Ben waved at some friends and stopped to chat with two other officers before he got to the bachelor officers' quarters.
He stopped at the desk to register. The clerk assigned him to Room 218 and Ben walked up the stairs to the room. Sitting in the easy-chair facing the door as Ben opened it was Hackmore, the younger of the two attorneys who, had met with Shellwood at headquarters.
He smiled as Ben entered. "Shut the door, sergeant," he said, "and let's have a little talk."
Ben stood in the doorway and eyed the man coldly. "I don't know what you're doing here, mister," he said quietly, "but I have a pretty good idea what you're going to say. So I'll tell you right now—get out!"
Hackmore ignored the order. "I'm not here on business, sergeant, just a social call, you might say. I might add that if you think I came to talk about young Shell-wood, you're wrong. I'm not the least bit concerned about that young man's future. It's yours I'm concerned with at the moment."
Ben slowly closed the door and moved into the room. "What about my future," he demanded.
Hackmore took a notebook from an inner pocket and flipped it open. "Sergeant Benjamin H. Martin," he read, "age thirty-three, eleven years on Thruway Patrol. Graduated in upper tenth of his Academy class. Promoted to sergeant four years ago. Four citations for heroism and meritorious service. Twenty-five hours completed in work towards Master's Degree in Transportation Administration. Salary, eight thousand five hundred, annually. Unmarried. One sister, married, lives in Vermont. Brother-in-law is research engineer with Allied Computers. Parents dead."
"You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble to learn all that in so short a time," Ben said grimly. "Why?"
"You're quite right, sergeant," Hackmore smiled, "we have gone to a great deal of trouble to find out what makes you tick. In answer to your question, let's just say as I did before, we're interested in your future. It has some bright possibilities."
Ben moved across the room until he was standing directly in front of the seated man.
"Mister," he said levelly, "my future has all the possibilities that my career can offer and that I'm qualified to take advantage of. Those are the only possibilities I'm interested in."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so hasty," Hackmore said. "I can foresee a much brighter future for you. You are virtually a trained lawyer; you have sound education and training in mechanics and engineering, you specialize in administration and have demonstrated outstanding leadership qualities. All of these, plus several other attributes would make you a very valuable asset to any large corporation.
As a matter of fact, that's exactly why I am here now.
"Our evaluation of your background shows us clearly that we would be making a grave error not to employ your professional services in one of our several subsidiary organizations. And I'm prepared at this point to offer you such a position with a starting salary of say, twenty thousand a year for a starter. Plus a liberal expense account, of course."
"I just told you," Ben said, "that the only career and only job I'm interested in is the one
I currently hold. Now, get out."
Hackmore rose and stood facing the trooper. "You realize that you're making a very unwise decision. I'll repeat the offer again and remind you that it is open immediately, but that it will only be open for," he paused and glanced at his watch, "the next two hours."
Ben stood aside and pointed towards the door, the muscles in his jaw twitching in his effort to hold his temper.
Hackmore shrugged and started slowly towards the door. Halfway across the room, he paused and turned back. "Oh, by the way," he said, "I forgot to mention that Allied Computers is also a subsidiary of Shellwood Electronics."
He consulted his notebook again. "I believe I mentioned that your brother-in-law is still a research engineer for Allied."
In two giant strides Ben was across the room and had Hackmore by the lapels of the man's coat. Lifting him bodily from the floor, he slammed the attorney back against the wall.
"Let me tell you something," he snarled. "That kid of Shellwood's has got more guts and decency than his old man and everyone of his rotten 'yes' men right down to the cruddy bottom of the barrel that you crawled from. The kid's in trouble, he's committed some serious offenses and he damned near killed himself and God only knows how many other innocent persons. But I think he realizes what he's done and he at least has the manhood to face up to his problem. And not all the dough that his old man could rake up can buy him out of this.
"Now as for you. If I find out that there's been so much as an eye blink in the direction of my brother-in-law or my sister, I'm personally going to find you and push your filthy mind right down into your equally cancerous guts."
Still holding Hackmore by the coat, Ben reached for the door, flung it open and heaved the attorney out of the room with such force that he bounced off the far corridor wall. The lawyer slid to the floor just as Clay Ferguson rounded the corner. The young trooper paused for a moment and looked down at the disheveled and frightened man and then stepped carefully over his legs and turned into Martin's room.
"Company just leaving?" he inquired pleasantly of the hard-breathing, red-faced Patrol sergeant.
At 1130 Kevin Shellwood, flanked by the two attorneys, stood before Thruway Authority Justice James Bell. Spectators packed the austere Thruway courtroom since the news of Shellwood's arrest had been on the vidicasts for the past two hours. At the side of the bench, the court reporter sat with headset in place, riding the gains on his taped recordings of the court proceedings. The crew of Car 56, dressed in their off-Patrol dress tunics, sat beside the Thruway prosecutor. An amber panel came to light over the judge's bench and the courtroom immediately fell silent.
Justice Bell leaned forward and addressed Shellwood.
"Kevin Shellwood, you are charged with driving on North American Thruway 99-south in the vicinity of Mile Marker 3112, this date, while under the influence of alcoholic beverages; you are further charged with reckless driving, ignoring instructions of the Thruway Authority, ignoring the lawful orders of a Thruway Patrol Officer and of leaving the confines of your vehicle while on a Thruway. And you are further charged with the attempted bribery of three officers of the Thruway Authority.
"At this point, I wish to advise you of your rights under this court. Although this court does not waive jurisdiction nor authority to the sovereign countries of the United States of America, the Republic of Mexico or the Commonwealth of Canada, you do not waive your constitutional rights as a citizen of the United States accused in a court of law. You may be represented by counsel and may at this time enter a plea to the charges. In the event you should enter a plea of 'not guilty' you are entitled to trial by jury or may waive such trial and be heard in trial by this court.
"Do you understand both the charges and your rights?" Shellwood cleared his throat nervously and answered. "Yes. sir, I understand them."
"Very well," Justice Bell continued, "how do you now plead to the charges against you?"
"If it please the court," Quinn took a step forward, "I represent Mr. Shellwood in this matter."
"Very well, Mr. Quinn," Bell said. "Do you wish further time to confer with your client?"
"No, your honor," Quinn replied. "At this time, we wish to enter a motion for dismissal of the charges on grounds of insufficient and improperly obtained evidence."
Bell thumbed through the sheaf of papers on his bench, pausing to study one of them in detail.
"Mr. Quinn," he then said, "I have here transcripts of all radio communications between Thruway Control points at both San Francisco and Los Angeles with Thruway Patrol Car 56 in regard to this matter, together with transcripts of tapes recording conversations between the officers of this unit and the accused. I further have prints of video tapes taken during the conversations between these officers and the accused while in the dispensary of Patrol Car 56 at approximately 0100 hours this date. I find them sufficient cause for action to hold the accused. Motion denied."
Quinn flushed. "In that case, your honor, we then wish to enter a plea of 'not guilty' to all charges."
Bell made notes on the papers before him. "Very well, counsellor. I assume then you will seek a jury trial?" Quinn nodded.
"In that case," Justice Bell said, consulting a calendar, "I will set a trial date for three weeks from this day at 1000 hours. In view of the recommendation of the arresting officer, I will further admit the defendant to bail, although under any other circumstances, I would refuse bond."
Kevin flashed a quick smile of gratitude at Ben sitting at the prosecution table.
"I will set bond at twenty thousand dollars in cash or forty thousand property. You may post the bond immediately with the court clerk."
"Next case."
Ben, Clay and Kelly got up quietly from the prosecution table and walked out of the courtroom just behind Kevin and his attorneys. In the corridor outside the courtroom, Clay paused and pulled out cigarettes and passed them around.
Young Shellwood was talking with his attorneys a few feet away. Hackmore nodded and then left them to enter the clerk's office. Shellwood walked over to the trio of officers.
"Thanks for the kind word, sergeant," he said to Ben. "You're welcome, kid," he said. "I just wish you hadn't gotten yourself in such a bind."
Kevin laughed bitterly. "You know, strange as it may seem, at this point, I wish the same thing. I'm just beginning to find out that there are some things that your old man's money and influence can't buy for you. There are some things you have to buy yourself—no matter what the cost.
"But, what the hell, it's done now. And sergeant, remember what I told you this morning. Don't feel badly about the outcome of all this. I'll never stand trial, you know that, don't you?"
"Oh, come off it, Kevin," Ben exploded, "you know you will."
Shellwood smiled and started to turn away. "You just don't know the determination of us Shellwoods.
"Oh, and by the way, I want to sincerely apologize for your visitor this morning. I didn't learn about it until a while ago. I assure you that it will never go any further. See you around sometime."
He waved and walked back to Quinn and the two of them entered the court clerk's office.
Ben ground out his cigarette savagely on the floor. "Come on," he snarled at his crew members. "Let's go get drunk. I need a strong mouthwash right now."
An hour later, Ben and Kelly were seated in a corner booth of a cocktail lounge. Three empty glasses were in front of Ben and much of the tension and anger had drained from him. Clay had had one fast drink with them and then pulled out a small address book and began thumbing through it rapidly.
He excused himself and went to the phones. A few minutes later he returned, reached over and drained the remainder of his drink and reached for his uniform cap. "Got to run, you two. See you in time to roll."
He waved the little address book at them and rolled his eyes up in mock agony.
"So much to do and so little time to do it," he murmured as he hurried away.
Ben grinned at the
departing trooper and leaned back comfortably in the deep airfoam cushions. "That kid's been up all night, worked like a horse, been under heavy tensions for several hours, and look at him. Two gets you five he doesn't get any sleep for another twenty-four hours."
"No bet," Kelly replied. She leaned back and moved closer to the big trooper. "Tired, Ben?"
He ran his hand over his head and sighed. "I guess I am, princess. I'm not as young as that kid and this business is beginning to get me. I've had some rough days since I started on patrols, but God deliver me from another one like today."
Kelly reached out and slipped her hand into his. She rolled her head to his shoulder. "You could always ask to get off Patrol, darling."
Ben smiled down at the golden red hair resting against him and gently squeezed her hand. "Sure I could. I could have been moved to a desk job a year ago if I had wanted to, but I'm not ready to be turned out to pasture."
"Oh, don't be silly," Kelly retorted, sitting up and facing him. "Of course you're not getting old. It's just that Patrol takes so much out of a person that the human body and mind can only stand so much of it. Then something's got to give,"
"What about you," Ben inquired. "You've been riding the back end of these armored hearses for three years now and you get far more of the misery and pain than we do, right along with the rest of the dangers that go with the Patrol. When are you going to quit?"
Kelly looked up into the bronzed face of the Patrol sergeant. "I'll quit when you do," she said softly.
He studied her fine-boned face. His big hand came up and with tender touch, he lightly traced the lines of her cheeks and mouth. "You really mean that, don't you, Kelly?" She nodded mutely.
Ben let his head sink back against the cushions and punched the autobar for another drink.
"Look, baby," he explained, "another year, maybe, and then I'll be ready to turn in my work helmet for a vocawriter. But right now, with the Patrol expanding and the new designs in cars and engines that the industry is turning out, we're too short-handed as it is for experienced Patrol officers.
