by Brad Smith
Pulford glanced from Dunbar to Carl. ‘This doesn’t change anything in that regard, does it? I mean, as far as you testifying.’
‘No,’ Carl said. ‘It doesn’t.’
‘Good.’ Pulford watched him a moment. ‘Do you want to go over your statement again?’
‘No.’ Carl looked at the gray sky. ‘Cold out here. I’d just as soon get back to my tractor.’
‘Go ahead,’ Dunbar said. ‘The bomb guys might have some questions for you when they get here.’
Carl headed back to the machine shed. Dunbar and Pulford waited until the team arrived in the van and hung around for a while after that, watching as they crawled in and around and under the ruined truck. The leader told them it was a standard pipe bomb, one that any high school kid with access to a computer could learn how to build.
Back in the city Dunbar dropped Pulford off at home, pulling up to the curb in front of her condo building.
‘Do you think Walker is behind this?’ Pulford asked.
‘No,’ Dunbar said. ‘But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be unhappy about it.’
‘So how did it go down, with the principals all in lockup?’
‘Somebody called in a favor is my guess,’ Dunbar said.
Pulford nodded as she removed her seat belt and opened the car door. ‘Do you think Burns is rattled?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dunbar said. ‘I know I would be.’
She got out and Dunbar drove out of the city again, heading for the jail. He asked for a list of the names of people who had visited the three defendants since they’d been there. Billy Taylor had just one – his girlfriend, almost daily. Bug Murdock had none.
Chino Carter had one.
Dunbar drove back downtown to the station. He downloaded the file and did some printouts. By the time he got back to the farm the team had finished going over the scene of the bombing. They didn’t have much for Dunbar that he didn’t already know. No prints, and any DNA was very unlikely. After he talked to them they packed up and left.
In the motorhome Carl was cleaned up and preparing to do the same. He had the keys to Frances’s car in his hand when Dunbar entered and showed him Digger Bagley’s mug shot.
‘Ever see this guy before?’
‘No,’ Carl said. ‘Who is he?’
‘Probably the guy who blew up your truck.’
Carl nodded. ‘You talk to him?’
‘Not yet.’ Dunbar indicated the car keys in Carl’s hand. ‘Where you headed?’
‘The hospital. Frances has her surgery in the morning.’
‘That’s good.’ Dunbar paused. ‘Listen, the reason I’m here – we can put you up in a hotel until this preliminary is over.’
‘I’ll stay here,’ Carl said. ‘Thanks.’
Dunbar thought to argue the point but decided against it. ‘Then I’m going to put a uniform out here. This guy won’t be back, but I’m going to anyway. You can refuse but I’m still going to do it.’
Carl nearly smiled at that.
‘I hope the surgery goes OK,’ Dunbar said before he left.
The surgery the next day did go as planned, according to the doctors. Carl spent the afternoon at the hospital, and into the evening. There was no immediate change in Frances’s condition. The surgeon had said not to expect anything for a few days as there would be renewed swelling due to the procedure. They also said that Frances would be in an intensive care unit for a couple of days.
Carl put on a gown and a mask and sat with her there for a couple of hours. He told her about the upcoming preliminary. He said that when the actual trial came about the two of them would walk into the courtroom together. He didn’t say much else, just sat there, holding her hand and watching her breathing.
He left the city at half past nine that evening. Driving through Talbotville he thought to stop at Archer’s for a beer but in the end he kept going. When he got to the farm, an officer was sitting in a cruiser in the driveway. Carl gave him a wave and went to bed.
THIRTY-ONE
Dunbar spent two days looking for Digger Bagley. At the time of his last arrest, for possession of stolen goods, he was listed as “no fixed address”. There was a twenty-year-old GMC pickup registered in his name, though, and that was the focus of Dunbar’s search.
He was driving past a south side liquor store late Tuesday afternoon when he spotted the truck parked in the lot there. Dunbar pulled alongside, had a look inside the truck and was leaning against the fender when Digger walked out a few minutes later, carrying a brown bag with a bottle inside. Dunbar indicated the cruiser.
‘Get in.’
‘What for?’ Digger complained. ‘I ain’t done shit.’
‘Get in the car.’
Digger sat in the passenger seat, cradling the bottle like it was a new born baby. His bottom lip bounced as he listened.
‘You were out to see Chino Carter last Thursday,’ Dunbar said.
‘I was not,’ Digger said. He sat silent under Dunbar’s gaze for a moment. ‘Well, what if I was?’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You drove out there to talk about nothing?’
‘Nothing that concerns you.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Dunbar said. ‘When you blow up a vehicle with a pipe bomb, it does concern the police. Don’t you remember the last time, when you went to jail for it?’
‘I got no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about the pickup truck you blew up in the early hours of Sunday morning out near Talbotville. What did Chino promise you for the job?’
‘I never blew up nothing.’
‘Yeah, you did,’ Dunbar told him. ‘Where you living these days, Digger?’
‘Out to—’ Digger began, then stopped. ‘Sometimes I stay at my sister’s.’
‘If I go to your sister’s, am I going to find the makings of a pipe bomb?’ Dunbar asked.
‘No.’
‘Give me the address.’
Digger hesitated, then gave it up. ‘I ain’t been staying there lately,’ he said as Dunbar jotted it down.
‘Where have you been staying?’
Digger looked out the window at his truck and was struck by inspiration. ‘I been sleeping in my truck mostly.’
‘It’s February,’ Dunbar reminded him. He reached over and took the brown bag from Digger. There was a mickey of whisky inside. ‘That’s a small bottle, Digger. I’m guessing you haven’t been paid for the job yet.’
‘I never did nothing.’
‘Tell you what, Digger,’ Dunbar said. ‘We’ll just wait a while. When Chino stiffs you, like we both know he’s going to do, then you and I can have another discussion about this. You’d better toe the line until then. I don’t like a guy who thinks he can blow things up just because he feels like it. A guy like that belongs in jail, and that’s where I’m going to see you. Now get out.’
Digger took his bottle and did as he was told. He couldn’t resist smirking, though, as he got into his truck. Dunbar, backing up, saw the look. He glanced at the license plate on the rusty GMC and saw that the sticker was expired. He put the car in park and got out.
He cited Digger for no valid plates and no insurance. He called for a tow truck and had the GMC towed into the police compound to be searched for evidence of the bombing. He left Digger standing in the parking lot, with his mickey of whisky. He was no longer smirking.
Dunbar felt no satisfaction as he drove away. In fact, he felt impotent in the face of what was happening. He could have charged Digger Bagley with blowing up Carl Burns’s truck but the case would have been thrown out. There was no forensic evidence against the man and the fact that Dunbar knew exactly what had happened didn’t matter. What had he expected – that Digger would confess? It was discouraging to think that he’d been outmaneuvered by Chino Carter and Digger Bagley.
He drove home. Martha was gone; a note on the table said she was shopping with her sister.
Dunbar poured two fingers of scotch for himself and sat down in the study, where he could look out over the back yard. The ground was covered with snow and there were a dozen or more birds in the yard, pursuing the seed Martha had thrown for them earlier. Grackles and chickadees and a lone cardinal, standing bright red against the snow.
The Digger encounter bothered him and he was aware that the bother was bigger than just Digger Bagley. It had to do with the home invasion at the farmhouse in general. It was the worst case Dunbar had worked on in all his years on the force and he wondered if that meant that he’d been lucky or simply that the world was spiralling downward. More and more he came up against things that made no sense. Men who would kill for a few thousand dollars. Men who would blow up a vehicle as a favor. Men who seemed to have no regard for mankind in general.
Maybe it was just that he was getting older, that he was growing nostalgic for a world that he remembered being kinder, even if perhaps it hadn’t been. But it sure seemed that way in Dunbar’s mind. Either way, he was happy to be through with the job. He would, of course, be obliged to testify at the trial for the home invasion, and he would be glad to do so. If his last act as a police officer was to help put those three men in prison, he would walk away with some degree of satisfaction.
But the world was getter harder and he had no desire to get harder with it. Today he had overreacted to a smirk from a punk in a liquor store parking lot. And he had charged the man with insignificant things because he knew he could not nail him on that which was significant. And in the end, he had succeeded only in frustrating himself.
He was ready to be done with it.
On Wednesday morning Pulford stood in the atrium outside the courtroom, checking her watch occasionally. The hearing was to start at ten o’clock and it was now ten minutes to the hour. Walker had come through a half hour ago wearing a black pinstripe, a white carnation and his self-assured smile.
‘You sure you don’t want to plead this down, detective?’ he’d said to Pulford before he went into the courtroom. Pulford, refusing to look at him, made no reply.
Dunbar came up from the lower level, carrying coffee for the two of them.
‘Nothing yet?’ he asked.
Pulford shook her head as she took the coffee from him and blew on it. ‘He’s pushing it.’
‘He’ll be here.’
Carl came through the front doors five minutes later, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He hadn’t shaved.
‘I thought he might have worn a tie,’ Pulford said to Dunbar. ‘He looks like shit.’
They all went inside. Carl sat in the front row of the gallery waiting to be called while the two cops sat in chairs along the wall, not far from where Bug and Chino were seated in the prisoners’ dock. The prosecutor Mathews was standing behind a wide oak table, shuffling papers. Walker was also on his feet by the defense table, joking with the bailiff.
At ten past the hour the judge was announced. Her name was Whiteside. She was around sixty, with a helmet of stiff hair and dark-rimmed glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She went up the step to the bench and sat down. She had a long look around the courtroom, at the spectators and the usual phalanx of reporters, before nodding to Mathews.
As the charges against Chino and Bug were being read Dunbar saw movement and looked over to see Rufus Canfield entering the courtroom. Something about the little lawyer held Dunbar’s eye. He stopped just inside the rear doors, looking over the full gallery until he found Carl Burns in the front row. He came forward but stopped again. After hesitating he slid into a bench a couple rows behind Carl. There was something off about him, Dunbar thought.
Mathews stood. ‘Your honor, I would just like to note in starting that this is the first of two preliminaries in this matter. A third accused, William Brian Taylor, will come before this court at a later date. The defense for Mr Murdock and Mr Carter has requested that this hearing be expedited. The prosecution asks that these charges be held over for trial based on the evidence you will hear today. Said evidence will show that the two accused did, on the night in question, force entry into the home at two hundred twenty-three River Road, outside of Talbotville. It will show that the two accused assaulted a young woman, Stacy Fulton, as well as Carl Burns. It will show that they laid in wait for Frances Rourke, assaulted her and then demanded money from her in return for the safety of all three of the victims. It will show that Frances Rourke drove to the First Equity Bank in Talbotville and withdrew forty-five thousand dollars in cash, as well as an additional two thousand from two separate ATM machines. She returned to the house and gave the money to the accused, who proceeded to further assault her and Mr Burns and Ms Fulton. They then set the house on fire and left the three victims there to perish. Ms Fulton died in the blaze while Mr Burns and Ms Rourke managed to escape. The court will hear today from two employees from the First Equity Bank, who will verify the claims of withdrawal. The court will also hear eyewitness evidence from Carl Burns, one of the victims that night.’
Mathews paused as she finished her remarks. As she reached for another file, ready to proceed, Walker was on his feet.
‘Your honor,’ he said. ‘A moment of the court’s time?’
The judge gave him a look. ‘Go ahead.’
Walker took a couple of steps forward. ‘With all due respect to my friend here,’ he said, indicating Mathews, ‘I feel I need to question her version of events. I realize that she is obliged to take on whatever the police might deliver to her, regardless of evidence or lack thereof, but she has in this case elevated a tragic house fire to a fanciful tale of malicious malfeasance and murder, none of which occurred. Not only that, but she has implicated my clients in these events when she has no real evidence connecting them to it, aside from a suspect witness who is, quite frankly, surrounded by questions about his own behavior that night. Given the lack of evidence in this matter, I ask that these charges be stayed, your honor. Surely the court has more credible cases to pursue.’
‘Request denied,’ the judge said.
‘Your honor—’ Walker began.
‘Sit down, Mr Walker.’
Walker sat, and as he did he glanced over at Dunbar and winked. In a preliminary hearing he was not permitted any opening remarks, but he’d managed to make them anyway. More to the point, he had put on a show for the reporters in the room.
Mathews watched him before turning to the judge. ‘Given Mr Walker’s concerns, we will begin with the testimony of Carl Burns.’
The bailiff called Carl and he rose and walked slowly through the wooden gate and up to the stand. Dunbar watched closely as he was sworn in. Carl kept his eyes straight ahead, as if there was something on the far wall of the courtroom that held his interest. His movements, even in placing his hand on the Bible, were deliberate in the extreme. Dunbar wondered if he had taken something to calm his nerves.
‘Mr Burns,’ Mathews said. ‘You have heard my description of the events in question, including my statement that you were present that night. Is that true?’
Carl turned his head slowly in her direction. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you agree with my version of events?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Burns, I want you to look at the two men in the prisoners’ dock, Mr Carter and Mr Murdock. Are these the men who forced their way into the house that night?’
Carl did not do as she asked. Instead he kept his eyes on Mathews. His breathing was shallow, his eyes blank. Ten seconds went by.
‘Mr Burns? Are these the men who assaulted you that night?’
Now Carl looked out at the crowded gallery, to the spectators and reporters and courthouse workers. There had been murmuring earlier but now the place was quiet and every eye was on him.
‘Mr Burns, are these the men?’ Mathews insisted.
‘No.’
There was stunned silence in the courtroom. Walker, who had been lounging in his chair, legs crossed, came forward, his elbows hitting the table.
‘M
r Burns,’ Mathews said sharply. ‘Will you please look at the two men to your left? Are these the men who assaulted Stacy Fulton and Frances Rourke?’
Carl glanced briefly at Bug and Chino and then away. ‘No.’
Mathews was in panic mode. She looked to the judge and then over to where Dunbar and Pulford sat. Dunbar was staring at Carl, while Pulford’s eyes were cast downward, as if she couldn’t watch.
‘Mr Burns,’ Mathews said, her voice rising. ‘You identified both of these individuals earlier. These two men. Are these the men responsible for the home invasion at two hundred twenty-three River Road?’
‘I made a mistake,’ Carl said. ‘I’ve never seen those men before.’ ‘Mr Burns—’
Walker jumped to his feet. ‘Your honor, how many times does the prosecution intend to ask the question? It’s been answered three times. Even Judas Iscariot only got three chances.’
The judge turned to Carl. ‘Mr Burns, are you certain you do not recognize the defendants?’
‘I’m certain.’
The judge looked in resignation at Mathews before turning back to Carl. ‘You may step down, sir.’
Carl walked away from the stand and returned to his seat in the gallery. He kept his eyes down. Walker was moving toward the bench now.
‘At this point,’ he said, ‘the court has no option but to dismiss, your honor. The prosecution has freely admitted they have but one eyewitness. Now that number is none. The court has no choice but to stay these charges.’
‘You will not dictate to this court, Mr Walker,’ the judge said. She looked from Walker to Mathews. ‘We’ll recess until two o’clock this afternoon. Ms Mathews and Mr Walker, I will see you in chambers at one o’clock. I need time to think about this.’
Dunbar and Pulford watched Carl leave the courtroom through the rear doors that led to the street. They walked out the side entrance, hoping to intercept him out front. They were waiting there as he came down the steps. He slowed but didn’t stop.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not looking at either of them.
Dunbar called to him but he kept walking, toward a parking lot a block away. After a moment Dunbar felt a presence beside him and turned to see Rufus Canfield standing there. His eyes were narrow and he too was watching Carl as he walked away.
