Monica was home just long enough to kick off her shoes, change into a sweatshirt and plop down on the couch with the TV remote, when there was a knock at the door.
Taking note of where her service pistol lay on a table near the living room doorway, she called, “Who is it?”
“FBI. We have a warrant. Open up.”
She opened the door and Sam stood there with a bottle of red wine. Monica raised a questioning eyebrow and he said, “I was thinking, we’ve had a busy, roller-coaster kind of week, and tonight we have both the right to celebrate and the need to debrief.” Raising his own eyebrows as he raised the bottle, he said “Got some glasses?”
After the wine was poured Monica sat back in her recliner and Sam found a comfortable spot in an overstuffed chair across the coffee table and facing her. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, just letting their muscles relax and enjoying the quiet.
Monica experienced mild surprise at how comfortable she felt just being in the same room with her partner, each in their own thoughts. “So,” she finally broke the silence and looked up from her glass, “you debriefed Harold before you left?”
“Yep. He was very pleased – mostly that neither of us fired our weapon today, thus staying ‘officially uninvolved’ in the county’s case. According to Deputy Springer’s report, per Harold’s request, we were there as observers only, our interest being purely in following up on our previous interstate investigation of the suspect, ne., Everman.”
“So, it’s over for us…”
“It would seem so.” He smiled.
“Hey, here’s a question that’s been going around in my mind.” She offered.
“Shoot” said Sam
“I wonder what kind of relationship actually existed between Everman and Sommerville.” Sam’s nod told her he might have been thinking along the same lines, so she continued. “Everman didn’t indicate to us in his journal that he knew where Sommerville had gone when he retired, but surely, since they knew one another for several years and spent a lot of time talking, he must have known Sommerville was from Louisiana, right? And probably even knew he was from Bossier City. So it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to follow Sommerville there.”
“Right.” Sam agreed.
“Yet, it’s a pretty big leap from Everman moving in across the street in a mobile home park to Sommerville ending up in Everman’s bed with a hole in his head.”
“Agreed”, Sam nodded. “So we’re left to speculate. Did Everman lure Sommerville over with an invitation to have a drink and talk, or were they actually lovers?”
“And…” Monica went on, “did Everman get the jump on him by killing him and posing him on the bed, or did they have some kind of dark agreement – a pact if you will – because Sommerville was going through a lot of pain and wanted it to stop? And that just raises a lot more questions. Did he in fact know about Everman’s lifestyle as a serial killer? Did Everman convince him that he also had cancer and it was Sommerville’s expectation that their pact was a double suicide agreement?”
Sam was nodding. “You’re right. There are some aspects to the case we’ll never be able to know. Sommerville may well have been Everman’s last victim. Ironically, it is also possible that his was the only true mercy killing Everman ever committed.”
Monica looked doubtful at that. “Maybe. But only because it was something he also would benefit from. You know… kill my friend to put him out of his misery, because then I can pass his body off as me and start life over somewhere with no one looking for me.”
Sam poured a second glass of wine for each of them. As he returned to his seat, Monica said, “You said something as we chatted in the Colorado Springs hotel that I’ve been mulling over.”
Sam raised an eyebrow to show his curiosity and let her continue.
“You said that each problem or challenge is an opportunity and each person decides to do right or to do wrong.”
“Profound, ain’t I?”
Ignoring his levity she went on, “I’m not trying to get deeply philosophical here, but doesn’t it seem to you, at least on occasion, that the difference between right and wrong is a little hazy? Follow up question to that; if a person has to make a snap decision in one of those hazy situations, might that not be as likely to end in disaster as in success?”
Sam sipped his wine and thought for a minute before answering. He considered that Monica may be a little more introspective than she needed to be due to the events and emotions of the day; but that was ok. She needed to sort it out. “First question: Yes, I do agree that at times the line between right and wrong can be fuzzy…or at least, seem fuzzy. If a person has ample time to think any situation through, I think eventually they will see the line get clearer. However, the answer to your follow up question qualifies the first. When a snap decision is called for that’s when training and instinct and personal character come into play. In those times, if we allow fear of making the wrong choice to paralyze us into no action or no decision at all, then we could very well be making the wrong choice by not making a choice. Am I making any sense?”
“Yes.” Another moment of silence passed between them. “Ok, let’s go ahead and get a little bit philosophical. Because what’s really on my mind right now is the anger I felt for Cole Everman…”
“I did take note that on two occasions you expressed a desire to shoot him, yes.”
“…right. Sam, I gotta confess to you as my partner and my confidant that I really meant it. In those moments, I do believe it would have actually given me a good feeling, if he had been right there in front of me and I had shot him in the face.” They stared at one another for a moment while she let the gravity of her statement take hold in Sam’s mind. “Now, you and I have already observed that Everman killed because he liked it. It made him feel good. Correct?”
“Correct…”
“So ultimately, what is the difference between Everman and me?”
“Us.”
“Huh?”
“Us.” Sam repeated. “You may as well ask what the difference is between Everman and us – because I was feeling the same way you were about the creep.”
“Ok then, us. But don’t patronize me, Sam. Don’t include yourself just because you think it’ll make me feel better.”
“No, no! Monica, listen. Have you ever read anything by C.S. Lewis?”
She shook her head. “No, but I saw The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.”
“Well, I’m talking about his more grown up stuff. In one of his books he talked about the fundamental knowledge of right and wrong that is common to mankind. He pointed out that even if you study the laws and philosophies of ancient cultures and civilizations you will find that in all of recorded history people have pretty much agreed on the basics of what is right and what is wrong.
“Now, Lewis’ point was to emphasize that if all of mankind is born with the same basic understanding of what is right and what is wrong, then we must get our information from an outside Source, so to speak; a personal intelligence higher and smarter than all of us. The very reason we can have laws and expect people to obey them is because we all know that fundamentally we all know what is right and what is wrong. That’s why people like Everman hide what they do, even when they try to justify their actions to themselves and others. They run and hide because they, like we, know they are wrong.
“But what I want to say to you right now is this.
“Wanting something or feeling good about it is not what makes it right or wrong. During the 1930’s and 40’s, Hitler wanted all the Jews dead. I’m just gonna go out on a limb here and say that it probably made him feel good to have them slaughtered. That didn’t make him right. On the other hand, millions of people all over the world, once they knew what Hitler was, wanted him to be dead. Did that make them wrong? If you had been in the trenches with the Airborne Rangers at Bastogne, you would have most likely heard them talking about what they’d like to do to Hitler if they had five minutes with him.
Were they wrong to feel that way?”
“Where are you going, Sam?”
“Just listen, Mon. I want you to put yourself back in Everman’s house today. Those moments just after you made your way in the back door.”
“Ok”, she said with a sigh, “I’ve had just enough wine to be willing to go there…”
“You challenged the suspect, and he turned at the sound of your voice. Did you almost shoot him?”
“As a matter of fact,” she replied, “my finger was squeezing the trigger.”
“What stopped you?”
She thought for a moment. “His gun wasn’t coming to bear on me. It went straight to his temple…”
“Now close your eyes,” he cut in.
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
She closed them and said, “Try anything funny, Agent Runyan…”
“No. Quiet. Now I want you to see what happened next. Everman shoots himself. He drops to the floor.”
She was nodding.
“Give me one word, don’t think about it; what do you feel at that moment?”
After a pause of only a heartbeat she said, “Relief”. Her eyes opened.
“Relief.” He repeated. “Relief that he didn’t shoot you? Relief that he was dead?”
“No” her eyes brimmed with tears. “Relief that I didn’t have to shoot.”
“That, my partner and friend, is the difference between you and Cole Everman. Your true sense of justice made you angry enough to want to shoot him. But your compassion would have made you grieve if you ultimately had to do it.” Sam sat back in his chair and finished his glass of wine.
They let silence bond them as they each, in their own private thoughts, let the scene from the Everman residence and the things they had seen and read about over the past week melt into the background.
Sam finally stood and placed his glass on the table between them. “I’d better get. One more glass of wine and I’ll have to camp on your sofa.”
Monica stood with him saying “That might be dangerous for both of us.”
For just a brief moment he thought she was going to walk around to his side of the coffee table and his mind raced with the pluses and minuses that would kick into play if that happened. But she stopped, set her own glass down, and said, “I’m glad you’re my partner, Sam Runyan.”
He felt disappointment and relief swirl in him like strawberry parfait. Then just in time to avoid an awkward moment he blurted out, “Me too, Agent Sterling, me too.”
As she followed him to the door she said, “I really appreciate the things you said tonight, Sam. You helped me sort things out and I think I’ll sleep much better tonight.”
He turned in the open doorway. “Thus endeth the lesson.” He said, in his best Sean Connery voice.
Placing the palm of her hand gently on his upper arm, she smiled and in a calm, warm voice, said, “Sam, don’t ever say that to me again.”
They smiled. “See you at the office,” he said. As he stepped out and walked away he noted that the door closed very softly behind him.
EPILOGUE
When morning came Sam made toast with peanut butter for his breakfast and followed it with an apple, which he ate on the way to the office. As he parked he noted it was 0750 hours, but he thought Mon would probably forgive him for coming in ten minutes earlier than agreed upon. Then as he stood from his vehicle he saw that her car was already on the lot.
When he entered the office he looked across the room and saw her passing by her office door, going in the direction of the break room.
“Hey, early bird!” he called. He stepped into his office to retrieve his coffee mug and joined her by the Mr. Coffee next to the sink. She was in the process of rinsing the pot and adding water to the machine. “It was my turn to make coffee” was her defense for beating him to work.
“And yet, it’s not done.” He said, waving a hand at coffee still dripping into the pot.
“Don’t push your luck, Agent. You know I have a good right hook.” She grinned and winked. He rubbed his upper right arm as though he hadn’t recovered from the punch he got on the Feather River Highway.
Kim came in the door with her purse, lunch bag and a large canvas book bag that seemed to be a part of her daily wardrobe. Setting everything down at her desk she greeted the agents with her usual cheeriness and said, “Did you get your note?”
Not knowing who the question was addressed to, they both looked at her with eyebrows raised. “Oh. Sorry. Agent Runyan. There’s a note for you on your desk. Just before I left the office yesterday, John…er…Deputy Springer called and said there were some things on Cole Everman’s laptop that you might want to know about.”
Sam and Monica walked to his office where he picked up the small yellow sheet of note paper laying on top of the rest of his paperwork.
In Kim’s handwriting, the note dictated by Deputy Springer said,
“Detectives found on C.E.’s laptop:
Three more journal entries
titled
‘Oregon’
‘Washington’
‘Montana’
Sam stared at the note, absorbing its implications, and looked up to find that Monica was gone from his side. Turning toward the break room he saw her picking up her cup and the coffee pot. As she poured, he heard, “Unbelievable”.
-----------------------------------------------------
Further accounts from Cole’s journal are recorded in the new sequel,
INDIAN PRINCESS
Available now.
Read an excerpt here:
FROM THE JOURNAL OF COLE EVERMAN
I returned to the world from my tour in Nam on February 29, 1972. The Army gave me a temporary duty assignment (TDY) to Fort Benning, just to have a place to stick me, I guess, since my plan was to separate when my two years were up on March 13.
I took a week of leave time, then spent my last week processing out. I suppose in our new, enlightened and sensitive world, men and women returning from the Middle East who have seen some bad things are probably offered some kind of debrief counselling. It sure wasn’t like that in ’72. I had pulled a lot of nighttime sniper duty in the Nam. My M14 rifle with night vision scope became an extension of my arms and together we dissolved a whole lot of Viet Cong faces.
But on the day I signed those final documents, tucked my DD Form 214 into my coat pocket, shouldered my duffle bag and headed for the Greyhound terminal, the closest thing I got to sensitivity from the U.S. Army was a one-fingered salute from the guard at the main gate, when I ribbed him about having to stay, while I got the hell outta Dodge.
I didn’t tell my parents I was coming. To be honest, up to the last minute, I wasn’t certain I wanted to go to this little mountain town they’d moved to while I was doing my duty, supposedly killing babies and other innocents. At least, that was the opinion of all the long-haired hippy peace-freaks who stayed home, smoked dope, made free love and painted colorful posters. I am certain I never killed a baby; at least, no one under 8 years old; and absolutely no one who was innocent.
But I digress. Don and Darlene were living in a place called Bridal, Washington. Mom had written me letters that described the town and it sure didn’t sound like much. She didn’t come across in her letters as being very happy there either.
Truth was, I didn’t really have any place else to go. An army buddy gave me a tip on a potential security job in Montana. I had written a letter to those folks, giving them my resume, which pretty much consisted of being in the U.S. Army and keeping my nose clean enough to get an honorable discharge. Since I was about to separate when I sent the letter, I had given them my folks’ place as my return address, so I either had to go there to get my mail, or get to a phone and ask one of them to read it to me.
So it really just made more sense to go there, take a little break and wait for a response. If the company didn’t hire me, I’d just regroup and start a new search using Bridal as a home base.
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Well, as I said, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. So when I got off the bus around 1300 hours on Monday, March 27th, I walked from the bus stop to the church parsonage and surprised Mom as she was out front, hosing the dust off their ’67 Plymouth Fury.
I stepped up behind her easily enough since the noise from the spraying water covered my footfalls. When I touched her shoulder, she jumped and turned and almost hosed the dust off of me. Then her eyes went wide and she threw the hose down and hugged me and cried and kissed my cheeks and cried some more.
It was a little annoying, but I let her have her moment. Then Dad came out of the church from a side door and trotted across the lawn to shake my hand. Then he hugged me but at least he didn’t kiss my cheeks or cry.
I didn’t even know Nancy was there until she came out the front door of the parsonage, wondering what all the hoopla was about. Later in the day, she told me about breaking up with Ricky. I wasn’t sorry they had divorced, but when I heard about the way he’d treated her I knew that someday he and I were going to have to have a chat.
Well, right in middle of all this meetin’ and greetin’, this chunky little ogre of a woman in a flowery moo-moo came out of the same church door my dad had come out of, and right behind her there was a scrawny, greasy-looking old fart in a wife-beater t-shirt. He wasn’t looking directly at me…or directly at anyone it seemed. Yet at the same time I felt stared-at. I got a creepy, spiders-up-the-back feeling that took me back to the nighttime jungles of Nam and those moments when I couldn’t see anything around me, but suddenly knew I wasn’t alone. On those nights I held my breath and stayed as still as I could and it saved my life a few times, when short people in black pajamas padded by me on the nearby jungle path; no one speaking or using any lights of any kind.
The Everman Journal Page 22
