The Beginning (Whispering Pines Book 1)

by Charles Wells

  ***

  Bill Jacobs steered his truck to a public parking space at the courthouse. All the patrol cars were out, including Sheriff Brooks’ black Ford. “That’s odd,” he thought. He’d been listening on the scanner and hadn’t heard any of the units check in or out with the station control operator.

  He got out and walked to the entrance door. From habit, he flung it open quickly and Brian Mimbs, the dispatcher, jumped off his stool. “What’s going on, Brian? Where’s everybody at?”

  Mimbs looked at the overhead clock and stammered for words. “The Sheriff said that if anybody saw you to arrest you and bring you in. Is that what you’re doing? Giving up?”

  Jacobs laughed. “Right, Mimbs. Just keep on thinking that.”

  Jacobs stepped around the counter, grabbed the front of the dispatcher’s shirt, and pulled him to his feet. “Now you tell me Brian? Where is the Sheriff? Has he gone to arrest somebody? Somebody I might know?”

  Mimbs cried, “I don’t know.”

  Jacobs shook him violently. “The heck you don’t know. Now tell me. Right now, or. Or...”

  “He told me they were going to arrest you and Squires tonight.”

  Jacobs shoved him backwards and down on the stool, “Is that so? We’ll see about that. Has Brooks called the GBI about finding the Veal car yet?”

  The young kid, a look of sheer panic on his face, shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  Jacobs stormed away into the rear of the jail. He was madder than he had ever known and didn’t know how to react. Brooks was going to try to pin him and Squires for Matt’s murder. He stopped at a sink just outside one of the jail cells, washed his face and dried it. He needed more time to think, to decide what to do. He was not going to run. A voice from one of the cells spoke softly. “You’re Jacobs, ain’t you?”

  He turned and saw a ragged, dirty looking man in a jail cell. “Yeah, that’s right. Now lie back down and sleep it off.”

  The man grinned. “I haven’t taken a drink in twenty-seven years and I’m not here for doing so. I’m here for running my mouth to the wrong folks.”

  Jacobs stepped closer and his nose suddenly repelled at the animal stench coming from the cell. He backed away and said, “What do you mean by that?”

  The man pointed to the door. “I was brought in here for telling Blake Squires about the Trans Am they found in beaver creek. The Sheriff told me he was going to put me in the trunk of it and push it back in the water... along with the fellers I told about it.”

  Jacobs pointed, “You’re Ed Barton?”

  The man nodded, “Yea, that’s me. I don’t think there’s going to be a trial for any of us arrested tonight and that includes you.”

  Jacobs thought for a moment. “How do you know the Sheriff wasn’t just trying to scare you or something?”

  Barton snapped, “I know for the same reason I know there’s an APB out on you. You’re going to be locked up too, Jacobs.”

  Jacobs felt the walls caving in. The whole Sheriff’s department must be behind this thing and Brooks was the leader of the pack. A chatter of angry voices reached them coming from the front office where Mimbs waited. Turning to Barton, Jacobs said, “We’ll see about that, just keep quiet.”

  Jacobs stepped into a nearby utility closet just as two deputies led Blake Squires into the room. One of them opened Barton’s cell door. Sheriff Brooks walked in and nodded at Barton.

  Squires stood, arms cuffed behind him, and snarled when Brooks appeared. “How about getting these handlebars off my back?”

  The Sheriff didn’t move. “I think they look right nice on you, Squires. I might even get you a larger set for your neck.”

  “Didn’t Brian say that Jacobs came back here?”

  Barton spoke. “Saw him stick his head in the door and then left.”

  The Sheriff looked around then nodded at the deputies. They shoved Blake into the cell. The closet where Jacobs hid was stuffy and hot with the rank odor of cleaning fluids and ammonia.

  The Deputy shoved Blake through the cell door but Blake quickly spun around, looking dead at Brooks.

  The Sheriff shook his head. “The papers you took to the Macon Judge are forged. I can prove it too.”

  Squires hissed, “You’re a liar, Brooks. Matt Veal signed those papers so get a handwriting expert to check it out.”

  “We already have. You’re gonna’ pay for causing all this trouble so you can forget that warped idea of yours about being partners with Matt Veal. It just flew out the window.”

  Brooks pointed at Barton. “Get that bum in another cell until we can take him for a little ride up to Beaver Creek.”

  Through a small crack in the door of the closet, Jacobs watched the two deputies enter the jail cell. One grabbed a bed sheet and coiled it into a rope. They were going to hang Blake?”

  Squires backed away and shouted, “What’s this about, Brooks?”

  The Sheriff, his back to Jacobs in the closet, said, “You are so depressed over killing Matt Veal that you’ve decided to hang yourself and end it all. In the process you first gunned down my Chief Deputy, Bill Jacobs.”

  “You can’t get away with that. Nobody will buy it.”

  One of the deputies tried to grab Barton but the old woodsman quickly backed away into a corner. His eyes were wide and full of fear. Squires tried to bull ram the deputy but with his hands cuffed, he was easily subdued. Bill knew that unless he acted and acted quickly, they were going to kill Blake.

  While their attention was diverted with the struggling Squires, he slipped a revolver out of the holster he wore on the rear of his belt and pushed the closet door open just enough to slip through. Nobody noticed as he moved across the open floor and stepped up behind Walt Brooks. Brooks felt the stab of cold metal pressing against the back of his neck and then Jacobs said, “All right, boys, the party’s over.”

  His voice froze the two deputies in place and the gun against the Sheriff’s neck left little room for debate. Pulling a set of handcuff keys from the outer pouch of Walt’s police belt, Jacobs tossed them to one of the deputies and snapped, “Get the cuffs off him, right now.”

  The man caught the tossed keys deftly and stopped. He looked at Brooks who only grew paler. Walt realized that Max Pary would kill him if he flubbed it up this time. Still, the survival instinct in him was strong and he rasped, “Go ahead and do it. They ain’t going too far.”

  The deputy removed the cuffs from Blake’s huge wrists. Looking at Jacobs, Blake said, “They were going to hang me then shoot you and tell everyone that I did it.”

  Jacobs pointed and Squires unsnapped the safety catches from each Deputies holster and removed the weapons. He tucked one in his belt and the other he pointed at the nearest deputy. “Step aside,” he sneered.

  “Come on out, Blake,” Jacobs said calmly. “And you too, Barton.

  Barton scampered out of the cell like a suddenly freed squirrel. Squires backed out more calmly, mindful of keeping Bill’s line of fire clear.

  Jacobs removed the Sheriff’s gun from its holster and then pushed the man into the cell with the other two deputies. Squires slammed the door, spun the large ringed key, and tossed it into a far corner.

  A voice from behind Jacobs called out. “Hold it, Bill. I can’t let you do this.”

  Brian Mimbs stood in the doorway holding a double-barreled shotgun clutched in his hands. The two dark holes on the end of it shook noticeably and his voice trembled. “Let the Sheriff out.”

  Jacobs moved slowly toward him aware that the shotgun was loaded with buckshot. From this range, it would cut a man in half. Jacobs said, “Brian? You don’t understand. The Sheriff was about to kill these people. He was going to hang Squires and make it look like a suicide. Now put the gun down and let us out of here. We’re leaving.

  The young radio operator shook his head in quick, sudden jerks. “No. No, you are gonna’ let the Sheriff out of there or I’ll pull the trigger and I mean it.”

  A figur
e appeared behind Mimbs. It crept up slowly, warily, closer. Walt Brooks yelled, “Behind you, Mimbs, he’s behind you. Watch out.”

  The young man spun but Catfish Jacobs was already on top of him, wrestling for the shotgun. The barrel swung upward at the ceiling and fired scattering huge pieces of the tiled overhead ceiling around them and on the floor. A neon light exploded and hissed. Catfish yelled, “Let it go, Boy, or I’ll whoop you good.”

  Jacobs stepped forward but Mimbs had swung the gun barrel back down and around, now level with his stomach. From sheer instinct, Jacobs hit the deck and sprawled. Catfish forced the gun away then kneed Mimbs in the groin. The boy screamed then doubled over in pain and released the gun to Catfish.”

  Jacobs jumped back on his feet, looked at Catfish and nodded. “Man that was close. Thanks Catfish.”

  Blake found the keys and unlocked the cell door. “Bring him on over here, Catfish. He can join the rest of them in the cell.”

  When the heavy door swung closed, Blake locked it, tossed the keys, and said, “Now let’s get out of here, fast.”

  Barton said, “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

  Jacobs spun around, “Call who, the Sheriff?”

  Catfish looked at the man and said, “Bill? He ain’t talking funny no more. What happened to that accent he had up in the woods yesterday?”

  “I’m an FBI agent. I will explain the rest later. I don’t have my shield because I’m undercover.” He pointed at the spare gun in Blake’s belt. “You better let me have that. I know how to use it, I promise you.”

  Blake looked at Jacobs who only stared for a moment at Barton. The old trapper looked at Jacobs and said, “You and I went through the academy together at Forsyth back in 92. Bo Conner was our instructor.”

  A light went off on Jacob's face. “Blake? I’ve met this guy way back at the academy. He’s a cop. That much I do know.”

  Squires removed the gun from his belt, took it by the barrel and passed it over to Barton. Jacobs motioned “alright, let’s get out of here. I don’t know how many of Walt’s deputies we can trust and I don’t care to find out at the moment.”