Missing Cats and Found Kittens
Mark Randall
Missing Cats and Found Kittens
By Mark Randall
Chapter 1
Small town living has disadvantages. There won’t be a 10-acre mega-mart selling every conceivable form of celery. But there probably is a roadside entrepreneur selling celery picked that morning. And at half the price of the celery imported from Peru.
Also, being in a small town allows for a full community participation in special events. The local school play might not be boffo on Broadway, but mom and pop are certain that their little darlin’ did a damn fine job and is the next Brando or Streisand.
Then, if the town is small enough and remote enough, there are the events that the primary purpose is to draw in tourists. And, as gently as possible, separate those out of towners from their hard-earned vacation dollars.
Elk City was concluding its annual Founders Day celebrations. A week-long extravaganza. It was designed for that very purpose. It included a fisherman’s breakfast, square dances, a parade, a craft and farmers market.
Suzy and I contributed to the festivities in several ways. I was tasked to flip pancakes for the fisherman’s breakfast. While Suzy served coffee.
I think she got the better deal. She could circulate through the crowd, talking and socializing. I was stuck next to the mayor. Orville Barck is an all right sort. He has tried to make a living selling and renting farm equipment. I can assure you, the gift of gab he gained as a used car salesman was what put him in the mayor’s office. That and the fact that nobody else wanted the job. It is possible to get a landslide victory when there are only 200 voters in the district, and nobody else wants the job.
When Orville found that I was apolitical and hadn’t voted in the last election, he tried his damnedest to change my mind. The best he could get out of me was an assurance that I would think about it when I had the time.
Suzy and I had also been conned into setting up a trapper’s camp display.
We set up our box tent inside Mabel’s corral. This was because we were using our animals as part of the display. It was a neat layout if you ask me. We had even borrowed some steel-jaw traps from the museum.
I’m not a trapper, never been one, never needed to be one. I understand the economy behind it. However, leg grip traps are not my cup of tea.
I’ll hunt an animal. Searching for sign, tracking, stalking, and killing.
The only difference between me and any other predator is that I have a firearm. I know some people don’t agree with me, deny that shooting is more humane. Those same people have never watched a cougar rip the guts out of a mountain goat and then wait for it to die. Me, my preference is one shot, and in that instant, the animal is dead. I’ll never leave a wounded animal to suffer.
Be that as it may, I had borrowed a selection of traps from the museum. I was the resident Mountain Man, and I was tasked with displaying and explaining a trapper’s camp. I had a lot of lowlander city dweller questions and a few negative comments. I would smile and move to the next question. But I had decided this was the first and last time I would put up with this. They’ll need to find someone else next year. I’ll be heading to the high country and go fishing.
It was the last day, and we were getting ready to head for home. That morning we had struck camp and cleaned up. The gear was packed, and I was saddling the horses while Suzy settled accounts with Mabel.
I had just adjusted Margarite’s cinch belt when Shadow started his low warning growl. He was behind me, and when I turned, there was a group of young people gathered at the corral gate. I wasn’t too concerned. They appeared to be high school or early college age. I figured they had some questions about what I was doing. I should have relied on Shadow’s assessment.
“Hi guys, can I help you?”
“Yeah, asshole, you can let your slaves go.”
I was dumbfounded. I understood the words, but the way they were spoken was confusing. “Excuse me?”
From a different source, “Fur is murder, let your slaves go.”
This was followed by a chorus of voices, yelling and screaming at me. It was impossible to separate who was saying what. The gist seemed to be that I wasn’t a nice person, and these folks wanted me to turn my stock loose. I think that the only thing that kept them on their side of the fence was Shadow. He had gone from his warning growl to a full-blown attack bark. Fortunately, I was able to grab his collar. And doubly fortunate that I had his leash and was able to hook it on.
This seemed to inspire even more anger in the group. It was amazing to me that such a small group could make so much noise. Vulgar, mean, insulting noise. I remember some of the Iraqi mobs that could have learned how to spew verbal hate from these kids.
While all of this was going on, the kids screaming, the tourists watching and taking pictures, the locals standing with their jaws open, I saw Suzy and Paul approaching from different angles. Suzy from Mabel’s, Paul from the jail.
I can tell you the truth. I didn’t quite know what to do. I was packing my 1911 and Bowie. My Henry and the shotgun were in their boots on Margarite. I could have fought a minor war with all the firepower I had available. But I knew that was the absolute worse thing for me to do. If I were to pull a weapon, any weapon, even a slingshot, would have been a red flag for this crowd. I would if I had to. But things hadn’t gotten to that level yet. I couldn’t retreat, which would probably cause these crazies to advance. Opening the gate and scattering the livestock. I was actually in the best place possible. That is with Shadow by my side. It was him more than anything else that was keeping the mob at bay.
Standing there with my brain in neutral and confused, Suzy took action.
Reaching into her possibles pouch, she pulled out the train whistle that I had carved for her. And gave a blast that probably could have been heard in Boise.
Silence
Everybody, friend, foe, and voyeur turned towards Suzy. Paul, in uniform and standing next to Suzy with a double-barrel shotgun, “alright, everybody shut up!”
“You people by the fence, back up.” reluctantly, the crowd started backing up. They were encouraged when Suzy and Paul moved in between the crowd and myself. Shadow, seeing Suzy and recognizing Paul and his calming effect, stopped barking and sat down next to me.
Keeping an eye on the mob, Paul, over his shoulder, asked, “what did you do this time, Matt?”
“Honest to god Paul, I have no idea what’s going on. or what started this.”
Paul and Suzy approached the mob at the gate, while I hung back with Shadow. Without my noticing, a guy stepped up next to me. Because he came from behind me and to the side, I figured he had stock in the corral.
There were 4 or 5 other horses in there. Mabel’s set up was popular with the outfitters and backcountry folks.
“Pretty rowdy crowd, eh mate?” I wasn’t quite sure about that accent. It sounded British, not Australian or Irish. But I wasn’t an expert. He looked about mid 30’s. Black hair, cut longish. And one of those little lip stashes on his chin. Just a little triangle of hair under his lower lip.
I wasn’t paying any attention to him. As far as I was concerned, the action and possible threats were at the front gate. Suzy and Paul appeared to have calmed them down. At least they had stopped yelling at me.
“So, mate, who’s that delightful piece dressed like Pocahontas? I’ll bet she’s a real treat in the sack.” he was obviously referring to Suzy. She was still dressed in her buckskins and looked like an Indian maiden.
I spun towards the newcomer, “what did you just say?”
“Relax, mate. I was just curious. It’s obvious you own her. but is she available for rent?”
I saw red. I don’t remember doing it. I don’t remember thinking about it.
Later, looking at the multitude of videos taken, there was no denying it.
I hit that ass with the sweetest right hook since Gentleman Jim Corbett invented it. He went down like a sack of oats and stayed down. And stayed down. And stayed down.
I’m not a fighter. I’m not an Ali or a Tyson. I have never knocked somebody out. Even on my best day, at my ideal weight, and training, I have knocked people down, but never out.
Within seconds the crowd went wild, screaming and yelling. Fortunately, Shadow was still by my side and had gone back into defensive mode. Paul assessed the situation and called out, “Matt, we need to get you out of
here. I haven’t seen a mob like this, ever. Let me put the cuffs on you and get you into the jail. at least until this calm’s down.”
Looking around at the spectators, Paul spotted Peter Jamison. He was a local day laborer who hung out around the corral looking for jobs with the tourists. “Peter, call for an ambulance for this guy. Suzy, see if you can find Doc Stone and get him over here.”
I handed Shadows leash to Suzy and allowed Paul to cuff me. The crowd was still yelling and screaming. But hadn’t entered the corral.
Paul got me into his office as quickly as possible. As far as it being a jail, it wasn’t like some big city hellhole. Crowded to the rafters with various lawbreakers. It also wasn’t a weekend cabin for Mayberrys drunk.
There were no embroidered pillowcases or rocking chairs in these cells.
After getting me into one of the four cells, he closed the door. I am not subject to claustrophobia, but being on the wrong side of a jail door and realizing you are stuck there, can make you think. Paul stood there for a moment, thinking. “Ok, Matt, here’s my plan. I’ll get a call into the circuit judge. And have him set a quick bail. Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll set you out on your own recognizance. then late tonight or early tomorrow morning, we’ll get you out of here and on your way back home.”
“There’s no way this is going to blow over, but after a couple of weeks, everybody will have a chance to calm down, and then we’ll see if we can get any charges dropped. so, you sit tight, I’ll see about getting you lunch, and we’ll get Suzy in here to keep you company.”
I wasn’t in a position to argue. I also realized that I was probably in the best place possible right then. “Paul, it’s not like I’ve got a choice in the matter. but if you could make sure Suzy and my critters are alright, I’d appreciate it.”
“You’ve got it, brother. Stay calm. I’ll be right back.”
For the next 4 hours, nothing happened, nobody came by. I missed lunch, not that I couldn’t afford a missed meal or two. Still, as time went by, I got more and more worried.
Chapter 2
I didn’t know what time it was. Without a watch or clock, and not being able to see the sun, I couldn’t even guesstimate that way. But I did know it was late and getting later. Finally, Paul came back. Followed by two state troopers. I knew then that things had gone from bad to worse.
“Matt, I want you to know upfront that I tried my damnedest to stop this.
Video from this morning has gone viral on the internet. The district attorney in Grangeville has gotten wind of what happened. That and the guy you popped is demanding charges be pressed. It’s an election year and
Randy Clausen, he’s the DA for the county and looking at a rough campaign. He’s decided to use you as his ticket to reelection.”
“Ok, Paul, I understood about half of that. What you’re trying to tell me is that I’m in deep trouble?”
“That’s right, Matt. these two troopers are here to transport you to the lockup in Grangeville. It’s been taken out of my hands. Even Judge McMillian, the circuit judge, can’t help. And believe me, I tried. I even offered to tell him my secret fishing hole, no dice. He did say that he would talk to the Grangeville folks and try to get a good judge assigned to your case. he didn’t guarantee anything other than he would try.”
“I understand Paul, it isn’t your fault, and I know you tried. Can I see Suzy before I leave?”
Paul looked over at the troopers, the one with corporal stripes nodded.
“10 minutes, then we have to go,” he said.
Paul opened the cellblock door and called, “Suzy?”
As soon as she stepped into the corridor, I could tell that she had been having a rough time of it. Her eyes were red, and she had that look all women can get. That one where they, just by body language alone, seem smaller, weaker, demanding male protection. I swear that at that point if I had been able to do it. I would have broken out and carried her off. My baby was hurtin, and that made me mad.
Holding my arms out between the bars, she started to come to me. The younger trooper interrupted, “no touching.”. Suzy whirled and stepped into the trooper’s safety zone. and in a tone that froze fire, said
“excuse me?”
The youngster stepped back and raised his hands, “uhmm, that is, ahh, umm.”
The corporal saved him. “It’s alright, Billy. Why don’t you go and gas up the cruiser? I think between the Sheriff and I, we can handle the situation.”
I wouldn’t say the kid ran from the room, but he didn’t waste any time either.
The corporal turned to Paul, “You wouldn’t happen to have any fresh coffee Sheriff? It’s a long trip to Grangeville, and I’m sure we could use a fresh thermos for the trip.”
Pausing for a moment, Paul grinned and said, “Sure thing Andy, we’ll get you hooked up. I’ll call over to Mabel’s and get some sandwiches made up for you and the rookie.”
As they walked out, the trooper said, “Damn it, I forgot about Mabel’s. I love her burgers.”
With the door closed, Suzy rounded on me, “Matt, what in the hell did you think you were doing? what could that pogey bait possibly have to say that deserved a punch like that?”
“Whoa Suzy, I didn’t hit him that hard. And he caught me unawares. If I had been paying attention to him and not you and Paul trying to stop that riot, I probably wouldn’t have done anything. As it is, and I’ll tell you the truth, he deserved what he got, and worse.”
She stood there, anger written plain and bold on her face. Then it softened, and the tears started showing up. “Damn it, babe, what am I going to do with you.”
If it hadn’t been for those damn bars, it would have been one of the sweetest hugs of my life.
“Matt?” Paul held the door slightly ajar, “Matt, it’s time. We’ve got to get you on the road.”
Suzy stepped back and sniffled. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll find a good lawyer. We’ll have you home in no time.”
“I know sweetie. You’ll do your best.” I called out, “Alright, Paul, let’s get this parade started.”
Paul and the two troopers came onto the cell block. We went through the process of cuffing up. Then both of the troopers gave me a shakedown. Now folks, the next time you get inspected by those folks at TSA and don’t like it. Try getting shook down by a couple of professional cops. And those two guys were amateurs compared to the micromanagement specialists at the county lockup in Grangeville. After my intake there, I felt like one of them should have told me to see my proctologist about my prostate.
Finally, after getting cuffed and shackled, they stuffed me in the back of their cruiser, and we headed towards Grangeville.
The ride into Grangeville started out interesting but soon got boring.
The younger trooper, Billy, was the talkative type. Asking me questions, pausing and then when I didn’t respond, would try a different tack and rephrase the question. The interesting part was that he didn’t seem to get upset or impatient when I wouldn’t answer him. I finally told him,
“Son, I respect what you and your partner do for a living. It isn’t easy when the only appreciation that society shows you is a paycheck. I know that at times it just doesn’t seem worth it, getting puked on by drunks, or abused by people with an over-inflated sense of self-worth. And I am sure that putting a child in a body bag is more than you can take. I can also appreciate that you would do anything to get promoted out and away from those shitty aspects of your job. But I’ve been interrogated by the best, I’ve even done a few myself, and right now, I’m not quite in the mood to entertain your fantasy of cracking the big case and getting your captain’s attention. So, that having been said, I’m going to take a little nap right now. Let me know when we get there.”
I leaned my head against the door and closed my eyes. About 15 minutes later, I heard a low, “Dammit,” followed by chuckles from the driver’s seat.
Arriving at Grangeville was a bit anticlimactic. Once we drove into the sally port, I was transferred from the car to the county intake. I was shuffled through the standard process. Stripped, showered, deloused, poked, prodded, and photographed. I was issued jail jumpers and then taken to an intake room. It was the size of a classroom. On one side, the side that the chairs faced, the chairs that were bolted to the floor, was a large screen tv that was showing CNN news. On the opposite side was the administration offices and access to the jail itself.
Having been directed to a seat, I sat down and started checking out my surroundings. There wasn’t much going on. Idaho county wasn’t a big county, at least population-wise. But we did get our fair share of drunks and, unfortunately, druggies. It used to be that weed, marijuana, was the big home production item. But now meth was taking over. It was easy to make, and the profits were SOOO high that the temptation was almost impossible to resist. Particularly if you have been out of work long enough for your benefits to dry up, that was another thing Idaho county was short of, jobs. Combine that easy money with the fact that it was so damn easy to get hooked and a stone-cold bitch to kick, that’s what made it so tragic.
Most of the people in the room were drunks, some mean, most not. Then there was the sprinkling of folks like me, the unusual, the non-drug offender. And then there was the dopers, the users, the makers, and the sellers.
At various points over the next 4 hours, I would get called to the back of the room. Mugshots taken, medical history, fingerprints, voluntary DNA sampling, etc.,
Finally, they announced a midnight meal. We stood in line and were issued a dry baloney and cheese sandwich, an apple, and a juice box. Gourmet fare. I had fond memories of the MREs I had in the army.
Eventually, I was taken to my pod, my home away from home, for now.
I had two roommates, pod mates? Whatever. One was an obvious tweaker. The kid was just this side of 18 and had already destroyed his life. He was jittery, shaking, twitching. Standing and walking, then sitting and fidgeting. I knew that there was nothing I could do for him or about him.
I just tried my best to ignore him. The other guy was some kind of wannabe gang banger. I know there are gangs in Idaho. But Idaho county is so far off the beaten track. I was surprised by this kid. He was 17 or 18. he had a scraggly beard and mustache. I could also see amateur ink on his arms. Not much. Just one or two obscure images.
As soon as we were locked down, my gangster friend tried to put one on me. Puffing out his chest, he told me that he was king of the cell, and I was his bitch. I was sitting on the lower bunk at the time. I looked up at him and gave him a bit of skunk eye. Then I slowly stood up. I had at
least 6 inches and 50 lbs on him. While I’m not a fighter, never claimed to be a fighter. I have gotten my butt kicked by real fighters, I knew, First, this kid was even less of a fighter, Second, he was a typical bully. Stand up, and they back off quick. Third, he was scared spitless.
This was his way of coping.
I looked down into his eyes and didn’t say a word, just stared. After a minute, I could see the false confidence drain from his eyes. “Son,” I started. “We don’t need to be friends. We also don’t need to be enemies.
But if you don’t behave yourself, the CO’s won’t get here fast enough to save your ass. Now, you grab the bunk you want and get comfortable. We aren’t going anywhere. Oh, and by the way, leave the tweaker alone. I want a polite cell, not a blood-covered one.”
With his bad-boy bravado gone, he mumbled “Yes sir” and climbed into the upper bunk, opposite from the one I had been sitting on.
The tweaker had been watching us. Whether my little speech had inspired him, or he felt the need to talk, spoke up, “Sir, I’m Anthony Fisk. You can call me Tony.” He stuck his hand out to shake.
I looked at his hand, then up into his eyes. He was grinning, and I could see the mess that his teeth had become. I could also see where he had been scratching at his arms to get at the imaginary bugs under his skin.
I didn’t take his hand. “Mr. Fisk, I am not your friend. I am not your protector. I happen to be in the same cell as you. Luck of the draw, karma, fate, whatever. I’m going to offer you one, and only one piece of advice. Get into rehab. Throw yourself on the mercy of the court. Pled guilty and beg for rehab. If you don’t, you’ll be dead inside of 6
months. Get off the speed and stay off. You won’t get another chance.”
This was not what he wanted. He started to speak, whether it was to justify his addiction, or explain it, or blame his parents. I didn’t give him the chance. “It’s your life meth head. rehab or the cemetery.”
The guy ended up curled in a corner next to the sink/toilet device. He cried for a while, mumbling about how unfair it all was. Eventually, he crawled into the lower bunk and passed into a fitful sleep.
I sat there for a long time. Wondering why I should care.
Chapter 3
The next morning, after headcount and breakfast. A really bland oatmeal with a carton of milk and a slice of dry toast. No coffee. We were told to stand by in the pod commons area. Ten minutes later, my name was called, and I was cuffed up. This included a waist chain and ankle shackles. At best, all I could do was shuffle my way along.
I was taken off the pod and escorted by four correctional officers to a room. Inside was a steel table and chair bolted to the floor. 2 other
chairs on the other side of the table. The standard mirror was on the wall facing me. The joint was so cliche. I felt like I should start looking for Jack Webb or Broderick Crawford to come in. What I did do was go to sleep.
I know I was a disappointment to the folks on the other side of the mirror. I wasn’t playing the game right. One of the methods of interrogation I had learned was to deprive the interviewee of time.
Remove watches and clocks. Use a windowless room so that day and night can’t be determined. For long term interrogations, sleep deprivation, nonstandard meal times, monotonous, flavorless, and identical meals, all are used to throw the subject off stride. These folks didn’t have the time to go into this with that depth. I mean, I wasn’t an enemy spy with the plans for world domination in my head. All I was, was a guy who popped an idiot upside the head. But by the same token, from what Paul had said, this thing had gone ‘viral’ on the ‘internet.’
I knew what the internet was, viral, on the other hand, was a bit of a mystery. I assumed that it was something popular and people on the internet were watching it, kind of like tv. Beyond that, I was clueless.
To tell the truth, the important things in my life didn’t have to deal with electrons and circuits. I knew what a computer was and that they had become popular. But my life was based more on the people in my life, my family, and the land that I lived on, the animals that I cherished and protected.
As I said earlier, I wasn’t playing the game right. By going to sleep, I short-circuited their time boggle. The next one on their list, I knew, was going to be my bladder. A jailer coming into the room awakened me. He asked me if I needed anything. I knew this was the opening gambit of the bladder game. “Yes sir, I could use a trip to the restroom please.” His response was planned. “I’ll see what I can do for you. be right back.”
What I did next was rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. After what I judged was enough time, I emptied my bladder all over the tabletop from one side to the other. Drawing my name, little hearts, I even started a tic tac toe game before I ran out of stream, and the CO came rushing back in. He stood just inside the door with his mouth open. His eyes were jumping from the table to me. I smiled and said, “I told you I needed the restroom.” he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
It was shortly after that, 4 of the bigger corrections officers came into the room and secured me to a restraint chair. They went the full route.
Straightjacket, spit mask, leg shackles. It was during this process that I decide to ramp things up a bit more. I started laughing hilariously. I begged them to add more restraints, tighter, more, more, more. Then I
‘passed out.’ my head dropped to my chest. I started making the most horrendous choking sounds and then started randomly jerking my arms and legs. That is, as much as I could get away with.
This freaked them out even more. The jail nurse was called, as was the Psychologist and an MD. As soon as they came in the room, I changed up again, calm as a cucumber, rational, lucid, polite. Those 3 medical professionals were ready to put the CO’s in padded cells by the time I
was done. I explained myself and what had happened. This resulted in the restraints being removed, and I was taken to a new interview room.
Five minutes later, I was joined by a 40’s gentleman, dressed in a neat suit. I could see that it was tailored. He was showing signs of male pattern baldness. But he hadn’t tried to hide it with a cheesy comb-over.
He had a bit of a paunch. It could have easily moved to the obese side of the scale if he wasn’t careful. At the time, I didn’t feel like offering nutritional advice.
He sat down in the chair opposite from me and looked at me for a moment.
“So, Mr. Reynolds, I see that you’ve been having some fun at the expense of our correctional staff. They don’t quite know what to do with you.
What do you recommend?”
“Obviously, sir, I should be let go, with the sincere apologies of the various legal entities that have placed me in this room with you. barring that, I want my lawyer, now.”
“Yes, I am sure that release is foremost in your mind. And your lawyer will join us presently. But while we’re waiting, I would like to ask you some questions.” He opened the binder in front of him, “Your legal name, please?”
I didn’t answer, I just stared. “Come now, Mr. Reynolds, you have a legal obligation under Idaho state law to identify yourself to law enforcement upon demand.”
I didn’t answer.
“Please, Mr. Reynolds, this is just a proforma questionnaire. There isn’t anything here to indicate guilt or innocence. sir, there is nothing dangerous here.”
I still didn’t answer.
I could tell that his patience was starting to wear thin. “Sir, you aren’t doing yourself any favors here. If you refuse to answer, I could charge you with contempt or obstruction of justice.”
Now it was my turn. “Sir, you have called me Mr. Reynolds several times.
Therefore, you know my name. So, all that happy crap you’ve been trying to feed me, you already have the answers to.” He tried to interrupt at that point, I ignored it and continued.
“I know that you have the report from Elk City. And the follow-ups from the two troopers that brought me here. I would have hoped that you would have been bright enough to figure out that I’m not a virgin here.
Further, unless you are an idiot, you know that the second I asked for my lawyer, all interviews, questions, interrogations end. That includes this bogus questionnaire. Now I’m going to repeat, and this time if you try to ignore me or try to BS me, again, I can guarantee you’ll be in front of the state disciplinary committee by the end of the week. I want my lawyer!”
For a good 5 minutes, we stared at each other. Finally, he stood up,
“very well, if its hardball you want, it’s hardball you’re going to get.”
As he turned to the door, I spoke up, “Better not erase that last part of that tape buddy. If that wasn’t a clear threat, I don’t know what is.” I turned to the mirror and said, “I’ll be subpoenaing you equipment techs, so don’t bother erasing anything. That is unless you want to answer a federal civil rights violation charge.”
He paused at the door, not looking at me, then left slamming the door behind him.
The next 10 minutes passed quietly.
Then the door opened and in stepped a nattily dressed guy followed by a CO. He looked about 45 or 50 and had that fatherly look to him. “Hi Mr.
Reynolds, my name is Steve Whitcomb. Suzy Williams has retained me as your counsel.” He then turned to the CO standing in the doorway. “That’ll be all officer, I can handle it from here.”
“Sorry, sir, my duty sergeant said I was to keep an eye on things. He says this guy is dangerous and possibly mental. He said that he didn’t want some hotshot shyster from the big city getting wasted in his jail.”
Stepping back up to the door, he grabbed it. As he slowly pushed it shut, he said. “well isn’t that nice of him. You be sure and tell him I appreciate his concerns. And that if I need his help, I’ll let him know.”
He stood with the door closed and his back to it. “Don’t worry Matt, if we have any more problems, I’ll sic the DA on them, they’ll behave.”
He then took a seat at the table. “Ok, Matt, I understand that you are going to be charged with assault and battery. In that, you struck a Nigel St. Gaudens. Causing him grievous bodily harm. Therefore, the battery charge. the DA, Mr. Clausen has reserved the right to amend the charges.”
“Now, I don’t care if you are guilty or not. That has nothing to do with me doing my job. However, I will not lie for you. I will not advise you to lie. Your guilt or innocence will be determined in a courtroom.”
“What I would like to do now is go over the incident. So, in your own words, tell me everything that happened that day. Starting when you woke up, till you went to sleep. This includes if you used the restroom, and after you were arrested. Try to include everything, including what you consider unimportant details.”
So, for the next hour or so, I told the story of the punch heard, seen?
Round the world. Steve didn’t say much. He spent most of his time writing on his yellow legal pad. He also had a tape recorder recording what I said. The only time he would interrupt was for an explanation of a term or phrase he didn’t understand.
Once I finished, he paused for a moment. Then he walked to the door, which was locked. Knocking got the CO from before to open the door and
peek in slowly. I think he expected to see blood-covered walls and me standing there with dripping intestines hanging from my teeth.
“Officer, my client, and I have been talking for quite a long time. Is there any way we could get some coffee or soft drinks? I’m almost sure that this is going to go past the dinner hour. So, I think I’ll be ordering a pizza later. Would you like to have a slice? Do you have a preference?”
The CO stared at Steve for a moment and then said that he would see what he could do. And then closed the door. I wasn’t sure, but I think he forgot to lock the door.
Sitting back down at the table, Steve started asking me about my life.
Where I was from, what my early life was like. When he found out about my divorce, he had me go into it in detail. Especially the domestic violence parts. By the time I had finished telling about my army career, there was a knock on the door.
Rather than open the door, Steve called out “Come in.” the door was opened by no less than the jail warden himself. With him was a CO
sergeant that was wheeling a service cart with a couple of carafes and an ice and soft drink filled bowl.
“Mr. Whitcomb, I’d like to apologize for any confusion earlier. My instructions concerning Mr. Reynolds apparently were misunderstood. You, gentlemen, take as long as you want or need. I’ll be leaving an officer outside, in case you need something else.”
Steve was smiling and spoke up in what was probably his most pleasant voice. “Thanks warden, I knew that any problems were just misunderstandings.” While this was being said, Steve once again, without saying a word, herded them out of the room and closed the door.
Sitting back down, Steve said, “Ok, Matt, we need to go over this again.
Starting from the beginning.”
This time it took twice as long to go over the whole event. Steve stopped me frequently. Asking for clarifications, pointing out inconsistencies, and asking for explanations. It seemed that he did more talking than I did. Again, it seemed like he wrote everything down, and the recorder was on also.
At the end of this session, I felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. My throat was dry, despite the tea that I had started using halfway through. Steve called the CO, and we were allowed a restroom break. When we returned, Steve called for a pizza on his cell phone. True to his word, the CO was invited to dinner and had a slice and a coke.
After dinner, Steve said, “Matt, I know that you are exhausted. We have been at this all day. But we’ve got one more round to go through so, if you would please, once again, from the top.
This time Steve hardly said a word. Most of the time, he sat back with his eyes closed. At one point, I thought he might have gone to sleep and stopped talking.
He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What’s wrong? Is there something you might have remembered?”
I assured him that wasn’t the case and continued. At the end, he sat up and was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
“Ok, Matt, I think we’re done here unless you have something else?” I shook my head, “Great. What happens next is either tomorrow, or the next day we’ll be going in front of the judge for pleas and arraignment. Until then behave yourself, ok?”
“I’ll do my best, Steve. But you do realize that my environment isn’t a church social.”
“I know, try to be on your best behavior. Remember your Sunday school rules, yes sir, no sir, and excuse me, sir. Ninety percent of jail is respect. Show it when you can.”
While Steve was giving that speech, he knocked on the door. When the door opened, our friendly CO was standing there. “We’re done, Leon. You can take Mr. Reynolds back to his pod.”
There had been a distinct change in Leon. He had gone from a semi-belligerent brute. To a fan and friend of Steve’s. Me? I was afforded a pass by association.
The trip back to lock up, while slow, was uneventful.
Chapter 4
There were 3 of us scheduled for arraignment this morning. Myself, and my two cellmates. The meth-addicted kid and the wannabe gangster. Who was trying very hard to look tough, but not quite getting there.
When the system was ready for us, they shuffled us out of the holding cell. We were in jail jumpers, waist cuffs, and shackles. You would almost think we were dangerous desperados.
We were sat down on the side of the room, away from the normal folks.
There were 2 CO’s to keep an eye on us. I spotted Suzy. She didn’t look all that happy. Even across the room, I could see a mixture of mad, sad, and fear on her face. I grinned at her and gave her a thumbs up. It didn’t help.
Then the clerk called for us to rise and announced the Honorable Porter Eskelson presiding.
A distinguished-looking gentleman, in his 50’s or 60’s came in from the back room. Wearing the standard robes that showed his status, he stepped behind the bench and to his chair. “Ok, everybody, be seated.” Calling the clerk, “Cynthia, this being Monday morning, we must be doing arraignments. What is on the hit parade today?”