Code 61 - Donald Harstad [105]
“What?” I asked.
“The young cop dude, you know. He shot him, and it didn't affect him at all.”
“The younger officer didn't hit him,” I said, rather embarrassed.
“Oh, sure. Yeah. You bet, but we looked for the holes, see, and there wasn't a mark in that doorway or in the little wall or anywhere, all right?” She looked disgusted. “We aren't stupid, you know.”
It was the first sign of anger I'd seen in her, and it struck me that, what with time passing and all the talking about things being like a catharsis, her post-grief euphoria was wearing off.
“I don't think you're stupid, Huck. Not at all.” That was certainly true, and I think she detected that. “He fired a warning shot,” I said. “Two of 'em.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Sorry, but I mean, even I know you aren't supposed to do that.”
“True,” I said. “True enough.” I looked at Hester. “See? Even civilians know that.” I turned back to Huck. “Well, Deputy Borman just didn't seem able to remember that, though. And he isn't around today, as you might have noticed. He got a one-day suspension for that little error.”
She considered what I'd said, but didn't say a word.
“I'll prove it to you,” I said. I picked up the phone, and dialed Dispatch, and pressed the speaker button. One of the new dispatchers, Gwen, answered.
“Yo ho! Donut shop!” They could tell it was on an intercom line. I hoped.
“Yeah, it's Houseman. Sally out there?”
“One sec … ” she said, and then, obviously calling to the kitchen, “Sally, intercom!”
We waited a few seconds, with the constant crackling of the sixteen radio channels being picked up in the background lending an air of authenticity, if any were required. They almost never used the hold button on the intercom line.
“Yeah, whaddya want, Houseman!” That was Sally's voice, as she walked toward the phone. I could tell Huck recognized the voice. “You need the criminal history on this Peale dude?” This as she picked up the phone. “It just came back, give me a minute.”
“No, no, I'll come out and get that,” I said quickly. “No, hey, you're on speakerphone back here, and I want you to just say what happened to Borman, and why he's not here today.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Uh, you sure you want me to do that?”
“I'm sure.”
“Umm, well, okay. Well, as far as I know, Borman fired two warning shots, and you got all over his ass, and he got suspended today.”
“And where did that happen?”
“Up at the Mansion, when the guy slashed his chest when he came out of that door.”
I looked at Huck, who nodded, and gave me a “thumbs up.”
“Thanks, Sally.”
“Anytime I can help refresh your failing memory. If you're coming out here soon, we got fresh coffee.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I cut the connection. “There.”
“Ah,” said Huck. “Thank you. I'll tell the rest. They might not believe me, but I'll let 'em know. Thanks.”
“No problem. Tell 'em not to spread that around, though. It's confidential information. Personnel records.” It had been a toss-up, but it seemed to me the benefits outweighed the liabilities.
“Sure.”
“I'm going to go out and get that coffee,” I said. “You guys want some?” Two affirmative answers later, I was on my way to the kitchen.
While I was in the kitchen, I mulled over the young people who lived up at the Mansion. Huck, in particular. It was such a damned shame that bright people could lead such shitty lives, but there it was. We saw it all the time. Maybe their lives turned to crap because they were bright, bright enough to notice. They all seemed to have these perfectly reasonable expectations that just never got realized. They seemed to spend a lot of their lives trying to adjust to that. The upside was that they usually made it in spite of it all. The downside was that what emerged was so irrevocably affected, you'd never know what could have been. Well, not really all of them, I thought. Just enough to make it a really crummy thing.
As I listened to the coffee pot gurgling, I thought about Toby developing away from the comic relief role I'd unconsciously assigned him, and turning into a dedicated ferret