Lacy's End Page 15

  Peter looked down at it again, his eyes bulging as he read. “What the hell did she go and do that for!” He stood, grabbed his hat, his keys, and began moving toward the door.

  Charlie stepped between him and the door. “Hold on there, Sheriff. You need to cool off a bit before you go rushing out to confront her.” He put his hand on the sheriff’s chest, restraining him.

  Peter batted it away. “I’m just fine, Charlie.” He stepped around him.

  Charlie rushed after him. “Why don’t I ride along with you?”

  “There’s no need for that,” Peter said, but he didn’t stop Charlie as he followed Peter out of the station and got into the passenger’s seat.

  Peter tapped the steering wheel as they drove down the highway, whistling some tune as if the previous fifteen minutes had never taken place. Charlie stared in amazement. Peter looked over at him. “It’s a mistake, you know.”

  Charlie shook his head. “What’s a mistake?”

  Peter chuckled. “The restraining order. That silly woman from social services is putting ideas into Brenda’s head. She and that doctor friend of hers. Brenda was just fine until those two came along. I’ll get it straightened out.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then, “He probably wants to bang her. I’ve seen the way he looks at her.” His face turned red, and his eyes narrowed. Then with a sudden change in demeanor to a calm and matter-of-fact tone, he said, “I’ll kill him before I let that happen.”

  Charlie didn’t know how to answer, so he just sat there, grateful when the sheriff’s house came into view.

  As they entered the driveway, Peter spotted a strange car parked there. He stopped at the edge of the pavement, squinting to see the plates. He looked at Charlie. “That car look familiar to you?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Never seen it before.”

  Peter pulled up behind it, parked his car, and slowly exited. He slowly walked around it, cautiously examining the interior through the windows. Charlie got out and stood to the side, arms crossed in front of him.

  “Keys are still in it,” Peter said.

  Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “Brenda must have a visitor.”

  At this suggestion, anger crept into Peter’s face. He shook his head. “She wouldn’t dare.”

  Charlie thought the comment odd and just stared at Peter.

  When Peter finished his examination, he stood back, eyeing the car for a few minutes, as if the mystery might reveal itself that way. Charlie figured that if they stood there all day, eventually the owner would show himself and solve the mystery. He wasn’t about to wait. “Why don’t we go on in and ask Brenda.”

  Peter nodded, walking toward the front door as he did. He inserted his key in the lock, opened the door, and called, “Brenda. Honey, do you have a visitor?”

  There was no reply. Peter began to walk around the house. Charlie, growing cautious, unhooked his holster flap and touched the butt of his gun.

  Peter began to walk down the hallway toward the bedroom, calling again, “Brenda? Are you here?”

  Charlie took his gun out of its holster, drew it close, standing at the ready. They entered the bedroom, and the first thing Charlie saw was the blood. He tapped Peter on the shoulder and pointed at his gun holster. Peter waved him off. “Nobody’s home.”

  Charlie walked to the bathroom, saw blood on the toilet seat, and called for Peter.

  Peter entered the bathroom, puzzled at the sight of blood. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Charlie stared at Peter, registered the correlation between the restraining order, the blood, the strange car with the keys in it, and Brenda’s absence. His eyes grew suspicious. “What happened here?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Peter said. “She was perfectly fine when I left for work.”

  Charlie remembered the foul mood the sheriff was in when he walked into work and knew nothing had been okay.

  “I’m going to take a guess here,” he said, “that things weren’t as okay as you thought. It looks as if Brenda called a friend for help and is now probably at the hospital.”

  Peter gave the statement thoughtful consideration, and then slowly nodded his head. “I suppose that could be the scenario.” He walked to a bedside phone, picked up the receiver and dialed the hospital. After a few seconds, someone picked up the line, and he asked if Brenda Waldrip was a patient.

  “She is,” he said, turning to nod at Charlie. “Well, thanks so much, I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up the phone. “Well, Charlie, it looks as if you were right. She’s there all right. Let’s go.”

  Charlie put a hand out to stop him. “You can’t go there, Sir.”

  Peter knocked his hand away. “The hell I can’t. My wife is in the hospital. I have every right to be there.”

  “There’s a restraining order against you.”

  “I told you—that was a mistake.”

  Charlie looked around the room, surveying the various bloodstains, the overturned lamp, the bedclothes laying on the floor, the wall with a hole precisely the right height for Brenda’s head. He gave a slight nod in Peter’s direction, wanting desperately to grab his superior by the throat and smash his head just above the offending hole. He gritted his teeth and said, “I’m thinking not so much a mistake.”

  Peter raised his hand as if he might backhand Charlie. Too late, he realized what he had done and pulled it back down. Instead, he walked over and poked him in the chest. “You can’t talk to me that way. I’m your superior.”

  Charlie removed the finger from his chest, propelling it down to Peter’s side. “Right now all I see is a cowardly man who likes to beat on defenseless women.” He took out his radio, pressed the call button, and waited for an answer.

  “Hey, Charlie,” the dispatcher answered. “What can I do for ya, sugar?”

  “Hi, Carol. Can you send a crime scene technician out to Sheriff Waldrip’s house? It seems we got ourselves a bit of an issue out here.”

  Peter grabbed the radio from Charlie. “Don’t listen to him, Carol. This boy here is talking nonsense. In fact, he’s acting so crazy today that I’m going to have to relieve him of duty.”

  Charlie grabbed back the radio. “Don’t listen to the sheriff, Carol. There’s a whole lot of blood out here that we need to look at.” He looked Peter in the eye as he said, “I’m placing Sheriff Waldrip under arrest for impeding an investigation, and I just might add assault with intent to kill.”

  “You two boys stop messin’ with my head,” she said. “Now, do you want the tech or not?”

  “Yes,” Charlie said and signed off.

  He stared defiantly at the sheriff. “Do I need to arrest you?”

  Peter waved his hands at him. “Oh what the hell—it’s not as if you’re going to find anything. There’s nothing to find.”

  He stalked off. Charlie didn’t stop him. A moment later he heard the car door slam and the engine turn over. Charlie knew he’d been left behind, but he didn’t care. He also knew Peter was headed for the hospital, but he cared little about that, too. It was likely Brenda was under some kind of protection. Hell, probably her new boyfriend was standing watch at her bedside, a pistol standing at the ready. He grinned when he pictured this.

  Charlie surveyed the room. It wasn’t exactly a grisly crime scene, but it made him shiver nonetheless. He was getting tired of watching the sheriff push people around. This wasn’t some backwoods hick-town, after all. There were laws here meant to protect people, and Charlie had signed on to uphold those laws—with or without the sheriff’s cooperation. Perhaps he should say despite the sheriff’s interference.

  Hector Avila walked in carrying his kit. “Charlie.”

  “Hector.”

  “What’s up with this?” He waved his free hand around the room.

  “My guess is the sheriff got a little heavy handed with his better half.”

  “Why?”

  Charlie chuckled, moved his head back and forth several times. “Tsk�
�tsk, Hector. And to think I had you pegged as one of the smart ones.”

  Hector opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. Charlie said, “Come on, man. You aren’t seriously on the head-in-the-sand plan with everyone else, are you?”

  Hector looked away. “We protect our own. You know that. It’s our oath.”

  Charlie jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “Bullshit.” He lunged toward Hector, causing him to backup. “I took an oath to protect the innocent.” He clenched his teeth and stood towering over him. “I thought we went to the same academy.”

  Hector nodded, swallowed hard. “You’re right. I guess I lost track somewhere.”

  Charlie backed down. “Now, I got to ask, are you going to process this house properly, or do I have to do it myself?”

  Hector shook his head. “No. I got it. You can count on me.”

  “Swear to it,” Charlie said, his color slowly returning to normal.

  Hector nodded. “I swear, Charlie. I’ll do the best job I’ve ever done.”

  The two men regarded each other—Charlie judging Hector’s honor, Hector waiting for approval. Finally, they each nodded.

  “Let’s get it done,” Charlie finally said.

  The two men set about their tasks. Hector photographed, measured, transferred samples of blood into little test tubes, while Charlie took detailed notes on the size and location of each blood spot. He counted how many bloody footprints there were, how long the bloody drag marks were, and how large the hole in the wall was. Again, he noted, just the right size for Brenda’s head. With each sentence he wrote, his temper flared. He had to remind himself to stay focused and professional, and to distance himself from the personal aspect of the task.

  After a while Hector stopped. “You know what you’re starting, don’t you?”

  Charlie nodded. “Law and order to this corrupt town. And I dare say it’s long overdue.”

  ***

  At the hospital, Peter rushed in through the front door, waving his badge at the security officer as he passed by. He leaned heavily on the duty nurse’s desk as he flashed his badge at her, causing her to pull back. She pushed the badge away and said, “I know who you are. You don’t need to go shoving that thing in my face.”

  “Good. I want to see my wife,” he demanded.

  The nurse was a large, rotund, heavily-bosomed African–American woman. She crossed her arms over her barrel chest, pursed her lips, then drew them into a pencil line, narrowed her eyes at the sheriff and said, “I don’t care who you want to see. This is a hospital, and the last I checked, your name wasn’t listed anywhere on my paycheck.” She pointed a finger toward his chest. “I don’t take orders from you. Now, do you want to try that request again?”

  Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. “May I see my wife, please?”

  She smiled, sardonically. “Better, but try it without the attitude.”

  Peter gritted his teeth. “You’re trying my patience, young lady. I don’t think you realize—”

  “No! You’re trying mine,” she interjected.

  She tapped some keys. “Your wife is in post-op recovery,” she said.

  He turned to leave.

  “They won’t let you in.”

  He turned back. “Why?”

  “Because of the restraining order.”

  “Screw the restraining order!” Peter yelled.

  He marched off. The nurse nodded at a security guard, who stepped from his post and stood in front of the sheriff.

  “Get out of my way!”

  “No, Sir. I can’t do that.”

  Peter eyed the guard standing in front of him. Tall—at least two inches on him, broad shoulders, strong jaw, arms the size of flour bags. He thought of his own physique. Although he worked out three times a week and was in decent enough shape for a man his age, he was no match for this man.

  He turned back to the nurse. “May I at least talk to someone about her?”

  She looked at him for a moment, set her eyes in a heavenward glance, thinking about the question. Then, finally, she picked up the phone and called the surgery area. “This is Crystal, down in admitting,” she said. “I’ve got Sheriff Waldrip here asking about his wife.” She narrowed her eyes, daring him to start something. “Yes, I know that,” she continued. “But he just wants to talk to somebody.” She hung up the phone. “They’re sending someone down. Have a seat over there.” She gestured to a ring of chairs surrounding a low table with magazines on it.

  He paced for several minutes, but no one came. He sat down, picked up a magazine, scanned it, threw it back down, stood, stretched, and began pacing again. When ten minutes had passed, he wandered back to the admitting nurse. She saw him coming, reached under her counter, and slapped up a sign that read GONE ON BREAK BACK IN 10. She laughed when she saw him stamp his foot, but took her leave.

  “You insolent!” he screamed. “I’m reporting you.”

  “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

  He turned to look into the face of a very young, very stern doctor. At least his white coat said he was a doctor. He certainly looked too young to have graduated from medical school.

  He read his nametag. “Well, Dr. O’Brien. You certainly can. I was told my wife was brought here. I’m concerned, but nobody seems to want to give me a straight answer.”

  “Your wife has suffered a severe beating—”

  “You mean she fell,” Peter said, interrupting him.

  “I may be young, but I’m not stupid—don’t play me for a fool. As I was saying, your wife has suffered a severe beating that re-broke one of the broken ribs from an earlier beating. One of the ribs punctured her lung. Fortunately, it wasn’t severe, and I was able to repair it with relative ease. She’s in recovery now. Her daughter is with her.”

  “Lacy’s here? Can I see her?”

  “That’s not my business,” he hesitated, looking him over, “Sheriff,” he finally settled on.

  Peter sprang forward, grabbing the doctor by his tie. “Listen, you little twit. That’s my family in there, and you have no right to keep me from them.”

  Crystal, having returned from her break, was across the room in two seconds flat, all two hundred and ten pounds of her, shaking with determination as she walked. She grabbed the sheriff by his belt and yanked him backward.

  Surprised, the sheriff let out a yowl and landed flat on his back. Angry expletives erupted from him, ending with, “You black-assed cunt. You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer.”

  Crystal shook her head as she loomed over him. “You can’t talk like that in here,” she said. “Now get your scrawny butt up and leave this hospital, before I call a real cop.”

  She sauntered back to her desk, her hips swaying, her stockings making a swishing noise as her overweight-thighs rubbed together. Her short, white skirt barely covered her buttocks. Dr. O’Brien smirked, despite the injury to his manhood.

  Peter jumped to his feet, shook his fist in the air as he screamed, “You can’t keep them from me. I’ll be back for them.” With that, he turned and stalked out of the hospital.

  Dr. Petoro entered just as Peter was exiting the building. “Everything okay?” he asked Crystal.

  “It’s all good, now,” she said. “Can you believe the nerve of that man? Coming in here all tough, throwing his badge around like it was some kind of shield from God.”

  Just then, Crystal spotted the security guard sauntering down the hallway. “Mm-hm,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s about time you showed up. Where the hell did you disappear to?” She waved off his reply. “Never mind now, Russ. I did your job for you.”

  Both doctors guffawed, delighted by the sight of Crystal scolding Russ as if he were a child, and Russ ducking his head as he rushed back to his post.

  Crystal returned to her work. Dr. Petoro extended his hand to Dr. O’Brien. “Thanks for that.”

  Dr. O’Brien shrugged. “I saw the pretty picture he painted on her face. No man has the right to do t
hat to another person, especially if he carries a badge.”

  “What’s your final prognosis,” Dr. Petoro asked.

  “She’ll be okay. The puncture wasn’t as bad as it looked, once I got in there and cleaned it all up.”

  “I thought for sure he had done some real damage.”

  “Oh she’s going to hurt for a while, believe that, but she’ll get along.” He paused, thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it without coming off as a gossip.

  “Spit it out, Blake. Obviously something’s on your mind.”

  “Okay, Allen. Since you asked, I’m wondering what your relationship is with Mrs. Waldrip.”

  He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’re strictly friends and barely that,” he added. “I feel the same protective pull as you. The woman needs help, and I’m in a position to give it. That’s all.”

  Dr. O’Brien nodded slowly, not sure whether to believe him. “Be careful.”

  “I will. Don’t worry. Sheriff Waldrip’s days of terrorizing those two are over.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lacy was sitting beside her mother’s bed when Allen returned to the room. She looked up and smiled when she saw him. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine, Lacy.” He indicated Brenda. “She’s still asleep?”

  Lacy shook her head. “She woke up once but went back to sleep. Has my dad been here?”

  He considered lying to her. She had been through so much lately—first her illness, now her mother’s beating. Sixteen-year-olds should not have to take on the world. But Lacy wasn’t just any sixteen-year-old. She had the style, grace, and maturity of a woman twice her age. Allen remembered his sister at that age. Boyfriends, sleepovers, and the latest dress style were the only things about which she had cared. When Pammy had gone off to college, he’d cried harder than his mother had, but Pammy hadn’t a care in the world. She was braving the next chapter in her life, the newest adventure—and she had embraced it. Allen couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for Lacy.

  He looked at her with empathy. What right did he have to lie to her? “Your dad’s come and gone today, Lacy. He won’t be bothering you.”