by Reed Sprague
“That’s all too much for me, Warwick. I’m a cop from Montana investigating a car crash.”
“I know you are. But you’re too good a person to allow a man and his family to pay the ultimate price so the system can fulfill its plans, and politicians can get rich and stay out of jail. Your record is astonishing. I’ve checked. Believe me, I’ve checked. You have operated without a major mistake during your entire career. Not one investigation of yours has been criticized. If there were such a statistic as one hundred percent success rate for investigative work, you would have it to your credit. I could use a person like you in the USFIA.”
“I don’t like federal investigative people. I don’t trust them. No offense to you personally, but you types are always catering to the bureaucratic organizational messes you have to work for in Washington. You create the messes and then you’re slaves to them.
“And I don’t know about being too good a person. I just know that I can’t stand the thought of being sucked into some Washington investigation agency, whose agents all have Ph.D’s and yet they can’t figure out how to conduct an investigation unless they have several computers, at least two years to waste, legions of consultants and, of course, twelve or fifteen lawyers.
“And why in the hell do you guys have to carry two 9mm handguns instead of one Smith & Wesson 686?
“Again, no offense to you personally.”
“No offense taken,” River replied.
“But I also know that I can’t let anything else happen to Winston. This all stinks,” Briggs said.
“It stinks more than you can smell right now, believe me. Do you have your pictures with you?”
“No pictures; they’re not developed yet. I have my digital camera. Here, take a look at the shots. See, look at the shots of the fender. And note that I took a picture of the VIN number. There’s no question that this is the SUV. The first picture, of the VIN number, is close up enough to read the number. Then I backed up a foot, took a picture, then backed up another foot, took another picture, then another foot and so on, so that there can be no question that this is the SUV. These are not the same pictures that the FBI produced,” Briggs explained.
“They’ve undoubtedly turned the real SUV into scrap metal by now. It’s probably been melted and reformed into steel plates and used to erect a bridge or something. Please get those pictures developed—two copies of each. Place one copy of each in a safe deposit box and give me the other set. Keep the pictures in digital image, but don’t send them across the Internet for any reason,” River said.
“I don’t know how to send them over the Internet,” Briggs replied.
“Oh, and one more thing, Sargent Briggs,” River said, as he waited at the cash register to pay the bill, in front of two signs that were posted side–by–side:
IF YOU HAVE A COMPLAINT ABOUT OUR FOOD OR OUR SERVICE,
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT ABOUT IT.
WE PROBABLY KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.
DON’T TELL PEOPLE YOUR TROUBLES.
HALF OF THEM DON’T CARE.
THE OTHER HALF ARE GLAD TO KNOW YOU’RE GETTING WHAT YOU DESERVE.
“What’s that?” Briggs asked.
“My offer for you to join me at USFIA is absolutely serious. I want you to come to Houston to interview. We need you. I sense a special mission coming up. Many of the people you’ll be investigating as a result of James’ crash investigation will tie into the bigger stuff we’re working on. Think about it.”
As River and Briggs approached the exit door, River noticed a sign posted on the inside of the door. He pointed it out to Briggs:
WHAT IF THE NUTS ARE RIGHT?
“My Smith & Wesson?” Briggs asked.
“Maybe. Call me. Let’s at least talk with my boss, Sydney Albert.”
Montana meant a great deal to Briggs. He didn’t want to leave there to go to Houston. Still, he felt he needed to consider leaving to join the USFIA. He got into his pickup truck and drove three hundred forty miles from his home — a ride he had taken many times in the past — to visit the huge Berkeley Pit Copper Mine in Butte.
Briggs stood on the edge of the lake that filled the former mine with water. He reflected on the millions of pounds of copper that had been mined there and on the millions of pounds of copper that remained in the ground in Montana and elsewhere in the world. Tons of copper, enough to make copper pipe that would circle the globe millions of times, had been removed from the earth. Yet his baby sister didn’t have enough copper to keep her little body going. He removed a jar from his truck, unscrewed the lid, dipped it into the water at the edge of the lake, then replaced the lid, tightening it securely.
Briggs climbed into his truck and drove away from the big pit. He drove a hundred and ten miles, to Sula, Montana, his old hometown, to his baby sister’s grave site. He got out of his truck with his jar of copper water, unscrewed the lid and gently poured the water over his baby sister’s grave, being careful not to get any on the headstone out of fear that he would desecrate her burial site. He said a prayer of thanksgiving to God for the fact that God allowed him the privilege of having such a brave little girl in his life as his sister. After his prayer, he rose from his knees, got into his truck and drove to his home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
29 MAY 2024
Briggs tried being rude, mean, obnoxious, angry, and just about everything else awful he could think of to get rid of River, including a creative obscene hand gesture or two clearly displayed during a video phone conference with River. Nothing worked. River would not let up. He called Briggs several times each week after River returned to Houston from Montana, to encourage Briggs to come to Houston to meet with Albert about joining the USFIA. River had good instincts, and his instincts told him to pursue Briggs regardless of the degree to which he resisted.
Briggs was not happy with his boss, Jim Washburn. Briggs believed that where character and backbone are concerned, it’s one strike and you’re out. Washburn struck out. He folded like a cheap camping chair under minimal pressure from the FBI about James Winston’s SUV crash report. Briggs was loyal and he followed orders, but he felt strongly that loyalty and respect for authority should be given only to those who deserved them. Washburn no longer deserved either, and Washburn was not leaving the Montana State Highway Patrol anytime soon. Briggs had to admit that to himself.
But Houston and D.C. over Montana! Big city hell over big sky heaven? It just didn’t seem possible to Briggs. What about his gun? And Briggs was sure that consultants flocked to places like Houston and D.C. the way birds fly south for the winter, releasing their droppings all along the way and saving their best dump for their destination. What if there are thousands of consultants in Houston and D.C. — flocks and flocks of them — who have nothing to do all day except advise Briggs in his new job at the USFIA? Briggs wondered if God could possibly administer that extreme degree of punishment to him. Still, River seemed like a good man, and River spoke highly of Albert. Maybe it was worth a try.
So Briggs booked a flight to Houston. He planned to spend a week there to get to know River and Eddy, and to interview with Albert. Briggs had a problem, though. He had created a new category for River that he named, “Might be Okay, But We’ll Wait and See.” He wanted to hold off categorizing Eddy, though, out of respect for River and out of fear that he would anger God for being disrespectful to a lady even before meeting her.
He decided to do something he had never done before. He created a special, temporary category for Eddy that he named, “Probably Hopeful.” It was the first time he had ever categorized anyone in a positive way before meeting them.
River was unable to make the trip to the airport to pick up Briggs, so Eddy was elected to go there, with the twins in the backseat, and bring Briggs to River and Eddy’s small apartment. Briggs reminded himself again and again during the flight to be nice to Eddy. He was concerned that God would not be tolerant of any rude behavior toward her, especially in front of the twins. Twin
toddlers were undoubtedly serious business to God. Briggs was determined to behave himself on the way back to River and Eddy’s place.
Briggs saw the sign in the side window of the SUV, “We’re Here for Sgt. Briggs.” He loaded his luggage into the hatchback, and got into the passenger seat. He quickly introduced himself to Eddy, turned sharply to his right, grabbed his seatbelt, buckled it, lifted his head and said immediately, “I know you. I know that I know you. You are familiar to me.”
Eddy didn’t know Briggs, had never laid eyes on him, and, of course, had no idea what he was talking about. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. River speaks highly of you. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
Briggs removed a few pictures from his inside jacket pocket, took one look at them, looked again at Eddy, then put the pictures back. “Yes. No doubt about it. You remind me of someone,” Briggs said, as Eddy proceeded on.
Eddy and Briggs arrived at the apartment building. Albert had rented the vacant apartment next to River and Eddy’s for a week, to provide Briggs a place to stay while he was in Houston. Briggs carried River Jr. inside for Eddy. They entered the apartment just as River was driving into the parking lot.
Briggs gently laid River Jr. on the couch, looked up at the wall, turned slightly to his left and stopped, stock–still. “Where did you get that picture—the one of that baby?” Briggs asked Eddy, referring to an old picture of a baby hanging on the wall along with twenty–five other pictures of babies, children, River and Eddy at their wedding, and a few older adults.
“That’s my picture,” Eddy said, “if you’re asking about the one on the far left. That’s a picture of me when I was eight weeks old. I was in the hospital at the time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Briggs said, as he continued to study the picture. “What was wrong? Why were you in the hospital? Was it Menkes disease?”
“Menkes disease, yes.” Eddy said. “But how could you possibly have known that?”
“Menkes disease!” Briggs exclaimed, as surprised to hear that it was actually Menkes disease as Eddy was to hear that he was able to determine the disease from looking at the picture. “It really was Menkes disease?”
“Yes. How did you hear of it? That can’t be. It’s extremely rare, especially in females. Babies who go undiagnosed might survive only a couple of years. I was tested at birth because of my family history, and I had its milder form, so I beat it. Survival rates are minuscule,” Eddy explained.
Eddy heard Briggs walking as she was talking, and she looked up just in time to see him open the door to leave. “Sargent Briggs, Sargent Briggs,” she called out, as he continued out the door without responding.
Finally, he turned back toward her as he was passing through the doorway. “I have to go now. I have to get to my apartment and get settled in,” he said, as he fidgeted with the envelope of pictures he had referred to before, when he and Eddy were in the car at the airport. “I have to go. I just have to go settle in.”
“Sargent Briggs, you don’t look good. Are you okay?”
“I have to go settle into my apartment.”
“Okay, but we’ll have dinner ready for you in about an hour.”
River came into the apartment a moment or so after Briggs left. “I’m starving. What would you like me to cook for dinner?” River asked Eddy, attempting to joke with her about cooking. Joking with Eddy about cooking was all he knew to do to help Eddy with cooking. River had no idea how to cook. His only real help to her for meals was that he was reasonably good at cleaning up afterward.
“Something strange just happened, River,” Eddy said.
“What’s that?”
“Sargent Briggs was just in here and he noticed my baby picture on the wall. He took one look at it and was able to tell from it that I had Menkes disease as a baby.”
“Wow! Maybe — no. No. There’s no way. Are you sure you didn’t mention it to him first?” River asked.
“No. I didn’t. He brought it up,” Eddy replied.
“I’ll ask him about it later, at dinner. Maybe he visits children’s hospitals in Montana. You know, dressed in his full uniform. The kids probably look forward to it. Maybe he ran across a baby in the hospital that had Menkes. You know that the disfigurement is similar on all people with Menkes. Maybe he met a baby with Menkes and the look of the disfigurement stayed with him,” River said.
“Little babies? I could understand if sick older children were visited regularly by troopers. Older kids would be impressed. It would really lift their spirits. But babies?”
“You’re always logical, Eddy. Let’s just wait and see if he brings it up again.”
Briggs returned to River and Eddy’s apartment to have dinner. All of them sat down at the dinner table to enjoy Eddy’s spaghetti, salad, French bread and store–bought pecan pie.
“How do you like Houston so far, Sargent Briggs?” Eddy asked.
“Please call me Mark. I like Houston. Thank you so much for having me here. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. It’s good to have you here. Have you thought any more about coming on with the USFIA?” Eddy asked.
River interjected, “You’re worse than I am, Eddy. I’ve been driving Mark crazy with my requests during the past few weeks. Now we’re both piling on him.”
“I don’t mind. I really don’t,” Briggs said.
For the first time in Briggs’ life he felt that he made friends. He had been close only to a few of his family members. Briggs had known very few friends that he could trust throughout the years. Most of his family members had died so he had been feeling more isolated in recent years.
In the short week during his stay in Houston, he and River grew to be close friends. Briggs also grew close to Eddy and the twins. His relationship with Eddy was odd, though. Their relationship was that of close friends, but it was more. It was not a romantic or sexual attraction, not at all. Eddy embodied all that Briggs had wanted his baby sister to grow into. It was as if God had handed Briggs a sister to replace the one God took home to be with Him so many years before.
Also, for the first time in twenty years Briggs found himself creating new categories. He needed one for Eddy and River and the twins that was unique. He didn’t want them to be corrupted by going into one of his many categories of stupid people.
From that point on, Briggs, River, Eddy and the twins were like family. Briggs liked that feeling.
It was Briggs’ third night in Houston. Eddy was nervous. She and River had spoken many times about her feelings regarding capital punishment. They had no choice except to talk about it again, this time in front of Briggs. They felt strongly that Briggs should not be caught off guard by Eddy’s plans to attend a protest rally against the state of Texas death penalty.
“We need to speak with you about something, Mark,” River said, as they relaxed at the dinner table well after the twins were asleep.
“Sure. If it’s about whether or not I’ll interview with Albert, I haven’t decided yet. Is he a man with good character, backbone and the guts to do what is right?” Briggs asked. “Can he take a stand?”
“Speaking of taking a stand,” Eddy said, taking advantage of her perfect opportunity to open the discussion. “River and I want you to know that I will take part in a protest against the state of Texas death penalty tomorrow. We didn’t want you to be caught off guard. I hope you won’t be offended by my participation in the rally.
“I belong to a protest group called Mothers United To End The Death Penalty Now. I’ve been a member for years, since well before the twins were born.”
“Why would I be offended?” Briggs asked.
“You’re a law enforcement officer. We figured that you would be in favor of the death penalty,” River said. “Or we thought maybe you would be against participation in a protest group, regardless of whether or not you’re against the death penalty.”
“Eddy, you plan to take a stand for something you believe in. That means you have guts and ch
aracter to do what you feel is right. That’s really all we can ask of people, isn’t it?” Briggs asked.
The silence was awkward as River and Eddy considered what to say next. Briggs remained silent.
“How do you feel about the death penalty, Mark?” Eddy asked.
“The death penalty is the stupidest thing this country’s got going. I hate the death penalty. The government shouldn’t be killing its own citizens. I’ve studied the issue of capital punishment many times in depth and with great care.
“It’s simple. We’re killing the wrong people. We have innocent people on death row. How many more examples do we need? We convict people, put them on death row, then DNA evidence shows that they’re not guilty. How about a policy that allows for an accuracy ratio of ninety–nine to one? Ninety–nine times they’re guilty; one time they’re not. That’s great, isn’t it? One dead innocent man in order to kill ninety–nine guilty men. Nice.
“The whole thing’s stupid. How many more innocent people do we have to discover on death row before we get it? What time is your rally? I would like to go, except that I’m not a mother.”
River and Eddy were not certain if Briggs was serious. Neither of them knew what to say. River spoke first.
“Well, I’m not in favor of protesting against the government. That’s for sure,” River said. “The death penalty is a deterrent to violent criminals. It’s been proven. I’m in favor of it.”
“Prove it,” Briggs said, snapping back immediately at River.
“There’s proof,” River replied.
“There’s no such thing. There’s bogus report after bogus report. But there’s no proof,” Briggs said. “I’ve researched it. It’s not a deterrent.”
Eddy was nervous. She felt that she had been the cause of a disagreement between River and Briggs. “Let’s change the subject,” Eddy suggested.
“There’s no reason to change the subject. We can disagree. It’s fine with me that we disagree. We should be able to do that without any problem,” Briggs said. “When’s the protest rally? I really would like to go.”