Convergence at Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  “Hi, Deidre. May I come in?” Pete asked.

  Deidre motioned with her hand to enter. So, she thought, this is who they send to tell me I’m through.

  “Deidre, I heard about what happened in class today.”

  Deidre sat silently.

  “I want you to know that I’m proud of you. I knew at some point you were going to have to put an end to this harassment, but I didn’t know how you were going to do it.” Pete laughed. “Well, you did it.”

  Deidre looked at him. “Mr. Hovland, am I finished here?” she asked with a quaking voice.

  “No. No, not at all,” Pete responded. “There was meeting of the faculty with the dean to discuss your status. A couple of the instructors wanted you dismissed. You probably know who they are?”

  Deidre nodded.

  Pete went on. “I told the group that times are changing, and they had better get used to it. I also told them that if they terminated your education here, I would consult you about filling a civil sexual-harassment suit, and also a Title Nine federal suit. That opened a few eyes, I can tell you.”

  By this time, all Deidre could do was mumble her thanks.

  “Ben has a broken foot, and I suspect some swelling elsewhere. His foot’s in a cast. I don’t know about the other part,” and Pete chuckled.

  “His education will be delayed for a while, but he’ll be allowed to come back next term to finish. You hang in there, Deidre.” With that, Mr. Pete Hovland excused himself from Deidre’s room.

  August 16, 1998, was a cloudless day, and as Deidre stood on the graduation platform at the Centralia Police Academy, she felt taller, stronger, and ready to take on the world. She had made it through four years of college and received a degree in criminology. Now she had completed the six-week training course at Centralia’s police academy.

  After those first two weeks of harassment she had endured, and after she had taken care of Ben, her life had been much more bearable. At least no one had tried anything funny during the mock arrests they had to make from then on.

  But on that beautiful Thursday in August, Deidre put the past out of her thoughts. This was a day she would enjoy and remember.

  Deidre had applied for an opening with the Lake County Sheriff’s squad in her home town. They were interviewing for one position now, but another would open up the following November. She figured if she put her application on file now, she might stand a better chance for the second opening. That was why she was somewhat shocked when she received a call from the sheriff a few days before graduation.

  “Hello,” Deidre answered the phone in her room.

  “Is this Ms. Deidre Johnson,” the caller wanted to know.

  Deidre didn’t recognize the voice, and almost hung up. “Yes, this is Deidre,” she said after a slight pause.

  “This is Sheriff Thorton of the Lake Country Sheriff Department. After reviewing your application and resume, we would like you to come in for an interview. I know your graduation is set for this Thursday, but could you come to the law enforcement center next Monday morning?”

  Deidre could hardly believe what she was hearing, and her first thought was that someone was playing a prank on her.

  During the pause that ensued, the sheriff spoke again. “We particularly were impressed with your reasons for choosing the law enforcement profession, and we were especially moved by your familiarity with domestic violence.”

  That was when Deidre realized the call was for real. Few people, none at the academy, knew about that night during her junior year of high school when her father was going to kill her and her family.

  Finally, Deidre stammered, “Yes, yes, I can be there. What time did you say?”

  “I didn’t, but is ten o’clock okay with you?”

  Once again Deidre stammered, “Yes, yes, that’ll be fine.”

  Sheriff Thorton said goodnight, and hung up. Deidre slowly sat down on her bed and placed the phone on its cradle. Then she let out a “YES!” at the top of her lungs.

  Graduation had been even more exciting than she had believed it would be, and as she received her diploma, her eyes met those of her instructor, Pete. He gave her a thumb up and a broad smile.

  As she drove the two hundred fifty miles up from Centralia in southern Minnesota to Two Harbors, Deidre sang along to the tunes on the car radio until she was hoarse and couldn’t sing any more.

  At 9:50 on Monday, Deidre entered the law enforcement center. She climbed the flight of stairs to the second floor and opened the door. On her right was an area closed in with darkened glass. She stepped up to the speaker mounted on her side of the window, and even then could barely see into the dispatcher’s office. This was also the room from which the inmates were observed around the clock.

  “Can I help you,” the person behind the glass asked. Deidre couldn’t help but notice the jailer was a woman and was wearing a black uniform of some sort.

  “Yes, I have an appointment for an interview with Sheriff Thorton at ten o’clock,” Deidre managed to get out of her desert-dry mouth.

  “Place your keys and any other metallic objects in the well under the window. You can pick them up after your interview. Good luck.”

  She heard a buzz and then the click of the lock in the door to her left.

  Deidre thought she could see the woman smile behind the cover of the tinted glass. She opened the door and walked into Sheriff Thorton’s world behind the glass. When the door closed behind her, she heard the lock click shut.

  “You must be Deidre,” the sheriff’s secretary said, and she pushed a button on the intercom.

  “Yes, Joyce, what is it?” Deidre heard a now familiar voice come out of the machine.

  “Deidre Johnson is here for her interview. Would you like her to come to your office now?”

  Deidre heard the sheriff answer, “Yes, send her in please.”

  Deidre entered his office, and she was almost stunned by the size of the man. For an instant he stood and looked at her, trying to come to grips with a five-foot-one-inch blond who wanted to be on his force. Finally, he stuck out his huge hand. “Bill Thorton,” he said.

  Deidre placed her hand in his meaty paw. She tried to present herself with a firm handshake, but the sheriff’s oversized hand totally engulfed hers.

  “Please, sit down,” the sheriff offered. His voice was quite gentle for such a large man.

  “Your interview will be attended by five people: two county board members, the director of the Lake County Human Services, the community liaison representative, and me. Just be yourself. Answer each question honestly, and don’t rush your answers,” he advised. “I see the others are already in the conference room. Let’s join them, and good luck,” Sheriff Thorton smiled at Deidre.

  The two of them entered the room together. Four people rose to shake her hand, but the community liaison representative , a grossly overweight, balding man, stayed seated and didn’t offer her his hand, only scrutinized her from top to bottom with what she called the “elevator look,” giving her the once over. Deidre privately gave him a name, “Oinker.”

  Everyone sat, and the interview began with Sheriff Thorton referring to a list of prearranged questions. “I will be reading the questions as they appear on this sheet. Each interviewee will be asked the same set of questions so there can be no sense of bias. At the end of the session you’ll have an opportunity to ask whatever you would like of us. Do you agree to this format?”

  Deidre nodded and quietly said, “Yes.”

  The questions started out easy enough. “Deidre, will you tell us something about yourself?” That she could handle. From there the questions became more about theoretical situations and what actions she would take.

  The interview went better than for what Deidre could have hoped. Part way in, she was able to relax and be herself. When the interview was about to end, Sheriff Thorton stood from his chair and once again held out his hand, but before Deidre could rise, Oinker interrupted.

  “Just a
minute,” he leered. “I look at your, ah, size and I wonder how you would react if a man say my size, came after you. How could you ever handle him,” and he smiled a strained smile.

  Deidre felt her face flush, and she almost blurted out something that wouldn’t have been appropriate.

  Sheriff Thorton stepped in. “It was agreed before this interview started that only the questions on this sheet would be asked, and Ms. Johnson accepted those terms. Ms. Johnson, you do not have to answer that question.” He glared at Oinker.

  “That’s all right, Sheriff. I’ll answer the question.” Then she looked at Oinker and calmly said, “If you’d care to step outside, because this hypothetical man is your size, I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

  Now it was Oinker’s face that flushed, and his jaw clamped shut. He shook his head. The others shook Deidre’s hand and expressed their thanks for her coming to the interview. Oinker looked out the window.

  “We have one last interview to conduct this afternoon,” Sheriff Thorton informed her. “Then we’ll make our decision during a late afternoon meeting. One way or the other, you’ll receive a call tomorrow at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

  Deidre left the center with mixed emotions: hopeful but cautious, elated but exhausted. The next morning she sat with her cell phone in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and a knot in her belly.

  At eight o’clock, her phone rang. It was the sheriff’s secretary, and Deidre’s heart sank. Surly if she had been the chosen candidate, the sheriff would have called her personally to tell her the good news.

  “Good morning, Deidre,” the receptionist said. “Sheriff Thorton was called out early this morning to the scene of a rather tragic accident on one of our county roads. He left a message asking me to tell you that you have been chosen to be on the force. Your orientation will begin next Monday morning at seven sharp.” The secretary added, “Congratulations, Deputy Johnson.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Deputy Deidre Johnson fell into a routine. The other deputies, all male, treated her with more aloofness than animosity, and she guessed they talked behind her back. As long as they let her do her job, she was okay with that.

  In the community, she was building a reputation for being fair and thorough. Among women dealing with domestic violence, Deidre was close to reaching sainthood. She also gained a reputation for being able to defuse tense situations without the use of physical force.

  Her most rigorous test had been one night when she was working the 9:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift.

  “Deputy Johnson, report in with your current location,” her police radio had crackled.

  “I’m traveling north on Highway Three, almost to the Silver Bend Cemetery.”

  “There is a report of a domestic about another three miles up Number Three, fire number 2129A. Respond immediately. The caller indicated an armed male was making threats against his family. Backup is on its way, but the nearest squad has about twenty minutes ETA.”

  “I read you,” Deidre responded. Her heart sank at what the dispatcher had said. She was being called to a situation that was all too familiar.

  She turned on her warning lights but chose to not go in with a siren screaming. Her vehicle raced through the darkness, and she prayed that a deer wouldn’t leap onto the road from the brush-lined ditches. It took less than three minutes for her to reach the driveway, douse her warning lights, and park behind a red F-150. Deidre’s SUV had hardly stopped rolling when she leaped from the driver’s seat and drew her pistol.

  When she reached the door she could hear familiar sounds that twisted her insides. A woman’s voice was pleading, “Please, please, don’t do this. They’re your children.”

  Deidre heard a male voice yell, “Shut up, you damn woman. Don’t ever tell me what I can or can’t do. You’re the cause of all this. If you’d keep your trap shut, I’d be okay.”

  In the background, Deidre could hear children wailing. Her instinct was to barge in and shoot the abuser, but she took a second to calm herself. Then, her pistol still drawn, she quietly turned the door knob. The door was unlocked, and she let herself in.

  The entryway led to a small living room. A table lamp lay broken on the floor, and a picture had fallen or been knocked off the wall. There was a slight blood smear on the doorway. The screaming and wailing was coming from the next room.

  Deidre stepped around the corner into the kitchen, and the scene burned its way into her memory. Lying on the floor was a young woman. One sleeve of her dress was ripped and hanging from her shoulder. A trickle of blood ran from her nose, and the skin on her cheek had been scraped as if her face had been rubbed along the stucco wall.

  In the corner, three children huddled together, seeking shelter behind each other’s body. Their crying didn’t cease, and they looked at Deidre like three trapped animals.

  In the center of the room stood a man, their father Deidre assumed. In his right hand he held a butcher knife, and he swayed back and forth in a way that made Deidre believe he was extremely drunk.

  “Who the hell are you?” he slurred, spotting Deidre.

  Deidre held her handgun hidden behind her back. He had a knife. She had a gun, and she didn’t want the situation to escalate.

  “My name’s Deidre. What’s yours?” she responded with a calm voice.

  “Why’re you here?” the man demanded, ignoring her question.

  “I was told that times have been tough for you. Thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

  “What do you know about me? What business is it of yours what I do?” he challenged, but at the same time looked at her quizzically.

  “Well, I know you’ve got three kids here who look like they could use a break.”

  Deidre caught the reflection of headlights as another car pulled up behind hers. She assumed it was another squad responding, and she gave a silent prayer of thanks that they had made such good time.

  “I’ve got a friend outside. What do you say we let the kids go out and sit in his car until we get things settled in here?” She hoped he would at least spare the children the memory of what might happen.

  “Why? You think I can’t take care of my own kids,” he argued.

  “Oh, that’s not it at all. Sometimes it’s good for adults to make their decisions without a bunch of crying kids around. Know what I mean? They just get on our nerves sometimes … I forget, what did you say your name is? Charlie?”

  The man with the knife pointed it at Deidre. “Just like a woman, can’t remember anything. My name is Kurt. I told you that, but you weren’t listening, were you?”

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry Kurt. I guess with all the excitement here I forgot. Say, Kurt, how about letting the kids leave? They can’t help us here, anyway. What d’ya say?”

  Kurt looked at the terrified little ones. “Go on. Get out before I give you what you got comin’, you worthless brats. Git!”

  Deidre motioned for the children to move toward the doorway. When they were close to her, she quietly said to the oldest, “There’s a nice man outside. Tell him Deidre said everything is good in here, and she wants you to stay in his car. Can you do that?”

  Through his tears, the child nodded and helped guide the younger ones from the room. Now it was just the three adults.

  “Okay, Kurt, what’s the problem? Your wife looks like she can use some help. She must have fallen down, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah. She fell down and hit her face,” Kurt explained, using the excuse Deidre had given him.

  “How about we let her go into the living room and lie down on the couch? It looks like she could use some rest, don’t you think, Kurt?” Deidre was hoping to have Kurt’s wife out of the line of fire before she took more forceful action.

  “Ah, she’s okay,” he responded. “She falls down a lot.”

  Deidre motioned for the woman to move. “But if she’s resting in the other room, then you and I can talk. Come on, Kurt. She’ll just be in the ot
her room.”

  The lady began to crawl toward Deidre. Kurt stood looking at her through his alcoholic fog, the butcher knife still in his hand, but he made no move to stop her. Finally she disappeared into the darkened living room.

  As soon as they were alone, Deidre brought her arm from behind her back, and for the first time, Kurt saw that she had a gun.

  “Kurt, this is no time to be foolish. A gun beats a knife every day of the week. I’d like you to drop the knife right now.”

  Kurt looked straight into the barrel of Deidre’s service revolver. The bore looked as big as a canon. The knife rattled onto the floor.

  “That was a smart move, Kurt,” Deidre said with an even tone. “Now kick it away from yourself.”

  Suddenly all of the fight had gone out of Kurt. He slumped.

  “Kneel on the floor.” Kurt knelt. “Place your hands behind your back.” He did without objection.

  Deidre circled behind him and placed a handcuff around one wrist and then the other.

  “Okay, Kurt. I’ll help you to stand. Then we’ll walk outside. Do you understand?” Kurt nodded.

  As the two of them, Kurt in front and Deidre behind with her weapon still drawn, moved down the steps of the porch, Deputy Anderson stepped forward and led Kurt away. Deidre heard the deputy reading him the Miranda act.

  Deidre was still shaking when she went to her vehicle and opened its door.

  “Come on, kids. Your mom’s waiting inside for you. It’s safe now.”

  They followed her into the house, and Deidre turned on a dim light in the living room. She went over to the couch.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Mary.”

  “Mary, I’m not so sure it’s good for you and the kids to stay alone tonight. Not that your husband will be back. He’ll be in jail. But I think you could use someone who’ll help you get cleaned up and who’ll help get the kids settled. Please let me take you to the women’s shelter in town. They can help. They’ll help you decide what to do from here.”