Wounded Badge Vista

by Kieran York

  Hertha was shown the little vials of gold, the nuggets and the two trout. “I’ll bet we could find a goldsmith to put the nuggets on a piece of jewelry.”

  “Now when they begin to remind you of the nuggets jewelry, don’t blame me that they pester you,” Royce teased.

  Hertha ordered, “Okay, time to get cleaned up. Baths, and then you can play with the dogs, and give them their exercise.”

  “They were wonderful, Hertha. It was a splendid morning.”

  “Royce, children are such a big responsibility. As long as they’re happy, kind, and good-hearted. And don’t get into too much trouble…”

  Royce laughed. “Even we got into a little trouble.”

  Hertha kissed Royce’s cheek. “How’s your assault and battery wound?”

  “Nothing you can’t heal.” Royce held her softly. “I want your happiness more than I want anything in the world.”

  “I know. I want your happiness. And I’ve come to terms, after all these years, with the fact that your happiness is enforcement. Now, I suspect, you’re going to get cleaned up and go back to your office?” she playfully accused. “In other words, so much for your day off.”

  “Guilty as charged. I want to see what’s going on. Have you heard how Nick’s settling in at the rehab center?”

  Hertha reported, “Bev is very pleased with his state of mind. He’s encouraged. They both are.”

  “I’m so happy. I can’t wait to see them again. Okay, you stay safe.”

  “Royce, when you’re ready to leave, just tell the kids to come inside. They can come up and keep me company in the office. Tell them to bring the Harry Potter book they’re reading, and maybe we can get a chapter in.” She shrugged. “I have come to love Harry Potter, too.”

  After Royce had showered, she and Chance took leave for the Sheriff’s Department. Conscious to watch her surroundings, she felt comfort when she knew the entrance door was shutting behind her.

  ***

  It was nearly four o’clock when the call came in from Forensics. Stella’s voice sounded excited. “Sheriff, we just got a hit on the blood work. A DNA profile matched. Coleen Herman. Just turned eighteen. Originally from a small town in Utah. Soft drug charges. Petty larceny. Oh, here’s a cute one. Her street name is Cookie.”

  “Cookie,” Royce repeated with amusement. “Okay.”

  “And her last known address was in Dallas.”

  “Bingo,” Royce exclaimed. Her rap sheet showed she had indeed been a Juvie, and was on the streets since she was fifteen. A runaway. A lost kid. Some mechanism inside Royce had changed since she became a parent. Youth, the significant rearrangement of a child to adolescent, and then to adulthood, was staggering. The sheriff’s becoming a parent altered her vision.

  “I’m sending you the file now. Should be on your computer in a few seconds.”

  “Arrived. Thanks Stella.” Royce rushed to pull up the file. Coleen Herman’s mugshot was indeed a revelation. Her eyes were bleary, her looks in general scruffy, young, and very high on her drug of choice. The first impression was that she had zombie-like indifference. Pale coloring, short light brown hair in a shaggy bowl cut style. Her dark eyes held fear.

  This was the crusty, hardened woman in the Stop-On Buy. Coleen Herman’s image was of another person. Wig, excess cosmetics, and the air of a woman of the world. A glamour shot, movie star, a smart ass playing the part of beauty queen. Royce was transfixed as she looked at the photo. Many times, mug shots were an identity differential, and so lacking soul, but this was pronounced. The transformation of Coleen’s spirit was actually visible.

  Two of the women in the office were scurrying to get the new photos and information logged onto the computer. When finished, it would be sent out to enforcement, as well as to media, throughout the state. Posters would be going up in shops, and on streetlamps. An official APB was now out for both Buckley Eisner and Coleen Herman. She was no longer the mystery accessory to murder. She was no longer the ditzy flake who was seen stacking snack items, cigarettes, and beer on a convenience store counter. Probably getting an ego boost for perpetrating credit card fraud.

  It was early evening when Royce walked out of the Sheriff’s Department. All afternoon her thoughts had brewed about ways to flush out this killing couple. Immediately after the APD went out, Royce called Nick. He was just getting out of physical therapy. He warned Royce he was in a grumpy mood. But the news of the Mimic Maiden’s identity had perked him up.

  Others also seemed to be elated. The feeling was there, they were getting nearer to taking two very dangerous criminals off the streets. Royce stopped to look at one of the posters that had just gone up on the side of a mailbox.

  Under her breath, the sheriff murmured, “Mimic Maiden no more. Coleen Herman, Cookie, I’m coming for you and Buck.”

  Chapter 21

  Throughout the night, Royce tossed and turned. Finally, at four, Sunday morning, she decided she would fix some hot chocolate, and that might help her rest for a couple hours. In the kitchen, as she stirred the drink, Royce jumped when she saw the shadow against the wall. Rapidly, she turned.

  Antero was standing in the doorway. “Royce, I’m thirsty.”

  “Have a seat, Partner, and I’ll pour you some hot chocolate.”

  Royce filled a cup for Antero. “I’m scared those criminals will shoot you. Like they shot Undersheriff Nick. Mom said not to worry because you’ll find them. But look how someone hurt your face.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry about me. Let’s toast,” she held her mug up, and it clanked with Antero’s. “It will all be solved soon. And we’ll have more fun days like gold prospecting, fishing, and watching the wildlife. And Nick will be back to normal soon. He’s improving every day. He misses seeing Sara and Andy now. But he thinks of them every day. He’s determined to get well, and maybe we’ll all go camping together some of these days.”

  “That would be fun. Andy used to want to be a deputy. But he doesn’t anymore. Because of his dad getting shot and nearly dying.”

  “Andy’s only nine-years old. He’s got time to figure out what’s right for him. And what would you like to be?”

  “A veterinarian. That would be the most fun. And Vannie still wants to be a sheriff, like you.”

  Royce smiled. “I thought she wanted to be a veterinarian like your mom.”

  “Nope. She’s got plans to catch the criminals. She loves to read mysteries, too.”

  “Whatever the two of you decide, you know your Mom and I will back your decision. As long as it makes you happy, and you’re doing good. That’s all I care about. I love you both, and will love you whatever you become.”

  “Yesterday I thought I might want to look into becoming a prospector.” He sat up strait, and then frowned, “But that’s a lonely job. When I’m around animals, I don’t need to worry about having people around, I’m not lonely a bit.”

  Laughing, and trying to suppress the sound of laughter so she wouldn’t wake anyone, Royce thought about what a profound statement Antero made. All jobs, all of life, can be sometimes lonely. But an animal at her side had always healed Royce. “I think Gran has some DVDs of a TV show called ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ with animals. I’ll ask her if we can borrow the shows. They’re about a vet in England. Your Mom said it was her favorite show when she was growing up.”

  He snickered, and leaned nearer to Royce, as if moving toward a secret. “Before we set up the DVD, I’ll tell Mom that I promise I won’t move to England. You know how she worries.”

  “I do indeed. Okay, young man, maybe you can get some sleep now.”

  He took his cup to the sink, then gave Royce a hug. He touched the sheriff’s chin. And peered at her swollen lips. “I’d like to punch that sorry son of a bitch that hit you.”

  Royce’s eyes opened widely. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Faye said it. She said he hit his wife and he hit you. And she said that she’d kick him in the trousers and punch
that sorry son of…”

  Royce interrupted, “Son, the world ‘bitch’ means female dog. But some people call women that in a derogatory way. So it isn’t a good word to use. Men shouldn’t disrespect women. You know how terrible it is to be bullied, we must be respectful.”

  “Vannie said a derogatory name about me, just recently,” he tattled.

  “What kind?” Royce asked.

  “She called me a little toad.” He walked toward the kitchen door, then turned. “But I love her anyway. It’s a rule. You’ve got to love your sister no matter what she calls you.”

  Amused, yet quieting her laugh, Royce sat alone in the kitchen. She finished the last sip of chocolate milk. She considered how knowing these children had enhanced her life. Her thoughts turned to Nick. Nick, her spiritual brother. His children were permanently scarred. His own son didn’t want to become an enforcer because of the assault on Nick. Yes, she thought, they’d been damaged by this tragedy more than anyone could know.

  Royce worried about Nick. She’d heard a sadness in his voice earlier when she called him to catch him up on what was happening. This new day was predictably going to be a race because of the leads the deputies would be chasing down. Each new clue brought on an onslaught of citizen’s sightings of the criminals. Royce determined that today, on a busy Sunday, the criminals would be hunkering down. She made a decision to drive to Denver in the morning so she and Nick could have their confab face to face. It might help them both. They always bolstered one another. And he would help sort out the investigation.

  With only an additional hour of morning sleep, Royce was rejuvenated. When Hertha woke, she told her about the plan to pay a surprise visit to Nick. Hertha sipped coffee, then said, “I’d like to go with you. I can visit with Bev, and we can catch up on news. I’ve wanted to see her. And it will be good for you to get away, and for you and your bro to entertain one another for a couple hours of gossip.”

  Snickering, Royce asked, “You really think we’ll be entertaining one another? Hon, I want a sounding board. The crime. I hunger for a mind like Nick’s to bat ideas.”

  Hertha smiled and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you call it. You’re going to sit and sift clues. And that will be good for you both.” Hertha paused. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about seeing my biological father, just to know him. There are things that Skype can’t capture. Perhaps, I would someday wish I’d at least met with him once. With time constantly rolling faster, I might not get another chance.”

  “Yes, sounds like a plan. How about when you talk with Bev, you check and see if their home is ready for a puppy. We can pick up the new dog and deliver it today,” Royce suggested.

  “I know she said that she would love it for the kids. I’m thinking right away would be appreciated.” Hertha nodded, “Yes, and kids have already named the dog. Gold Honey. Because Gold would work well with Nick on the job. And Honey for her family, because Honey wouldn’t work well for an attack police dog.”

  Royce grinned. “I see what you’re saying. An undersheriff calling his K-9 Honey. But I love the name Honey. I guess Gold Honey it is. She’s such a lovely dog. I can’t wait to see her, and I’m sure the kids are impatiently awaiting her. Today would be a good day.”

  “I adore that name,” Hertha said. “Gold Honey sounds like a show dog.”

  “I’d say it’s a great name for a K-9. By the way, what about High Country?”

  “It’s Sunday, so maybe I could get the animal hospital covered. With a vet, and two techs. A vet from Crystal could help out.”

  “I talked with Sam, and Terry, and they’re handling things for me. And we could drop the kids off with Gran. Since I don’t want Chance spending all day traveling, and waiting for us, I’ll take her to Gran’s, too. They all love visiting the cabin, and Gran and Debra would enjoy the kids.”

  “A perfect plan,” Hertha agreed. “I’ll call the vet team from Crystal, and get things set up. And I’ll call your Gran and ask her if she minds.”

  Royce offered, “Maybe I could call Greg Corby and Diane McGill. We could meet at a restaurant for coffee this afternoon. Then pick up the dog, Miss Gold Honey, and drive back to Timber City. Drop off Honey.”

  “Yes, I think that would be good. But Royce, would you mention to Greg Corby that it is just to talk. I don’t want him to touch me. Can you understand?”

  “Yes, I can. And I think he’s the type of man who would understand. He isn’t expecting forgiveness. I don’t think he’d presume it. Nor expect it. And I don’t think he’ll even wants to talk about redemption.”

  “I love you, Sheriff,”

  Royce kissed Hertha tenderly. She pondered the reason that the kiss, with half her lips swollen, hadn’t hurt. It instead felt healed by Hertha’s lips.

  ***

  After arriving at the Denver rehab center, Royce and Hertha were excited to see Nick and Bev. They were surprised by the visit. Nick couldn’t keep from tearing up. Royce felt better the moment she saw Nick. He was in a seated position in his bed. He gave a medical update. After chatting for a few minutes, Bev mentioned she’d like to do some shopping, just to get out of the hospital for an hour. Hertha joked that she carried a list of sundries, et cetera, for her rush-and-buy trips.

  After they had left, Royce mentioned how much better Nick looked than she’d anticipated he might look. “Nick, you look so much stronger.”

  He grumbled, “I don’t feel that much more strength. There was a little nerve damage with the head wound. My legs are like sea-legs. The tech whose working on me, is like a guy trying to get some movement out of an erector set.”

  Laughing, Royce encouraged, “Just keep positive.”

  “I hate that danged phrase!” Nick teased. “I’m hurting. The stiffness in my neck and shoulders is pounding me. I expected you, of all people to come in here and tell me that my shoddy body looks like it’s ready for the trash heap.”

  “Nope, not me. Nick I’m thinking in no time at all you’re going to be back to your previous Adonis standing.” Royce leaned forward in the chair. “I’m not joking, Nick. We really need you. Not just miss you. I never realized how much we solve together. Right now, with this case, it’s like chasing people who don’t exist. There’s evidence, but some days I think I might as well throw my handcuffs away. They’ll never get any use.”

  “Come on, Sheriff. You found out that this woman has a past. Got both perps on the radar. With good investigative skills, you and the troops are putting together some strong leads. Not only that, you’ve stepped the crime back to point to the leader of the conspiracy. Sumner. The Feds are going to love you if you get the proof of his conspiracy. They’ll be racking up charges and he’ll never be eligible to leave that penitentiary.”

  “Sumner’s providing the dollars. And he’s smart enough to pick a hitman that doesn’t mind killing sheriffs. And appears to have no fear at all.”

  “Royce, we both know the three of them – Sumner, Buckley Eisner, and the girl, Coleen Herman – they’re implicated. In cahoots.”

  “Add on his attorney, Mel Delton. He’s passing out the paychecks – cash, to Buckley and Coleen. If Buckley just left prison, he was probably skinned. Someone funded the car, the cash. But how did the line trace back? One of Coleen’s last addresses was in Texas. Buckley had a transfer from the Texas prison. But where were the meet up points?”

  “I’m guessing Buckley Eisner met Sumner behind bars. Either Sumner knew Coleen before he began doing time. Maybe this attorney – Delton - somehow helped to get it set up.”

  “Nick, great point. I’m going to have Terry get a burner phone and call Delton. She can start with the name Coleen. Then, if that doesn’t register, she can use Coleen’s street name, Cookie.”

  Nick’s unique belly laugh howled. “Cookie! Oh, my gosh. Can you get me a photo of our Terry on the phone announcing to Delton, ‘This is Cookie!’”

  Royce joined in the laughter. “I’ll see if Sam can capture the moment. Terry will proba
bly think it’s so funny, she’ll do a little shimmy dance when she calls.” She paused. “If Delton begins talking, we’re assuming that he is one of the gang. We’ll need it on audio, if he does respond, and knows her.”

  Nick and Royce continued dissecting the crimes until Hertha and Bev returned. “Hon,” Hertha said, “We’d better get going. We’re a little late.” After goodbyes, there was silence as Royce drove to the café meeting place. Finally, Hertha questioned, “Royce, do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

  “Yes. I think it’s the most magnanimous action you can take. To be honest, I’m not certain if I would have the merciful spirit of kindness, if I were in your place. But Hertha, I know that you do.”

  “What makes you think I should?”

  “Years ago, when my dad was killed, my Gran told me of my father’s philosophy of evil people. My dad said there were two kinds of evil people. One person is pure evil. The other has done an evil thing.” She hesitated as she pulled in to the café’s parking lot. “I’m now about the same age as my dad was when he was murdered. I understand it better now than I did when I was younger.”

  They parked and entered the café.

  Hertha had nodded to the man who sat across from her. She’d shook the hand of her half-sister, Diane McGill. Greg Corby, had expressed his sorrow to Hertha. His contrition was genuine. Hertha’s love for her mother was talked about at the café table. It was the legacy that her brave daughter gave on her mother’s behalf. When they departed from the strangers, Royce and Hertha returned to their vehicle.

  It was civil. Hertha and Greg Corby studied one another. He was kind, and empathetic to the daughter he’d never known, and would not know now. Sorrow was a part of both of their expressions. He was someone Hertha would have met on the street and probably liked. She was someone he would have seen, and he would have admired.

  Royce held Hertha’s hand tightly. “I’ve never been prouder of you. Your mother provided the world such a wonderful human being.”