by Rod Collins
“Sheriff Blair, do you agree that using drones to aid surveillance is a good idea?”
Bud rubbed the scar on his eyebrow and then straightened, standing taller without realizing it. He shook his head and scanned the faces of the two hundred plus people gathered in the gym. “I don’t like the idea of drones watching our citizens. I don’t like it at all. No one else should either.”
A few people, mostly older men and women, nodded, and a few just fidgeted. He looked over and directly challenged Clay Oliver. “Mister Oliver, you are Western, so you have to know that most of us live here for the personal freedom and privacy the Western lifestyle gives us. No. I don’t like it at all. Too much opportunity for abuse. Honest police work and community cooperation get the job done. And we’ve all but stopped rustling in Lake County … without a spy-in-the-sky approach.
Crime will always be around, but we have a proud record as a police department, and I oversee an efficient office when it comes to solving crime. To my knowledge we only have one unsolved cold case on our books, and we’re going to tackle that one soon.”
He paused and took a sip of water from the glass on his podium. “I can see the use of a drone in search and rescue, but not for routine police work. Nope, not on my watch.”
That brought a round of applause, and one man from the back of the room yelled, “Go get ‘em, Bud!”
Oliver glowered at Bud and said to the audience, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Sheriff Blair is blind to innovation.”
That comment earned Clay Oliver a chorus of boos, and a sharp rebuke from Anna McBride. “Save your rebuttal for the appropriate time, Mister Oliver.”
BB nodded and said quietly to Nancy, “I score a knockout for Bud, or at least a knock-down. Oliver got suckered with that question. He’s sure an arrogant sonofabitch.”
Clay Oliver never quite recovered, but he was still an imposing, handsome man who relied on charm to try and win people over.
Bud stumbled a bit over his own “special question.” Anna McBride tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile when she said, “Sheriff, what role does the news media have in the law enforcement playbook?”
Bud snorted and said, “Anna, I only know two … no, make that three … reporters I would trust to know when to suppress a story in the interest of helping the police work a case and catch a criminal. Two of those are in this room tonight, and one is retired. Otherwise, I do my best to stay away from the press. Period.”
Anna nodded and said, “Thank you, Sheriff.”
***
Standing applause at the end of the debate had both candidates wondering who had won. They met at center stage and shook hands. Bud leaned in close and whispered, “Your Montana past is about to catch up with you.”
Oliver pulled back and looked Bud in the eye. “Past is right. I cleaned up my debts before I left. But why didn’t you say anything here tonight?”
“Maybe because I’m willing to let the past stay that way. You stay clean, and you’ll have no trouble in Lake County.”
Oliver laughed and gripped Bud’s shoulder with his free hand. He gave Bud’s hand a firm grip and then said, “Damn, I might vote for you myself.”
Chapter 86
Aftermath
AT THE END OF two grueling days of testimony, Butler was dismissed – but not before giving a sworn deposition to the Assistant U.S. Attorney, who said, “We will do what we can with this, but I can’t guarantee you won’t have to testify in person at trial.”
He was released to FBI custody. Two agents he didn’t know gave him a ride to the Portland International Airport. Butler stepped out the back seat of the black SUV and walked into the terminal without a word. He used his David Kojak credit card to buy a ticket on an Alaska Airlines flight to Ketchikan. Winslow Butler no longer existed.
After four tedious hours, broken only by a change of planes at Sea-Tac his flight touched down in Ketchikan. He called to let Milly know he was back. A musty-smelling taxi dropped him at the marina. He paid the fare and realized he didn’t know the code for the security gate. But it didn’t matter. Milly was walking up the dock. She looked healthy, and the smile on her face chased his worry away. She held the gate open and said, “Welcome home.” She let the gate latch behind them and then grabbed his sleeve. She gave him a big hug and tried to kiss him on the lips. He turned his face and gave her a cheek to kiss instead.
She took his hand and led him down the dock. “I’ve missed you. I just got back from my first meeting. I think I’m going to like it. Janice Jones is a wonderful friend, and I have so much to tell you.”
And you are high, Butler thought. It made him feel sad. No one said it was going to be easy.
***
Al-Alwani was indicted on the charges of murder for hire, human trafficking, and aggravated kidnapping. When June Daniels, the young woman rescued by Brandt and Wilcox from the shipping container, died from complications brought on by malnutrition and pneumonia, murder was added to the charges. Dutch reasoned her death was caused by her captivity. “Because that sonofabitch wouldn’t get her any medical help, the deal is off.”
***
Homeland Security sent agents to arrest Osama and five of his closest advisers. All were sent to a detention center in Cuba. Four would later be deported to Syria.
While in prison, the old man would die of congestive heart failure. And Osama would be shot while trying to escape. Records of Osama’s detention were expunged from all official files. He was buried in an unmarked grave. Rumors among the guards said it was in the middle of a gravel road running around the inside perimeter of the razor wire fence.
***
Former motorcycle gang member, Gary Gentle, aka Starbucks, testified that he had been hired by “Shooter” to kill TJ Wildish, and he described firing at the “black people in the boat on the lake.”
Testimony by FBI Special Agent Miranda Wright, who gained sympathy from the five women on the jury when she held up her left hand to show the jury the scars from her injury, reinforced the jury’s belief in Shooter’s guilt. He was convicted of being an accomplice to an attempted murder and murder-for-hire, then sentenced to twenty-five years in prison.
As one of the women on the jury later explained, “It was clear he ordered his gang members to kill Reverend Wildish, and that nice FBI lady was hurt because of what he did. Besides, he just oozed evil. He sat there in court and glared … like he would kill all of us if he could. Just trying to intimidate us. Make us afraid. He needed to be put away.”
***
At the Paisley Tavern, Clay Oliver bought a round for the house from innkeeper Buffalo Boggs, sipped Crown Royal, and said to the half-dozen men sitting at the bar, “A toast to Sheriff Bud Blair.
I figured he was just a country bumpkin county sheriff. And I had it wrong. He’s all man and smart as a whip. That’s why I’m getting the hell out of the race. I’m beat before I start. Besides, I like that guy. Square shooter is what he is.”
Buffalo peered at the big rancher over the rim of his granny glasses and ever so slightly shook his head. You were whipped all right. I wonder why Bud Blair didn’t tell the citizens of Lake County about your shady past?
***
When Clay Oliver announced he was withdrawing from the race for sheriff, BB resigned as Bud’s campaign manager. He walked into Bud’s office and said, “Well, that wraps it up for now. I’m going to Klamath Falls to pick up TJ and take him back to Portland.”
Bud rocked back in his old wooden captain’s chair and looked up. “I’ll send my formal thanks to Sergeant Booker through the Klamath Falls Chief of Police, but I want you to give him my personal thanks for his help when you get over there.”
“You bet.”
“I suppose you’ll see Miranda while you’re in Portland?”
“Yes. And I admit I’m looking forward to it.”
Bud nodded. “Beautiful woman. Smart as a whip, but she sure talks a lot. You think you can handle that?”
�
��Life is fleeting, old friend. I’m willing to take a chance. Question is, will she take a chance on me?”
Bud rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Go find out, BB.”
“I will. Me and my new F-150.”
***
Special Agent Wilcox, FBI, caught a short flight to Sea-Tac hired a cab, and rode through the streets of Seattle to Uncle George’s house. When the cab stopped at the curb in front, Cletus and a tiny black woman came out the front door and stood on the little porch, two small bags packed and ready to go. A stooped black man who might have been tall at one time walked out the front door and stood behind them. He waited for Wilcox to be introduced by Cletus, but the woman spoke first.
“You must be Agent Wilcox. I’m Cletus’ mother. I’ve heard a lot about you. Cletus says he’s going to join the FBI. That right?”
Wilcox nodded. “Yes. There’s a summer intern job waiting for him when we get back. And as soon as he finishes his degree, I’m going to personally swear him in.”
Wilcox looked up at the older man and said, “You must be Uncle George.”
“I am. FBI, huh?” He looked skeptical. “He’s pretty small.”
“Brains over brawn, Uncle George. Brains over brawn.”
***
The ladies of Lakeview counted the months down, only to be disappointed when Nancy Sixkiller-Blair failed to produce the predicted child. In fact, Nancy appeared to be slimming down. Doc Saunders pocketed the twenty-dollar bill from Brenda Brown, his longtime assistant who had bet on Nancy’s pregnancy. “Miscarriage?” he quipped.
Brenda scowled. “Not likely. I’d have heard about that.”
***
Comfortable, now that Sonny Sixkiller was once again the undersheriff of Lake County, Bud told Sonny he figured it would be all right if he and Nancy took some time for a real honeymoon. “I think we’ll run up into that Northern Idaho country. I’ve always wanted to see Lake Pend Oreille. Ride the sternwheeler. Catch a fish maybe.”
“Go, boss. I’ve got this under control”
“And hire me a new deputy while I’m gone. Larae sent in her resignation.”
***
In Salem, the Oregon Liquor Control Commission canceled the Stone-Cold Tavern’s liquor license, and the city canceled the tavern’s restaurant license. The bunkhouse was condemned as a meth house … even though the evidence was pretty flimsy. But who was going to object? The Romans were universally detested. Those who escaped jail time rode their bikes to Nampa, Idaho. There, the leader of the Nampa chapter discouraged any talk of reprisal against the Lake County Sheriff. “Leave that man alone. He just keeps winning. Let’s not tempt fate.”
***
Special Agent Wilcox talked to Dutch Vanderlin about returning to Portland and his old job. “I’m a field agent,” he argued. “That’s where I belong.”
Dutch pushed him hard about turning down his shot at promotion, but Wilcox insisted. Dutch said, “Two weeks. Then come on home. And welcome.”
Wilcox said, “You knew, didn’t you?” Dutch hung up without answering.
***
Jenny Jackson’s lobster dinner at Jakes Famous Crawfish cost Douglas Brandt most of two hundred dollars, including tip. He fumed silently about it, but when she invited him in for a nightcap, he forgot about the expense.
***
Miranda opened the apartment door to BB’s knock. On impulse, she pulled him inside and closed the door. When she pulled loose from his embrace and his kiss, she said, “I called for reservations for two at that nice dinner house on the marina dock. My treat. It’s the least I can do for letting me use your apartment.” But in her heart, she knew there was more going on than gratitude.
Dell BeBe was too smitten to notice.
Acknowledgements
Vi Collins, whose patience was tested once again.
Jerry Barrowcliff, who is always there with encouragement and gentle, succinct criticism.
Aaron Cooper, my lifelong friend and keeper of the files.
Don Sturgill, for his dedicated persistence in the briar patch of proofing, editing, and formatting.
Zachariah Sturgill, my talented young cover creator.
Dale Casey, off-site keeper of the files.
Sydney and Quinn who gave me the moon and the stars.
My special thanks to this cadre of volunteer proofreaders: Rendy Jantz, Ivan Farm, Jim Goble, Sandra Jeter, Ed Monk, and Linda Gibbs. And finally, my humble thanks to all of you who posted reviews of the earlier novels. God bless readers, one and all.
About the Author
Rod Collins grew up in a family nurtured by the oral storytelling tradition of rural America. Good storytellers (like his grandfather, Charlie Troop) were always welcome at the supper table or around the campfire.
True to that tradition, Collins created his award-winning, contemporary detective mysteries series featuring Sheriff Bud Blair. Not Before Midnight is book five of that collection. The first is Spider Silk.
Another of Rod’s books, Bitter’s Run, is a stand-alone historical novel set in 1865, immediately following the end of the Civil War. John Bitter plans a solo trip across the Oregon Trail to his farm on Abiqua Creek, but The Good Lord and the beautiful red-haired lass, Morgan Eagan, have other plans.
Rod is also the author of What Do I Do When I Get There? A New Manager’s Guidebook. This little book (called a “gem” by one reviewer), was the 2007 winner of the Pinnacle Book Award.
Rod loves to hear from his readers. Get in touch by leaving a comment on the Rod Collins Blog: http://brightworkspress.com/blog/.
And … of course … your reviews are always welcome. You’re the reason Rod keeps writing. You can find out more on his Amazon authors page: amazon.com/author/rodcollins.