by Glenn Trust
The team pulled out their handcuffs and moved towards the four seated conspirators. They knew that no one would be answering any questions. In this case, asking was just a legal formality. As Judge Turnfeld said, the probable cause they had was very thin. They were going to make sure they dotted every “i" and crossed every “t” on this one. That meant there would be no hedging on the requirements set out in the Supreme Court’s 1966 Miranda versus The State of Arizona decision. PT and his buddies would be read their rights.
Senator Montgomery looked at Grizzard who pulled him firmly from his chair.
“You buying in to all this too, Harvey? You’re making a pretty big decision here today. A decision with serious consequences.” As Grizzard started to turn him around to handcuff him, Montgomery stopped and looked Grizzard in the eye with his most sympathetic, ‘you just don’t know what you are doing’ look.
Like Prentiss Somerhill, Senior, Harvey Grizzard had known Charles Montgomery most of his life. They had moved in the same circles frequently, been on the same side of issues often. Spinning Montgomery around, he placed one cuff around his right wrist and the other around the left and spun him back around to face him.
Sheriff Grizzard smiled at Senator Charles Montgomery. “Shut up, Chuck.”
86. “I got this.”
Leaning against the side of the cabin in the shadow of the small lean-to shed, Sharon scanned the woods and surrounding yard. The moon was still low and the stars shone brightly, providing some contrast against the dark backdrop of the trees and brush. It was surprising to her how much could be discerned by starlight when not surrounded by the artificial light of civilization. There was no civilization here, just the woods, and swamp and things that moved in the dark.
Standing in the shadows with her back nestled in the corner of the shed and cabin, she was invisible, or nearly so. Anyone moving across the yard towards the cabin would be visible to her, even in the dim starlight.
She heard the sound of metal sliding on metal as Lee moved inside the shed, sliding the handcuff links along the steel pipe. Moving closer to the side of the shed where Sharon watched, he put his mouth to the wall planks and spoke through a gap in the boards.
“You there, girl?”
Sharon made no reply, hearing him breathing just inches away from her face on the other side of the planks.
“I know you can hear me. I know you’re there. I can see your shadow through the cracks. You’re there. Say something.”
Sharon focused on the yard. There was nothing to say.
“You know you can’t win this. They gonna wait long as they have to and when it’s over, it’s all gonna be the same. They win no matter what. I can help. You give up, and I see they don’t hurt you.” Lee’s voice increased with volume slightly with every word.
Realizing that he was trying to signal those watching from the woods and give them some idea of where he was and where she was, she turned her head and put her mouth to the gap between the shed wall planks, so close that she could smell his breath.
“I don’t know who’s going to win, you piece of shit.” Sharon’s whispered tone was harsh, spitting out the words. Lee could almost feel her breath. “But if you make one more sound, say anything else, if you scratch yourself so loud that I can hear it, I can tell you who is going to be the first loser. You, because I am going to come in there and shoot you right between your fucking eyes.”
The shed became instantaneously quiet. Lee wanted to move back to a more comfortable position, but he was afraid to make any noise sliding the cuffs along the pipe again. Shoot him between the eyes. Bullshit. Still, the bitch sounded crazy enough to do it, and she had tracked him down and surprised him in the woods. She just might do it. Fuck! Lee remained huddled uncomfortably on his knees, arms extended, wrists cuffed around the pipe near the shed wall. He made no noise.
Sharon’s head lifted and her eyes scanned the sky. The faint sound of the Cessna’s engine could be heard over the rustling of the evening breeze through the trees. Rince was coming back from his latest refueling trip to Everett. There wasn’t much he could do from up there, but the sound of the plane was reassuring.
Lowering her eyes and scanning the dark tree line contrasted against the sandy, bare yard, she listened. Something was moving. Possum, armadillo, raccoon, deer, bird…she couldn’t tell. It was amazing how much noise a small creature could make in the woods when they thought they were safe in the dark. Or maybe, she thought, she was so damned nervous that all the night sounds were amplified and made more terrible in the dark. Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself.
Her eyes followed the sound across the tree line in front of her, moving left to right. Probably nothing, she thought. They didn’t even know if anyone else would be coming to find out what happened to the two killers.
She and Ronnie had decided to lay low that night, keep everyone secure and then have Rince contact the State Patrol in the morning, get word to Shaklee and get some backup out to the cabin. There was no sense trying to get anyone out tonight. The route to the cabin was difficult even in the daytime. At night, not knowing where you were headed, it could take all night to get there, even if you managed to find your way in the deep black of the swamp and marshes. Besides, there was no emergency. One killer was dead, the other cuffed in the shed. Just as well to wait until morning.
The sound was moving through the woods again, more to the left towards the other side of the cabin. A shape emerged from the woods. Looking slightly to the side of the moving shape to let her night vision get a read on it, Sharon knew that it was not a deer or raccoon. It was a man.
Crouching as he ran, the man moved across the yard in the direction of the opposite corner of the cabin. She could not see him clearly, just his outline and dark shape, but she could tell that he was big. He carried a long gun in one hand, rifle or shotgun, she couldn’t tell in the dim starlight.
Stepping from the side of the cabin, Sharon pulled the Glock from the holster on her waist. Pushing it out in front of her in a two handed grip, she gave the required warning. “Police!”
The man fired an un-aimed shot in her direction with a handgun as he ran. Squeezing the trigger four times in quick succession, Sharon tracked her target steadily across the yard, the Glock recoiling upward in her hand with each pull of the trigger.
The moving shape went down, and a deep voice shouted in anger more than pain. “Shit!”
Stepping from the shadows, Sharon approached the figure on the ground slowly, scanning beyond him with her peripheral vision while keeping an eye on his movements. Moving her head quickly to check the cabin, she saw that it was dark. The door was partially open, and she could make out the form of Ronnie Kupman covering her with the M-1 carbine. She refocused on the man on the ground, stopping within twenty feet of him.
Moving slightly to the side so that she was to his back, she picked up the rifle he had dropped as he went down. “Push the handgun away.”
He made no movement.
“I said, push the gun away, asshole. Do it now!”
Still no movement from the man who was partially sitting, cradling his left leg with one arm. There was no way to tell how serious the wound was. The man turned his head to look over his shoulder in her direction, but remained silent. Other than cradling his injured leg, he showed no signs of pain or fear.
“You don’t toss the gun, and I will shoot you where you lay.” She said the words softly and with a tone that let him know she was serious.
He spoke. “You ain’t gonna shoot me like that. You’re law. You can’t shoot me.”
“Really? Well, here’s the thing, asshole. We’re out here in the dark. You already took one shot at me. I know you have a weapon. If I cap you right now, no one is going to question my motives and your sorry ass will be dead. I won’t miss at this range.” She paused to let that all sink in and added, “Your choice. You have ten seconds to make it.”
Eight of the ten seconds passed before the hulking form on th
e ground moved and a pistol came skittering across the hard packed sand of the clearing.
Taking a step forward, Sharon pushed the pistol further away with her foot. The Glock in her hands never moved off target.
The creak of the cabin’s door let her know that Ronnie had taken a step out with the carbine to provide her more cover as she approached the man on the ground. Glancing quickly at the cabin, she could just make out Kupman standing against the wall in the shadow to the left of the door. His posture indicated that he was scanning the trees for any sign of movement or danger. The dim outline of Porter Wright holding the shotgun could be seen in the darkened window.
Holding her pistol in one hand, she moved towards the point where she had kicked the man’s handgun. The world exploded in a flash and then caved in on her.
The thundering roar of the shotgun faded into the trees. Rodney Puckett lowered the twelve-gauge from the recoil and brought it back on target. The woman who had shot Big Bud was down, hitting the ground with a thud like a sack of potatoes. She made no sound.
Bud Thompson had also dropped completely to the ground and flattened himself at the thunder of the gunfire, not wanting to be caught in any crossfire from the cabin. It was the right move.
Ronnie Kupman had seen the shotgun’s flash an instant before he heard its roar. Raising the carbine to his shoulder, he snapped off three quick rounds in the direction of the gun flash in the woods. It was suppression fire. He had no expectation of hitting anything, but he had to get to Sharon.
Crouching as he ran, he called to Wright over his shoulder, “Look for any movement. You see anything, you open fire. Keep their heads down.” He moved quickly past the prostrate man on the ground to Sharon’s side.
Standing in the woods watching the activity in the cabin’s yard, Rodney Puckett had waited, trying to determine how many armed persons there were in the cabin. The man who had come to the door with the carbine had been invisible in the shadows. The three gun flashes returning fire had given his position away. Puckett figured that the man who had fired back in his direction was probably the deputy whose car they had found out on the road and who had loaded Bill Quince’s body into the pickup with the assistance of the woman and Sim Lee. That left the man he had seen covering Lee with the shotgun, Porter Wright, the target. He had no doubt that there were others, his family, inside. None could be allowed to leave the cabin.
As he watched, the deputy in the shadows had darted across the yard, calling back to someone in the cabin. The clearing around the cabin was lit by the starlight, the white sandy ground reflecting and slightly amplifying the dim light from the night sky. He saw the deputy kneel beside the woman. Thompson remained low, plastered to the ground. Smart man.
Raising the fully choked shotgun to his shoulder, Puckett squinted over the sight at the end of the barrel. The thought that they would not be getting their refund for not using the weapons flashed briefly through his mind and brought a wry smile to his thin face. Well, some things couldn’t be helped.
Kneeling beside Sharon, Ronnie tried to determine where she had been hit. He felt the blood on her lower back. There were a number of entry wounds from the .33 caliber 00 pellets. She lay face down in the dirt. The sandy ground around her was damp with her blood. Aware that the person in the woods was watching, waiting for another opportunity to take a shot, he took Sharon by her outstretched arms. Moving backwards, he dragged Sharon toward the safety of the cabin.
Tracking with the sight at the end of the barrel, Puckett made out the form of the deputy dragging the body of the woman across the clearing towards the cabin. At less than fifty yards, the range was perfect for the shotgun. He waited until the deputy had moved past Thompson, still flat on the ground. The deputy was slumped over, dragging the woman. In the dim light, he looked like a slowly moving clump of bushes moving backwards with the woman’s body. Puckett’s finger squeezed slowly. The shotgun bucked sending a round into the clump of moving bushes. He pumped the slide three more times quickly sending a total of thirty-six deadly projectiles at Ronnie Kupman. Eleven found their way into his body and skull.
A thundering roar burst from the cabin’s window and shotgun pellets whizzed through the air in his direction, forcing Rodney to take cover behind a pine. He heard the man in the cabin rack another shell into the chamber and a second later, there was another roar and more 00 buckshot pellets snapped through the underbrush surrounding the pine tree where Puckett had taken cover. It seemed the shooter had a good bead on his location. Not being one to take unnecessary chances, Rodney Puckett wisely remained concealed behind the pine.
Porter Wright darted from the cabin at a run. Reaching the two forms now lying on the ground in a death embrace, he made his decision. Reaching down, he took Sharon by the arms and started moving as rapidly as possible back to the cabin, bent over and dragging her face down towards the door.
Hearing, the movement, Puckett peered carefully around the tree. He could make out Big Bud scooting along the ground towards the tree line. Good man. He was definitely going to earn that boat after this night.
He could also see the man dragging one of the bodies towards the cabin. Knowing this must be Wright, he raised the shotgun once more. A flash and roar from the cabin window sent more shotgun pellets his way, forcing Puckett back behind the tree.
“Roger, keep pumping rounds into that tree on the other side of the yard!” Porter Wright was within fifteen feet of the cabin door moving as quickly as possible, pulling the dead weight of Sharon’s body. Even in the dim light, he could see a dark trail on the sandy ground where he had dragged her. More blood stained the soil with every step backwards he took.
The shotgun roared again. A shell was racked into the chamber and another roar. Roger Wright stood to the side of the window pointing the shotgun in the direction of the trees, pumping the forestock and pulling the trigger deliberately and repeatedly.
Reaching the cabin door, Wright dragged Sharon over the threshold and fell backwards into the cabin. Standing to the side of the door, Naomi Wright kicked it shut as her husband pulled Sharon’s feet through.
Roger pulled back from the window to reload, and almost immediately, a loud crack resonated from the tree line. Shotgun pellets buzzed through the window into the cabin burying themselves in the rear wall in the kitchen.
“Everybody down!” Wright called to his family. “Stay low on the floor” He could hear whimpering from the children in the kitchen. “Roger, see to the kids and keep them down.”
The eldest Wright child scooted along the floor to the kitchen and gathered his younger siblings together, turning over the heavy oak table and huddling them behind it.
Gently, Naomi and Porter turned Sharon over to take her face off the floor.
“Is she dead?” Naomi could not take her eyes off the dark wet stain covering Sharon’s blouse.
Her husband made no reply and gently opened the blouse to examine the wound. He shook his head. Entering the right side of her back, five of the nine shotgun pellets had passed through her lower back, probably penetrating her kidney. Wright cringed as he examined the wound. The ragged holes oozed blood. A hunter himself, he had expected worse. He knew the power of 00 buckshot. It was called buckshot because within the proper range it could bring down deer. Humans were much more fragile than deer and the buckshot was deadly. It was clear that internal organs had been hit. Sharon was losing blood.
Naomi moved to Sharon’s face, gently wiping dirt and sand from her mouth and eyes. Sharon’s eyes fluttered and lips moved.
“Ronnie…” Her words were whispered, barely audible. Her face contorted at the pain of the effort to speak.
“Shhh...don’t talk now, Sharon. Rest.” Naomi stroked her forehead gently.
“Ronnie…have to go back for him.”
Porter Wright leaned over, looking her closely in the eyes. His face showed the pain of what he had to tell her. He spoke the words softly. “He’s gone. We can’t go back for him, Sharon.”
Their eyes locked as Sharon tried to absorb the meaning of his words. Finally, she nodded. “You have to protect yourself and the children.” Her eyes closed as she struggled to gather energy to speak. “They will come for you…try to burn you out.” Another pause. Her breathing was shallow. She spoke with her eyes closed. “Use Ronnie’s radio. Call Rince.”
“Who?” Wright leaned close to her lips.
“Rince…in the plane overhead. Get help…try to hold out until then. If you go out, they will kill you.” Her eyes opened to see if Porter understood what she had said.
He nodded and moved across the floor to the table where the radio sat, where Ronnie had placed it not fifteen minutes earlier.
Two thousand feet overhead, Rince had seen the gun flashes briefly light up the clearing around the cabin. He was low enough to hear the crack of the carbine and roar of the shotgun through the partially open side window. Holding the yoke with one hand, he lifted the portable radio to his mouth and keyed it.
“Rince to the task force unit, come in.” All formality had disappeared during the day on the TAC channel Ronnie had told them to use for task force communications.
Andy lifted the mike in George’s truck. “Go ahead, Rince.”
“Got what looks like gun fire below. Gun flashes around the cabin.”
George and Andy exchanged looks, and George’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator, causing the truck to fishtail slightly in the sandy roadbed. “You sure, Rince?”