“Yeah, right about here, Hester.”
We went over the asphalt between the kitchen door and where his car had been parked. There were three drops of blood, inside chalk circles, on his approximate path.
“These are the only ones we found,” said Hester. “Where were you when you shot at the car?”
“Well,” I said, “I started about here, shot probably four times, I think, yeah it must have been four, because then I moved to here and shot again, and then it clicked empty.”
I was standing right on the chalk marks.
“Might be yours,” she said.
“Yeah. Shit.”
“And where was Mike?”
“He pulled up right over there, got out of the car, and fired at it as it went down the hill. I ran toward it but gave up real quick. We both reloaded, then he took off in pursuit, and I went back to the jail.”
“The back door?”
“Uh, no, I sort of couldn’t. Honest, Hester, I just couldn’t go back in there right then. I had a smoke and then went around to the front.”
“I can understand that.”
“Good, I’m having a hard time myself.”
Hester stood, looking around. There were two buildings behind the jail. One is an old barn that was converted into a two-story, three-stall garage; the other is a small garage slightly down the hill. Hester started toward the big one.
“Where you going?”
“Oh, just checking something out.”
I went with her.
“You were only about two seconds behind him, weren’t you, Carl?”
“Oh, maybe three or four, maybe a bit more. I waited at least a second in the hall, then took another second to clear the kitchen area, I think. Then outside. He might have had four to five seconds on me at that time.”
“So you didn’t see him get in the car?”
“No.”
“But somebody was in it, weren’t they? It left.”
“Oh, yeah, there was a driver.”
“I wonder,” she said. “I wonder … could there have been two of them?”
“What, you think he’s in here?”
“No, but he might have missed his ride. Hidden behind or in the buildings, then left on foot.” We were at the big garage. “Is this always locked?”
“Never has been, as far as I know,” I said, pulling my gun out. Oh, God, I thought. Don’t let him be in here.
“Hey, you over there!” I shouted to the two strange cops. “Come here a minute.”
They started over, saw my gun out, and Hester reaching for hers, and drew their own.
“One of you stay here with us,” said Hester. “The other one go get some more people.”
“He in there?”
“We don’t know,” she said, never looking at them.
“Just move it,” I said.
One of them went flying into the jail and returned in a couple of seconds with about half a dozen officers, including Hal and Lamar.
We went through the building extremely thoroughly. Nothing. Good.
37
Wednesday, May 1
04:26 hours
A search of Maitland was organized immediately. At least, that’s what the official report stated later. Actually, it was thrown together in quite a hurry, and it was far from organized.
We had about ten squads running around the streets, checking out every Chevy, Buick, and Oldsmobile manufactured since the late fifties. Dispatch was going nuts running the registration checks. Station wagons, convertibles, four-door sedans, two-door hardtops, you name it. In every conceivable color. I remember hearing one that was on a car I knew was up on blocks, and had been for nearly a year.
One team of officers, about thirty or so, was going door-to-door, fanning out from the jail. Waking everybody up and having them check their cars. Pissing everybody off, unless they scared them to death.
About half the State Patrol TAC team from the Mason City office was there, with the rest coming, and we had them change into their tactical uniforms. If we found him, they were going in to get him. We didn’t want to lose anybody else.
The rest of us, and there must have been fifteen or so, divided up into three teams, and went to the residences we thought he might be familiar with, and their neighbors. We searched just about every house and garage in Maitland.
Lamar, Art, Hal, Hester, and I went to the Rothbergs’.
The parsonage was located next door to the church. It was a very large frame house, built in the 1890s. Full basement, full attic. Lamar, Art, and I lived in similar homes. We were going to be on familiar territory.
Rothberg, of course, didn’t appear to be home.
“He came up to the jail,” said Art. “Talked to his wife. He might have gone with her.”
“Gone with her?” I asked. “Where in the hell did she go?”
“Hospital, for sedatives and an examination. She was going hysterical as soon as she figured out what had happened.”
Likely. From the juvenile cell, she wouldn’t have been able to see much of anything. Just hear. To hell with her, I thought. She’d started the whole thing off in the first place.
We contacted dispatch, who contacted the hospital. Art was the last one of us who had been up there, and he thought there were about six or seven out-of-county cops there when he left. Looking at the nurses and trying to get free coffee.
Dispatch advised that Mark Rothberg, indeed, was at the hospital.
“Have one of the cops still there bring him home, comm.”
“10–4.”
“Right away.”
“10–4, one.”
We waited outside, Hester at the right rear, me at the left rear corner of the house, Art at the right front, and Lamar and Hal at the door. It was cold and damp. You could see your breath easily.
A squad car came poking around the corner. The driver was obviously unfamiliar with the area. It turned out to be a trooper from about fifty miles away. Rothberg was with him.
The parsonage was four blocks from the jail. It was quite possible that even a severely wounded Travis had been able to get there.
Rothberg said he didn’t know if he was there or not, but that he hadn’t seen him. He was talking in a loud voice and was obviously rather disturbed. Good.
Lamar and Hal had a discussion about whether or not to get the TAC team down for the search or to hold them in reserve until Travis had been located.
Compromise. There were five TAC officers in town. It was decided that two of them would go in with the search team and lead them through the house. The other three would be held in reserve.
“Comm, one.”
“One,” said Sally.
“Have about four officers meet us here.”
Lamar decided that Hester and I weren’t going to go in. I was “too personally involved.” He didn’t give a reason for excluding Hester, but he didn’t have to. She was a woman. Even though Lamar thought women were just as good as men, especially Hester, he couldn’t shake his basic gentleman’s manners. He wouldn’t apologize for them, either.
The four other cops, all of whom I didn’t know, ringed Rothberg’s house, while the two TAC officers, Hal, Lamar, and Art went inside. With Rothberg. I sort of felt that they should have sent him in first, but didn’t say anything except to Hester.
Hester, who was as pissed as I was, wandered to the street and leaned up against my squad car. I lit a cigarette. She didn’t.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I kind of feel left out.”
“Me too.”
“But I think we should do something useful, don’t you?”
“Like what?”
“Well, it occurs to me that he might be in the church.” I took a drag of the cigarette. “For example.”
She looked at the large, wooden church. Dark. Quite dark.
“Could be.”
“I mean, with his little Satanic sense of humor, what better place to go.” I ground out my cigarette. “I thought of that
back at the hospital.”
“Shouldn’t we tell somebody?” She was smiling. “They might worry about us.”
“No sooner said than done.” I reached into the squad and punched the radio off ops and onto info. Info is tone-coded. Mobile units and portables can’t hear one another on info.
“Comm, three.”
“Three?”
“Agent Gorse and I are going to be going into the church, to look around. Keep us posted, will you?”
“10–4.”
“There,” I said, quite pleased with myself. I hung up the mike, grabbed my rifle and my flashlight. “Let’s go.”
We walked around the building first. No signs of forced entry. Didn’t have to be, as none of the doors were locked.
We went in on the south side. I gave Hester my light and held my rifle with both hands. There’s no place on earth quieter than a dark church.
We moved slowly through the small room we first entered, and came out on the altar, from the side. Nothing. Then Hester shined the light back the way we had come, to clear the rear before we ventured out, and we both saw the blood smear on the white wall. I froze, and my heart started pounding in my ears. I guess I really hadn’t expected him to be here.
Hester cut the light, and we both ducked back into the small room and flattened out against opposite sides of the door to the altar.
“Whoa!” she whispered. “He’s here.”
The big question was, Does he know we are, too? No way to know, not for sure.
The obvious thing to do was to call for help. Mom didn’t raise any fools.
“Comm, three!”
“Three?”
“We believe he’s in the church. Get 10–78. We’re just inside the south door, by the altar.”
“10–4!”
“Wanna just stay put?” asked Hester in a whisper.
“You bet,” I whispered back.
There was a muffled pop, and some wood from our door frame splintered.
We both squatted down instantly and adjusted back from the doorway.
“Think he knows we’re here?” she whispered.
“Yep.”
Pop, pop, pop. At least one of them went by my ear. From an angle. He was shooting into the room from an angle. I hunkered back along the wall, delighted not to have been trapped out there on the altar.
“No doubt in my mind …”
Pop.
This time the bullet could be heard striking the stained glass in the exterior door. He was changing position.
“He’s advancing,” said Hester in a normal voice.
“Great.”
I pulled the cocking handle on the AR-15 back and let a round clack into the chamber.
“Let’s see if we can get him to retreat,” I said. I reached the rifle through the door as far to the right as I could. I’m left-handed, and I was on the right side of the door frame.
Five quick rounds, as I moved the barrel to the left. Trying to spread them out. I had no idea where he was.
Silence. Deafening silence, except for the shrill ringing in my ears. He could have yelled, and I don’t think I could have heard him. And I had ruined my night vision in the dark church. I had, however, gotten a pretty good look at the church in the muzzle flash. Like a flashbulb going off. I hadn’t seen him.
We waited for what seemed like a reasonable time, and I stuck my head cautiously around the door frame. Nothing.
“Police!” I yelled.
“No shit,” said Hester.
Silence. Then pop.
It must have hit something inside the room, because there was a clang and something hit the floor behind us. But I had seen that muzzle flash. Like a spark, like in the hall at the jail.
“He’s to our right, up on the altar,” I said. “I think.”
I was staring out into the interior of the church, pretty close to the floor, when Hester stuck out her leg and caught me in the shoulder. My heart about stopped. “What!”
“I’m going for the pews,” she said. She began to gather herself to move. “Just let me clear the door, and then crank off three rounds, okay?”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“Of course I do.”
Dumb question.
“Okay. I think he’s still to the right.”
Without another word, she hurled herself out the door. As per instructions, as soon as she cleared the frame, I stuck the rifle barrel to the right and fired three quick rounds.
No response.
What about Hester?
I looked around the door frame again. I couldn’t see her.
Pop, pop, pop. Nothing near me. I couldn’t see her, but it sounded like he could.
I hadn’t seen the spark this time. He wasn’t pointing it at me.
I stood up and aimed the rifle at the altar.
Hester, I thought, why did you do that?
“Okay, you inept son of a bitch!” I yelled. “You can shoot women and people in cages. Come on, asshole. Try this.”
No response. Good or bad? At least there were no shots.
I kept trying to think of what Saperstein had said about Travis. About his character. Ascetic. That’s all I could remember.
“You really fucked up this time, dummy!”
Nothing.
I was trying to listen for sounds through the ringing in my ears. Movement. Anything.
The front door opened, letting in the orangish glow from the streetlight, and I saw a shadow come through and move to my left.
“TAC’s in, Hester!” I yelled.
Another shadow through the door. Then two of them. So now we had four more officers in the church. With Travis. And Hester. In the dark. God, I thought, don’t let him shoot at them. And if he does, don’t let them return fire toward Hester.
I keyed my portable. “We have an officer in the pews at the front of the church. I think the suspect’s up on the altar.”
I hoped they heard me.
“You’re in the wrong place now!” I yelled. “Satan can’t help you here. You left him at the door, stupid.”
Suddenly the lights came on by the main entrance. One of the TAC people must have found the switch.
“Shut off the fuckin’ lights!” yelled somebody near the back of the church.
I went down in a crouch and looked toward the pews. I could see Hester, down on one knee, behind the second one. She was okay. I looked toward the altar. Nothing.
The pillars cast long shadows across the middle of the church, making it difficult to be certain you picked up on any movement. I saw one of the TAC guys slowly stand up at the rear of the church, pointing a shotgun. He had no target, you could tell.
I cautiously stepped from behind the door frame, making sure the TAC man saw me. He moved the muzzle of the shotgun away from me, toward his left. Slowly. Still no target.
I stepped onto the altar, hugging the wall. As I came around, I could see one of the TAC men crawling on the floor at the outside of the pews. He had a pistol in his right hand. Looking down each row as he went. I figured there was another one on the far side, doing the same thing.
I put my rifle to my shoulder, sweeping from about the middle of the pews toward the front, keeping the standing TAC man out of my line of fire. Still nothing.
Hester stood slowly, holding her badge up above her head as she got up. She was in a pretty bad position, so started to move to her left, never taking her eyes from the altar.
Travis chose that moment to rise up from the elevated pulpit, his pistol pointing generally toward Hester. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Honest to God. It wasn’t Travis. It was Theo. Travis was Theo.
“Don’t shoot!” I couldn’t think. “Theo, don’t you shoot, either! Stay calm, Theo, stay calm.” I raised my voice, for the benefit of the TAC team. “He’s a cop, one of our people! Hold back a second …”
Theo looked right at me, then shifted his eyes to my right, toward Hester. No expression. Didn’t say a thing.
“Drop
the gun, Theo!” He didn’t answer me. Didn’t even acknowledge my existence. I still had my rifle at my shoulder from when I’d come through the door. I was afraid to lower it because the movement might set him off. I could see Hester out of the corner of my eye to my right, and she kept glancing at me. The old cop protocol: he’s your officer, you do something.
“Drop it, Theo,” I said, more calmly this time. “It’ll be okay, man, it’ll be all right, just drop—”
He pivoted at the waist, bringing his gun to bear on me. He fired, Hester fired, I fired, the TAC man in the aisle fired.
He whipped backward, striking the edge of the pulpit behind him, whipped forward again, the gun still in his hand.
I hit him hard.
He sort of came apart, a sizable chunk of his skull flying off to the rear. He disappeared, down into the pulpit.
We approached slowly. We needn’t have. He was dead as hell. He was also somebody now. He was Theo.
There was an arm sticking out of the back of the pulpit as I came around. The rest of him was sort of stuffed down inside. Hester came up, her revolver held in both hands. Pointing at him.
His shirt was off, with part of it wrapped around his left arm. From where I’d got him earlier. He’d been shooting at us with his right hand, I thought. No wonder he missed.
“Jesus Christ,” she said.
The TAC guys, as they were trained, were handcuffing Theo, even though he appeared to be dead to everybody including God.
“Theo.” I looked at Hester.
“Damn,” she said.
“Now I know why I thought I recognized him.”
“I never shot anybody before,” she said.
I wished I could have said the same.
Epilogue
It took us a while to get straight on everything. Years ago, we had all realized that there was a good likelihood that, because of the restrictions on the dissemination of Criminal History and Law Enforcement Intelligence Information, we couldn’t share everything with each other. Need to know and all that. We had a doubling procedure in place to ensure a check and to make certain that critical information wasn’t denied a case officer. That’s all well and good, but it’s pretty incredible that the stuff put into law to make an investigation go more smoothly ended up costing us so dearly. Big-city police politics.
Eleven Days Page 29