by Lou Reiter
“Sheriff, you should really facilitate the serving. We got us a problem. You know the course some of these things can take. Everybody got guns! Maybe a judicial time out would help calm things down. What you think?”
“I think you should deal with your people and let me handle my own. Remember, you’re the short timer here. I got the majority last time I was elected. My third time on the ballot. You sure you still got three of the five on the council?” Sheriff Biggs abruptly hung up after asking the question.
*****
G and Betsy lived in a traditional prairie mission-style bungalow in a quiet part of Addisonville, just inside the county line. The neighborhood had equal numbers of elderly who had lived in the ‘hood most of their lives and new young families who couldn’t afford the cost of living in Madison.
Betsy was released from the hospital earlier in the week. Her leg was in a full cast from hip to foot. It was a bitch getting around and she didn’t know how she would manage without G who had been able to take family medical leave. The city started being more generous with medical leave many years before when the Addisonville personnel force changed demographically and any and all couples were accepted as having a domestic relationship, regardless of sexual orientation.
It was still early that evening. G and Bits were watching Dancing with the Stars. While recuperating, Betsy’s favorite position was stretched out on the couch with pillows mounded under her leg. G was reclining in her favorite Lazy Boy.
“I wish I could dance like that, G. That’s just beautiful to watch. Do you dance?”
“Look at me, Bits, really? I’ve got two left feet and about as much rhythm as a vase.”
“I love the quick step and the waltzes. I’d love to wear those long flowing gowns. It just looks so glamorous,” Betsy said with a sigh. “Of course, right now I would just like to walk!”
The front door exploded as Luke’s foot smashed the door jamb framing the deadbolt. He brought up his Mossberg pistol-gripped 12-gauge shotgun. Luke had already racked in a Magnum double-ought round into the chamber. Police liked to use this type round. It gave maximum velocity. Each round contained nine .32 caliber pellets. At short range there was virtually no spread when rounds exited the shotgun barrel. It made a volcanic opening in a human body, not a pretty sight.
Luke’s first shot caught G directly in the neck. The assault nearly severed her head. He swung the shotgun at Betsy and pumped another round. The expended shotgun shell clamored along the hardwood floor in a macabre dance. Betsy couldn’t move and simply put her hands in front of her face as feeble protection. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She was trying to say something as Luke’s first round struck her directly in the face, making it an unrecognizable pulp. Luke’s second round was aimed at Betsy’s groin and ferociously slashed her femininity. During the attack, Luke hadn’t uttered one word.
He slowly walked out to the porch. Several dogs barked at the sudden burst of gunfire and drapes opened as curious eyes swept the street.
An antique swing covered with a canopy was the pride of the porch. Bits and G often enjoyed the peace it offered on warm summer nights and loved to sway while watching the sun rise as they sipped morning coffees. They often waved at neighbors who they considered to be their family.
Luke slumped on the swing and rested for a brief moment. With a determined effort, he jacked in a final round, swung the Mossberg around, placed it under his chin, and pulled the trigger.
After 120 years of welcoming lazy summer evenings, lovers’ embraces, and children’s happy antics, the antique swing died a horrific death. Luke Hansen’s skull fragments and brain tissue were grotesquely embedded in the fringed canopy as it hung limply like a shroud.
*****
Taylor Sterling got the call as he was finishing his morning workout. He had been a road warrior for the past two weeks. Hotel fitness rooms were adequate, but too limited for his usual routines. At many hotels he had to fight to get 30 minutes on a rickety cardio machine that could have been classified a death trap. Taylor liked to add free weight strength exercises to his usual hour of aerobics and cardio exercise. The gym he enjoyed most was the one in his mountain retreat settled in an expansive gated mountain community no more than five miles from the square in Santa Fe. Most homes and condos in his complex were occupied by weekenders or vacationers. Some were classified as timeshares. Taylor pretty much had the gym to himself whenever he happened to be home.
“Taylor? Torg here. Got a minute?” the voice asked. Torg Johannsen was the field rep for the Wisconsin Organizational Risk Management, or WORM as it was called by too many people. Strange to pick a title with such a weird acronym. Taylor recognized Torg’s thick Wisconsin nasal accent immediately. He was always surprised Torg never used the phrase “You betchum!”
“Got a tragedy, Taylor, a real tragedy.”
“The triple homicide in Addisonville?”
“Yeah. Heard about it already?”
“Hell, it’s all over my daily news feeds. Domestic. Lesbian. Cop fraternization. Got about everything you would or should worry about. Shit, you don’t insure both of them, do you?”
“Unfortunately, we do.”
“What are you looking to me for? Isn’t SBI handling the investigation?”
In Wisconsin, the State Department of Justice Division of Criminal Investigation is referred to as SBI. The unit conducts specialized criminal investigations like the Addisonville homicides and public integrity failures. By farming these investigations out to other agencies, often a state agency, the local police department removes the stigma of cronyism and avoids the public cry of whitewashing or sweeping an incident under the rug. “Transparency” was slowly replacing “No comment” or “It’s confidential.”
“They are, but you know SBI focuses narrowly on the criminal aspect. We’re interested in other concerns. The roles both the sheriff and chief played in the on-going saga surrounding the domestic issue. The liability concern might be somewhat limited. In Wisconsin, parents of adult children really have little, if any, cause of action. None of the three dead had children or spouses, in the legal sense. But, the LGBT issue might become a liability. We may have problems with the two females and their protected class status. There might be problems with fraternization.”
Fraternization, within law enforcement agencies, has always been an issue of concern, but rarely seriously considered. Taylor sometimes thought many police departments resembled episodes of Desperate Housewives, or better yet, the current hit Swamp People. The biggest problem? Usually everybody involved in the love triangle, quadrangle, or whatever, was armed.
Love or lust? That could always be debated, but in-house relationships often resulted in trouble. Internal bickering, jealously, and downright hostility were often observed, leading to calls of favoritism. When a superior/subordinate relationship went south, it frequently ended as a sexual harassment lawsuit. Here and there, a true loving relationship sometimes developed, but that was the exception. It wasn’t difficult to develop a written policy to cover the issue, and Taylor had often done just that. What was difficult was ensuring the policy was enforced. Often the worst offenders were department chiefs and sheriffs. So often their brains ended up sinking to crotch level.
“I can get up there next week. That good enough, Torg?”
“Sure.”
“You got stuff for me that might not be in the news reports?”
Torg had quite a bit of additional material. He told Taylor about the interwoven SO and PD employment positions of the three dead officers. He admitted Sheriff Biggs wasn’t the easiest guy to deal with and suffered from a case of old school mentality. The lieutenant shooter, Luke Hansen, was seen as the sheriff’s hand-picked successor. Torg had heard rumors about Officer McKnight, or Bits, as many called her. Some said she might have been the catalyst for the eventual incident since she was known to play with emotions, good and bad. To add to the mix, the Addisonville police chief was recently hired and came from the hear
t of Alabama. Some commented on the “culture clash” the guy faced.
Torg hesitantly broached the alternative lifestyle of many cops in Addisonville. He said it almost appeared being LGBT was a requirement to get a job with the city. Torg acknowledged the mayor was a declared lesbian, but was pretty sure the chief was straight.
“I went to the funerals the other day,” Torg offered.
“That’s not your standard operating procedure, Torg,” Taylor remarked. “What was different about these funerals?”
“Can’t really say. Lt. Hansen’s funeral was interesting. Sheriff Biggs wasn’t filling a pew. In fact, there were hardly any SO people in attendance and none in uniform. It was like they were dissing him on his way out.”
“How about the ladies’ services?”
“You know, they had a combined ceremony. Somehow they found two plots right next to each other. It was totally different. Quite a few SO people there who I recognized. Most of the PD was there, along with the chief and mayor. The parents of both ladies were there as well. Then there was the whole contingent from the gay and lesbian community that came over from Madison. Taylor, I did something strange.”
“And, what was that?”
“Well, at the graveside, there was talk about a gathering at one of the clubs on King Street in Madison to celebrate the officers’ lives. There was something warm and inviting about it. So I went. It was like a wake with music and good vibes. They all had good things to say; particularly about the sergeant they called G.”
“Torg, don’t tell me you’re going over to the other side now?”
He laughed and said he’d get together with Taylor after he arrived in town.
Taylor flew into Madison the following Tuesday. He Googled LGBT in Madison as he waited in the airport kiosk for his rental car. OutReach was located on Williamson Street near the center of the city. The Web site identified Williamson as the newest location for LGBT bars and clubs, along with Main and King Streets. Since it was still early in the afternoon and Taylor wasn’t scheduled to meet with Sheriff Biggs and Chief Connor until the next day, he took a side trip to check out the alternative scene.
The storefront office of OutReach was neat and quiet. A middle-aged gray haired man was seated behind one of the desks. He looked up as Taylor entered and rose to meet him inside the small office.
“Dabney Gifford, can I help you?” the man asked as he extended his hand.
Taylor introduced himself and told him what brought him to Madison.
“Terrible event,” Dabney sighed as he gestured for Taylor to sit down at a small conference table. “I knew G, rather Sgt. Ramirez.”
This was new to Taylor; he didn’t know one of the victims was Hispanic. That could add another issue on the protective class status.
“She was a longtime friend of the movement here in Madison. I was surprised when she ended up with that other officer, what was her name?”
“McKnight, some called her Bits.”
“Oh, yeah. That one didn’t seem to be G’s type, but then who knows someone’s type these days? You can’t make judgments anymore, at least I don’t. Gets you in a heap of trouble, every time.”
“What about Lt. Hansen? Luke, I think they call him.”
Dabney hesitated and squirmed in his chair. He closed his eyes and Taylor sensed he was willing himself to relax. His fingers massaged his forehead.
“I gather you didn’t like him.”
“He’s a pig, or at least that was his reputation in the LGBT community. He’s policed a few of our events here in Madison when it was too much for the local cops. We’ve had plenty of complaints about him. Uses derogatory terms in the presence of our members. OutReach made a couple formal complaints to the sheriff, but nothing ever came of them. I don’t think the department even investigated the complaints. I’ve been around the guy a couple of times. You’re right, I don’t like him. He always gave me the creeps. There was just something scary he projected when he entered a room.” Gifford shivered and clasped his arms around his upper body. “But maybe I’m just prejudiced or overreacting. He was perfidious.”
Taylor thanked him, made a mental note to Google “perfidious,” and then found his way to the outskirts of Addisonville. The young lady at the desk of the Residence Inn offered suggestions for dinner. Taylor was looking for food authentic to the locale. It turned out hearty German food was a staple in the town.
The restaurant Taylor chose was dark and close. Heavy wooden walls absorbed any light from the small lamps flickering on the tables. Colorful flags draped from the moldings and cornices in the dining room. The menu board looked good, but the quantity seemed to be too much. The selections offered weren’t his normal fare and Taylor had trouble figuring out a few of the entrée choices. Throwing caution to the wind, Taylor picked a sausage mix with a hefty serving of sauerbraten, accented with piles of red potatoes and red cabbage.
This wasn’t half bad! Taylor particularly liked the sharpness of the vinegar dressing on the cooked cabbage. He knew he would regret the symphony the meal would create later that night, but he was sleeping alone and would only offend himself.
*****
Sheriff Biggs’ office was located in an old building, circa 1920, fronting the new detention facility. The walls of his office appeared to be made of mahogany and through the years had grown darker and richer. On the wall outside Biggs’ office were photographs of those who once held the office of Sheriff of Addison County. Around thirty portraits dating from the mid-1800s plastered the wall. Some sheriffs served more than 20 years. The early dudes looked more like character actors in a Buster Keaton or Tom Mix movie.
Surprisingly, Sheriff Biggs’ office was devoid of the normal ego wall of photos, diplomas, and certificates. A large replica of the OK Corral shootout hung on one wall.
Strange picture.
Sheriff Biggs was rather short, but not overweight. He was shiny bald. He wore his uniform without the full equipment belt. A chrome-plated 1912 Colt .45 accented with pearl handles was secured in a small belt holster.
“I’ve always liked that piece of art,” Sheriff Biggs explained, noting Taylor’s inspection. “Kind of like my tenure. Every day seems like a shootout. Torg said you were one of the good guys. Worked LAPD, huh? Probably saw a whole pile of shit out there in your years. Arrest any movie stars I might know?”
“Sorry, but not often. Sat at the Thousand Oaks Dupar’s Pancake House counter once next to James Arness. Does that count?”
“Marshal Dillon from Gunsmoke? You say! What the shit was he like?”
“Huge!”
Sheriff Biggs laughed. “You didn’t come out here to talk old time Westerns, Taylor. What you need from me?”
For the next hour they discussed what had happened. Sheriff Biggs was complimentary when discussing Luke, but turned vile while voicing his opinion of G and Bits. It was easy to see he was definitely from the old school. The crusty sheriff admitted he tolerated gays and lesbians in his department, but couldn’t approve of their lifestyle. It was just business and he had to hire a few of the GLBT persuasion to keep that segment of the community off his back. He thought Betsy McKnight would use and abuse anyone she needed to get what she wanted. He said he had warned Luke about her, but Luke was in love and didn’t want to hear anything his boss had to offer. As Biggs put it, he figured Luke was more in lust than in love. No matter, Luke was smitten with her.
“What did you do about the complaint your jailer made against Luke?”
“Nothing. Hell, it was just one of those squabbles guys have. Hell, it wasn’t anything for IA. I brought them both in here and told them to knock the shit off. It was over.”
“I heard that OutReach in Madison made complaints against Luke. You know about those?”
“I know everything that involves my office, Taylor. Didn’t you when you were a deputy chief in LA? It was just the word of them fags and lesbos, excuse the terminology, against my lieutenant. They’re always trying to stir up
shit for their cause, whatever that is. I’ve been good to them; I’ve even hired some. Actually, in general, fags and lesbos are good workers and pretty much stay with their own kind, but we don’t take complaints like those seriously. If we did, my officers would be running back and forth to Madison all the time. We got enough work here in Addison County.”
“I heard Betsy and G obtained a restraining order against Luke.”
“I heard about that after the shooting. Didn’t know about it earlier. I would have taken care of that.”
“How’s that, Sheriff Biggs?” Taylor asked, knowing the sheriff was lying.
“Would have called them all in here and settled it right then and there. No need for any damn order. They’re all cops. Settle it like grownups. They ain’t whimpering housewives. But, I didn’t get the chance.”
“I heard you did know about the order and made sure it couldn’t be served on your boy.”
Biggs stared at Taylor. He suddenly stood up and walked to the window and stared at the parking lot. Ten minutes passed before he turned and walked back to Taylor. Taylor was comfortable with the silence and knew his patience probably irked the sheriff.
“Who says so? They’re fuckin’ liars. You got any notarized affidavits saying so? You ain’t got shit but some ugly rumors, Taylor. You and I both know that. Now we done here? Or you got more slanderous shit to throw at me?”
It was obvious Sheriff Biggs wasn’t going to be open to much discussion. Taylor left without shaking hands. He stopped short just as he was about to exit the office. “Sheriff, you still thinking of running again next year?”
“Fuck you, Taylor.”
Taylor knew he hit a nerve. It was obvious this would be Biggs’ last term. At least that’s what Taylor thought would probably happen. Taylor knew anyone running for Sheriff would need the LGBT vote in this county.
Taylor’s meeting with Chief Craig Connor was set in the Office of the Mayor. The Addisonville City Hall was a small new building within walking distance of the SO. Mayor Shirley Grants and Chief Connor were waiting for him.