Home Invasion

by William W. Johnstone

  “No, sir. A homeowner shot a couple of men who had broken into his house.”

  “That’s terrible, terrible. People shouldn’t be allowed to have handguns. Those men would still be alive today if Texas just had sensible laws. Barbarians”

  “One of the men is alive, sir. The man at the news conference is his lawyer”

  The President’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows went up. “You mean …?

  “Yes, sir. We’re looking at a lawsuit, at the very least. The man’s attorney is pressuring the local authorities to bring charges against the homeowner who did the shooting.”

  The President’s hand slapped down on the desk as he leaned forward in his chair. “My God! Civil rights violations. Gun laws that are too permissive. Vigilantes on a rampage, and Texans at that! Good Lord, Geoff, this is—” “Perfect, I know, yes, sir.” The Chief of Staff beamed. The President stood up and turned around to look out the window of the Oval Office.

  It was the first day of a new era, and it was a beautiful morning.

  CHAPTER 7

  TV satellite trucks from as far away as Dallas/Fort Worth and Houston clogged the street in front of the hospital, and even though Alex turned on the police car’s flashing lights and hit the siren for a squalling second, none of the trucks made a move to get out of the way.

  As usual, the media’s rights trumped everybody else’s, at least in the opinion of the media.

  Alex gave up, turned onto a side street, and parked there. She could walk back to the hospital quicker than she could get those jackals to move.

  She decided to go in the back, rather than running the gauntlet of those perfectly coiffed men and women standing in front of the cameras. She went through the hospital’s kitchen, nodding to the workers there.

  “It’s a regular three-ring circus out there, ain’t it, Chief?” one of the women called to her.

  Alex smiled and nodded. “It sure is. No shortage of clowns, either.”

  That brought an appreciative chuckle from the women.

  Alex went through the hospital cafeteria, where several people were eating breakfast, and looked wistfully at the steaming cups of coffee and plates full of food. She’d been in too much of a hurry for breakfast and had settled for a foam cup of coffee from the drive-through window at the Dairy Queen. It wasn’t bad, but it still landed like hot lead in her stomach.

  After stepping around a corner in the hallway, she approached the nurses’ station. She recognized one of the women behind the counter and said, “Morning, Joanie. Where’s the famous patient?”

  “You mean infamous, Chief. “ The nurse pointed. “All the way down at the end of the hall in 108. That was Officer Delgado’s idea.”

  And a good one, too, Alex thought. Best to keep the suspect isolated from the hospital’s other patients.

  “I’m surprised the hall isn’t full of reporters,” she commented.

  “It was. Clint chased ’em out, and he’s standin’ at the front door to make sure they don’t get back in. The hospital is private property, after all, and Dr. Boone asked Clint to keep them out.”

  Alex nodded. Dr. William Boone owned the Home Community Hospital, so he was within his rights to ask that the reporters be removed. They would probably howl about freedom of the press, but it didn’t really matter. Alex knew that if they weren’t acting outraged about that, they’d be acting outraged about something else. It was what the media did.

  She went down the hall to Room 108 and pushed the door open, saying, “It’s me, J. P.,” to announce herself to Delgado.

  He was sitting in a straight-backed chair at the foot of the bed nearest the door. The other hospital bed in the room was empty and the curtain between the beds was pushed back. It was rare that all the beds in the hospital were occupied.

  The patient was hooked up to a couple of IVs and a machine that monitored his vital signs. He glared at Alex, but she could see surprise in his eyes in addition to the hostility. He probably hadn’t expected a woman to be the chief of police.

  “I wan’ my lawyer,” he said in accented but passable English.

  “I believe you’ve already seen your lawyer, Mr. Navarre,” Alex said as she crossed her arms and looked steadily at the man. “Don’t worry, he’ll be allowed access to you in accordance with all legal procedures. Right now, though, he’s probably off somewhere issuing a statement or preening for the news cameras.”

  Alex could tell that Delgado was trying not to grin.

  “I don’t have to tell you nothing,” Navarre said.

  “That’s true. Right now, you just have to listen.” Alex took a small, digital video recorder out of her pocket and handed it to Delgado. “Document this.”

  “Right, Chief,” he said as he got to his feet.

  Delgado had the recorder running as Alex faced Navarre and said, “Emilio Navarre, you’re under arrest for suspicion of murder and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent.” She went through the rest of the Miranda warning, and when she was finished, she said, “Do you understand these rights, Mr. Navarre?”

  He stared back sullenly at her and didn’t say anything.

  “Do you understand these warnings, Mr. Navarre?” Alex said again, her calm tone indicating that she was willing to stand there and repeat the question for as long as it took to get a response from him.

  Navarre must have figured that out, because he said, “Sí, sí, I understand.”

  “Good. Do you wish to answer any questions?”

  “I don’t got to tell you nothing. I talk to my lawyer.”

  “All right. “ Alex nodded to Delgado, letting him know that he could shut off the recorder.

  “When do I get out of here? You got to give me bail.”

  “You’re injured, Mr. Navarre,” Alex said, gesturing toward the bandages that swathed his shoulder and leg. “It’ll be up to the doctor to decide when you’re well enough to be released from the hospital. When he says that you are, you’ll be transported to a holding facility at the county seat where you’ll be arraigned.”

  “You got to give me bail,” Navarre insisted stubbornly.

  Alex knew that if Navarre made bail, he would be over the border in forty-five minutes and they would never see him again. Navarre was a flight risk if there ever was one. A judge would know that, too, so she hoped bail would be denied.

  But crazy things happened sometimes in the legal system. Alex didn’t believe that it was actually broken; otherwise, she wouldn’t still be part of it, but it sure misfired now and then.

  She didn’t respond to Navarre, but turned to Delgado instead. “Are you all right, J. P.? You’ve been on duty for a long time.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Keeping an eye on this …” He stopped before saying whatever he’d been about to say, probably something along the lines of “scum,” Alex thought. He settled for saying,“… prisoner isn’t that hard. It isn’t like he can jump out of bed and run away.”

  “Well, I’ll get Jerry to relieve you in a little while.”

  Delgado nodded. “Fine. Don’t worry about me, Chief.”

  “I never do,” Alex told him.

  She left the hospital the same way she’d gone in, and when she made it back to her car she saw that the street was just as crowded as ever by the news media. Shaking her head, she drove away.

  Ed Ruiz’s hardware store was only a few minutes from the hospital. When Alex went inside, the handful of customers forgot all about their shopping and clustered around her instead, asking questions. Most of them wanted to know if it was true that Inez McNamara was dead. It seemed too awful to believe, and Alex certainly understood that sentiment. Solemnly, she told them that it was indeed true.

  The clerk behind the counter at the rear of the store said, “Ed’s not here, Chief. He said you were supposed to stop by, and if you did, to tell you that he’s gone over to City Hall.”

  “What for?” Alex wanted to know.

  “He said he had to meet with Dave Rutherford.
“Dave Rutherford was the city attorney, as well as having a private practice here in Home, one of only half a dozen lawyers in town. If Ed had dropped everything to go talk with him, that didn’t bode well, Alex thought as she thanked the clerk and left.

  The coffee she’d had earlier still seemed to be burning a hole in her gut when she reached the small, tan brick building that housed Home’s City Hall. The police department and the volunteer fire department were on the same block. She went inside, and before she could even say anything, the city secretary told her, “Go right on back to Ed’s office, Alex. He’s expectin’ you.”

  With a sinking feeling, Alex opened the door of the mayor’s office without knocking and stepped into the room. Ed Ruiz was behind the desk, with Dave Rutherford in one of the chairs in front of it. Both men looked up at her.

  Alex didn’t waste any time. “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “Just what we were afraid of,” Ed replied, blinking at her through his thick glasses. Despite the flow of cold air from the air-conditioning ducts, his mostly bald head had beads of sweat on it. “That fancy lawyer went over to the county seat and filed suit against Pete McNamara, the manufacturer of the gun Pete used, the city of Home, Hawkes County, the state of Texas, and the federal government. He’s made a clean sweep of it, and we’re in deep trouble, Alex.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Calm down, Ed,” Alex told the mayor. “He can’t possibly win. He and his friend murdered Inez McNamara, for God’s sake. Navarre’s lawyer is just filing all those suits because he thinks it might help him in defending the criminal case against Navarre.”

  Dave Rutherford shook his head. He was a slender young man who also wore glasses, though his weren’t as thick as Ruiz’s.

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Juries have actually found in favor of the plaintiff in similar cases in the past.”

  “Cases where a criminal files suit against somebody he tried to victimize?” Alex had heard of such things, but she didn’t want to believe they were possible. Surely they were just some sort of urban legend.

  “Exactly,” Rutherford said. “Not only have the plaintiffs won in such lawsuits, but they’ve also been awarded significant damages.”

  “Millions of dollars in damages,” Ed Ruiz said with a shudder. “That could bankrupt the town, Alex.”

  She held up her hands. “Hold on, hold on. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. A judge is liable to toss that lawsuit as soon as it comes up.”

  “We can’t rely on that,” Rutherford said. “Just in case the suit ever does come to trial, we need to be very, very careful. Everything that you do in dealing with Navarre has to be strictly by the book and according to normal procedures.”

  “It has been,” Alex said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice. “It will be. That’s the way I run my department.”

  “I know that. I just want to make sure that we don’t give Navarre and his lawyer any ammunition to use against us.”

  Alex nodded. “I understand. And I’ll make sure that all my people understand, too.”

  “Have you placed Navarre under arrest?” Ruiz asked.

  “I have.”

  “He was Mirandized?” Rutherford asked.

  “Of course.” Alex tapped the little recorder in her pocket. “I have it on tape. Well, so to speak.”

  Rutherford nodded. “Good.”

  “He wants a bail hearing.”

  “That’s his right,” Rutherford said with a shrug.

  “Oh, come on. He’s shot up and in the hospital. Where’s he going? Besides, you know what’ll happen if he gets bailed out. He’ll be long gone across the border. Hasta la vista, baby.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” Ruiz warned. “The news media would make them out to be racist and prejudicial.”

  “Sorry,” Alex muttered. She knew that Ruiz wasn’t objecting out of any sense of political correctness or ethnic sensitivity. He was worried strictly about the city’s liability in the pending lawsuit.

  Rutherford’s cell phone vibrated. He took it out of the pocket in his suit coat and answered it. His lean face grew even more grim as he listened. He thanked whoever was on the other end and closed the phone.

  “That was my secretary,” he said. “Cochrum has convinced a judge over at the county seat to hold a bail hearing in absentia for Navarre at two o’clock this afternoon.” He stood up and reached for the briefcase on the floor beside his chair. “I need to get over there and meet with the district attorney so we can prepare for the hearing.”

  “Navarre hasn’t been arraigned yet!” Alex protested.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Ruiz said, “We have to get that lawsuit quashed, Dave.”

  “We have to put Navarre in jail where he belongs,” Alex said.

  Neither of the men even looked at her. It was like they hadn’t even heard her.

  This case had already gone beyond any concept of right and wrong, she realized.

  This was about money now.

  Even though everybody in Home was talking about the tragedy that had happened at the McNamara house, it wasn’t the only thing going on in town. People had their own lives to lead and their own problems, and they went on about their business. Some of the news crews even left, although they just went back to the rooms they had rented in the two local motels. They wanted to be close at hand if there were any new developments, as it seemed sure that there would be, since Emilio Navarre had been granted a bail hearing.

  Alex tried to go on about her business, too. She sent Officer Jerry Houston to relieve Delgado on guard duty at the hospital. Clint Barrigan was working overtime, too, keeping reporters out of the place. Alex called in Lester Simms, one of the part-time reserve officers, to take over for him.

  That left her other full-time officer, Betsy Carlyle, to work patrol. Jimmy Clifton was handling dispatch. Jimmy had a mild case of Down Syndrome, but he was an excellent dispatcher and knew as much about what went on in town as anybody, and more than most.

  Alex was glad there were no other major problems that morning. She had enough on her mind. Home had always been such a peaceful little town. Did this tragedy mark a shift? Would it be just the first act in an escalating pattern of violence, the sort of thing that had affected so much of the rest of the country?

  The citizens of Home had always thought they were safe.

  But was anybody ever safe?

  In the middle of the day, Alex swung by the pizza place downtown and picked up a large pepperoni. She took it home and carried it into the kitchen, feeling a brief flash of guilt because she didn’t cook all that many meals for her and Jack. They ate takeout way too much. It wasn’t good for either of them.

  Hey, Jack, I’m home,” she called as she set the pizza on the kitchen table. “Wake up.”

  Even though it was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, she assumed that Jack was still asleep. It was summer, after all, no school, and he was a teenage boy. She sometimes thought he was like a cat, capable of sleeping twenty hours a day. Plus he had come in late the night before, she reminded herself, when he wasn’t even supposed to be out at all.

  When he didn’t respond, she went down the hall to his room and knocked on the door. “Jack. Pizza. “ That was usually the magic word.

  Not this time. For all his passion for privacy, he seldom if ever actually locked his door. She reached down and turned the knob, eased the door open.

  He wasn’t in his room.

  Muttering under her breath, Alex quickly searched the rest of the house. Jack wasn’t anywhere to be found. She felt like tearing her hair out in frustration. What was it about the concept of being grounded that he didn’t understand?

  Or did he just not give a damn what she said anymore?

  His car was here, which meant he had either gone somewhere on foot or somebody had come by and picked him up. Alex called the Donovan house, and when Rowdy’s mother answered, she said, “Sorry to bother you, Helen, but this is Ale
x Bonner. Does my son happen to be there with Rowdy?”

  “No, we haven’t seen Jack all day, Alex,” the woman said.

  “Rowdy is there, isn’t he?”

  Helen snorted. “I’m looking right at him. In fact, I don’t plan on letting him out of my sight. He’s grounded for a month.”

  Alex heard Rowdy complaining in the background, so she knew Helen was telling the truth. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “If you see Jack, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I’m looking for him.”

  “Sure. Say, isn’t it just terrible about the McNamaras? I’m glad you’ve got that monster locked up.”

  Navarre wasn’t exactly locked up, but Alex didn’t point that out. She thanked Helen again and hung up, then called the Boone house. Jack’s friend Steve was Dr. William Boone’s son.

  Dr. Boone was a widower, but he had a live-in housekeeper who answered the phone and told Alex that Jack wasn’t there and hadn’t been there that morning. Alex thanked the woman and hung up. Worry gnawed at her brain, but she wasn’t going to let herself panic. Jack had to be around somewhere.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw movement through the front window of the house. When she turned to look, she saw one of the police cruisers pulling into the driveway. With the tension inside her growing, she hurried outside to find out what was going on.

  The strain she was under got even worse when she saw J. P. Delgado climbing out from behind the wheel of the police car as Jack got out on the passenger side.

  “What is it, J. P.?” Alex snapped. “What did you catch him doing?”

  Delgado looked surprised. He held up his hands, palms out in the face of his boss’s anger. “Wait a minute, Chief,” he said. “I didn’t catch Jack doing anything.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Jack said. “Way to jump to a conclusion.”

  “You be quiet,” she told him. “You’re grounded.”

  Delgado said, “I didn’t know anything about that. Jack and I had agreed to get together this morning, so I came by after you sent Jerry to the hospital to take over guarding Navarre.”