Home Invasion

by William W. Johnstone

“The doctors are sure it was a stroke?” Alex asked as she stood in the hospital corridor with Joe Gutierrez and Dave Rutherford.

  Joe nodded. “Yeah. They think there’s a good chance Pete won’t ever regain consciousness. And even if he does …” The lawyer shrugged as his voice trailed off.

  “There’s so much damage to his brain that he’ll never recover,” Rutherford finished what his colleague couldn’t bring himself to say.

  For a long moment, Alex didn’t say anything. Then, “I know it’s terrible to feel this way, but maybe it’s for the best. My dad always said that going fast was like winning the senior citizens’ lottery. And after everything Pete’s gone through, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to live.”

  “Maybe not, but he shouldn’t have been hounded to death by scum like Cochrum,” Joe said angrily.

  “He’s not dead yet,” Rutherford pointed out, “and this is going to throw the whole legal situation into limbo.”

  “I’m filing an appeal. Judge Carson gave us plenty of grounds in his instructions to the jury. He was clearly prejudicial.”

  “And the way the courts have been packed by the liberals in the past dozen years, do you really think that’s going to do any good?”

  Alex held up her hands. “You two can wrangle out the legal issues later,” she said. “For now, what do we need to do for Pete?”

  Joe shrugged again. “There’s nothing we can do for him. It’s all up to the doctors now … and to El Señor Dios, as my grandmother would say.”

  Alex nodded. “All right, then. I’m heading back to Home. The news of the verdict and Pete’s stroke is bound to have gotten there by now, and it’s liable to make the trouble last night look like nothing.”

  “Maybe I’d better go, too,” Rutherford said, “in case the mayor needs my legal advice on anything.”

  “Both of you go,” Joe said. “I’ll stay here and look out for Pete’s best interests, whatever they may be.”

  They said their farewell, and Alex and Rutherford headed for the elevator used by hospital personnel that they had come up in earlier. Local police from the county seat were posted in the corridors to keep the media and everybody else away from the ICU.

  There was a mob on the lawn in front of the hospital, too. Everybody in town knew Pete McNamara had collapsed at the conclusion of the trial, and most of them knew he had been brought here. Damn gawkers, Alex thought as she circled the sprawling building in her car and headed out of town on the state highway.

  It was just human nature, though, to stop and stare at a tragedy … and there was no other word to describe this situation.

  She turned on the radio as she drove, and the first thing she heard was Clayton Cochrum’s oily voice saying, “… regret that Mr. McNamara was stricken. Mr. Navarre also wants it known that he bears no personal ill will toward Mr. McNamara and wishes him a complete and speedy recovery.”

  “Oh, barf,” Alex muttered.

  The press conference was probably live, not on tape. Reporters shouted questions at Cochrum, their voices blending together. After a moment, Cochrum must have singled out one of them, because a woman’s voice rose and asked, “What effect does this have on the verdict reached by the jury today?”

  “None whatsoever,” Cochrum replied without hesitation. “That verdict stands. Of course, under the circumstances, my client and I will not press for any hurried disposition of the damages phase of the trial until Mr. McNamara has recovered.”

  “What if he doesn’t recover?” another reporter asked. “He’s in critical condition, according to our sources at the hospital.”

  “Then in due time, we’ll deal with his estate.”

  “What about the other settlements, the ones with the federal government and the gun company?”

  “Those negotiations are proceeding, and announcements will be made shortly concerning them.”

  “Do you feel that your client has been vindicated?”

  Cochrum laughed. “Well, of course, I do. The jury sent a clear message today, don’t you think?”

  “What about the criminal charges still pending against him?”

  “I filed a motion a short time ago to have them dismissed. It’ll be up to District Attorney Hobson to decide whether to go forward with them.”

  Alex had a pretty good idea what Everett Hobson would decide, too. It might not be impossible to try Emilio Navarre now… but it was mighty close to it.

  For the first time in her life, thoughts of vigilante justice flickered through Alex’s brain. She was a cop, she had dedicated her life to law and order….

  But right about now, she knew how soul satisfying it would be to put a bullet through Navarre’s head and splatter his evil brains all over the wall.

  She shoved the thought away. “Don’t you do that, Alex,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t you ever.”

  When people were pushed far enough, though … when pure evil flaunted itself right in their faces and dared them to do something about it … well, she could understand why some folks reacted the way they did. She might not condone it, but she could understand it.

  It was suppertime when she got back to Home, normally a quiet time of day. Not today, though. The streets were jammed with cars, and even more people were on the sidewalks and in the parking lots than there had been the night before. And every face wore an angry expression, too.

  She had sent Clint and Delgado back here before she ever started to the hospital in the county seat, so they were already on duty, thank goodness. So were all the other members of her department, and some deputies from the sheriff’s office were on hand, too. Alex was in her personal car, but it had a radio in it. She picked up the mike, keyed it, and said, “Jimmy, are you there?”

  “Right here, Chief,” the dispatcher answered immediately. “Where are … you?”

  “Just driving into town. Trying to, anyway.” Traffic had slowed to a standstill. Alex thought about getting the portable flashing light from the glove compartment and putting it on top of the car, but she realized that wouldn’t do any good. The vehicles ahead of her didn’t have anywhere to go to get out of her way.

  Instead she turned onto a side street and figured she would wind her way through the back roads if she had to. She went on, “Tell me what’s happening. Any trouble so far?”

  “Not so … far,” Jimmy replied. “Just lots of folks … millin’ around. They’re really … mad about Pete, Chief.”

  “I know, Jimmy,” she said. “I am, too. Is everybody out on patrol?”

  “Yeah. I can … go out, too, if you … need me to. I can get Eloise … to come in early.”

  “No, you stay right where you are. I need you there at the station. Got it?”

  “You bet.”

  Alex relaxed, but only slightly. “I’ll be there in a little while. Hold down the fort until then, okay?”

  “Okay, Chief.”

  Alex put the mike back on its clip and took her cell phone from her purse. She didn’t have to look at it to speed-dial her house.

  Jack answered after one ring, and Alex felt relief go through her. “You’re there,” she said.

  “Of course, I’m here,” he replied. “Where did you think I would be, after I got in so much trouble last night?”

  “You came straight home after practice?”

  “We didn’t have practice. Coach canceled it. He’d heard about Mr. McNamara, like everybody else in town.”

  “Did the other boys go home, too?”

  “I don’t know. Rowdy and Steve are here with me, though. We’ve been playing video games.”

  “Good. Keep them there, if you can. You boys don’t need to be out on the street tonight. Can you rustle up something for the three of you to eat? I don’t have any idea when I’ll be able to get home.”

  “Look, Mom, don’t worry about us, okay?” Jack said. “We’ll be fine. Just go do your job.”

  “All right.” She had reached the back parking lot of the police station. As she pulle
d into it, she added, “You know, you’re a good kid when you want to be.”

  Jack snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused. “Just be careful, all right? People were upset last night, but now they’re really mad.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up.”

  But he probably would, Alex thought as she went into the station.

  That’s the kind of kid he was.

  CHAPTER 24

  Alex went in through the back door and up to the front of the building, where Jimmy gave her a huge grin.

  “Now I know that everything … will be all right. The chief is … back.”

  Alex returned the smile. “I hope I live up to that faith you have in me, Jimmy. I’m going to get my uniform on.”

  She came out of her office a few minutes later, feeling glad to have the gun on her hip again.

  “How’s Mr. McNamara?” Jimmy asked.

  Alex shook her head sadly. “Not too good. He’s really sick, Jimmy. He may not get well.”

  “I’m gonna … pray for him.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She pushed open the front door and paused. “Say one for the rest of us while you’re at it, why don’t you?”

  She had a feeling they could use all the help they could get this evening.

  She wasn’t going to take a car out, not with the streets hopelessly jammed like they were. Instead she set out on foot, using her portable radio to check in with the other officers as she made her way downtown.

  One by one they reported in and gave her their locations. Delgado was at the supermarket where the brawl had broken out the night before. Clint was on the corner where a farm-to-market road crossed the state highway at the very center of town. There were two convenience stores, the bank, and an insurance office at that intersection, along with a mob of angry people, Clint informed her. Jerry, Lester, Betsy, and Antonio were scattered around town, at the lumberyard, the hospital, the Dairy Queen, and Sally’s Steak House, respectively. The sheriff’s deputies were using the same frequency, and they called in as well, letting Alex know that they were at the hardware store, the auto supply store, the propane company, and the telephone company offices.

  Between them, they had the town pretty well covered, Alex thought. No matter where trouble broke out—if trouble broke out—an officer wouldn’t be too far away.

  She hoped she was wrong, but she had a feeling there was no if about it.

  As she made her way along the street, a lot of people stopped her to ask her if she’d heard anything more about Pete McNamara. When she told them she hadn’t, they expressed their anger about the whole situation.

  “I hear you,” Alex said each time. “I feel the same way. But it won’t help Pete or anybody else to cause trouble.”

  “We didn’t start it, Chief,” more than one person protested, using similar words to lambaste the politicians, the media, and everybody else who had completely lost touch with the regular people of the country.

  Something Alex didn’t see were the news trucks with the dishes on their roofs for their satellite uplinks. The media seemed to be avoiding Home this evening. Maybe for once they were acting half as smart as they claimed to be. When night fell, she began to hope that maybe people would start to return to their homes now that they had blown off some steam. Maybe she and the officers could actually skate by tonight without any real trouble.

  In the back of her mind, though, she knew that was too much to hope for, and sure enough, around seven o’clock hordes of people began to stream toward the western edge of town as if they had all heard some sort of announcement.

  Alex grabbed a man’s arm as he went past her and stopped him. “Where’s everybody going?” she asked.

  “I heard that there’s gonna be a prayer rally at the high school football field for Pete,” the man replied. “Haven’t you heard about it, Chief?”

  “Not until now,” Alex said. She let the man go.

  This might be a good thing, she told herself. Get everybody in the stadium instead of milling around the streets. Praying was bound to calm them down a little.

  She looked toward the high school and saw the big lights on their tall standards around the football field flicker on as somebody threw a switch.

  How much trouble could a prayer rally cause, anyway? But still, she knew she needed to be there. She joined the crowds headed in that direction, feeling a little like a lemming, and used the radio to tell her officers to converge on the football field.

  Despite all the terrible things going on in this part of the country, and all around the world as well, it was a beautiful evening. The sun was going down and lighting up the sky with a glorious display of red, gold, and orange against a backdrop of deep blue, and the air was pleasantly warm with just a hint of welcome coolness. Alex found it somehow reassuring that while people could do their best to mess things up for themselves and everyone else, somehow the world kept turning and there was plenty of beauty if you knew where to look for it.

  She had attended scores of high school football games over the years, sometimes on duty and sometimes not, and that’s what this felt like, she thought as she watched people streaming into the stadium adjacent to the high school campus. There were still some loud, angry voices to be heard, but for the most part people seemed to be calming down, as Alex had hoped would happen. A certain solemnity took hold when people gathered to pray. It made them realize that there were things bigger than this world.

  Alex climbed to the top of the bleachers, just below the press box, and looked out over the crowd, searching for any signs of trouble. Thankfully, she didn’t see any. Down at the bottom of the stands, just in front of the first row of seats, a couple of men were setting up a portable public address system. Alex recognized them as the pastors from the local Baptist and Methodist churches. Evidently they were going to use the portable PA, rather than the stadium’s sound system. That was probably so they could walk up and down while they were praying. Alex hadn’t seen too many preachers who were good at standing still, she thought with a faint smile. The spirit moved them.

  Standing up high like this, Alex could see for a long way over the flat West Texas landscape. Her gaze followed the state highway toward the county seat. A frown creased her forehead as she saw a lot of headlights coming toward Home. That didn’t have to mean anything, but worry stirred inside her anyway.

  She saw her officers standing here and there in the bleachers. The sheriff’s deputies had stayed over in the business district, just in case anything happened there. They were all ready for trouble, but with a crowd this size, and emotions running as high as they were …

  Alex didn’t like to think about the sort of things that might happen in circumstances like that.

  Her nerves stretched even tighter when she saw a dozen vehicles turn off the highway into the stadium parking lot. The lot wasn’t full, since most of the people had walked here, so the newcomers were able to get in. The sun had set, but enough dusky light remained in the sky for Alex to pick out the shapes of satellite dishes on top of some of the trucks.

  The media had arrived.

  They had just been biding their time, she realized, waiting for the situation in Home to get tense enough that something might happen. They were like buzzards, she thought, scavengers feeding off human misery. She didn’t want them in her town.

  She couldn’t stop them from flocking to tragedy, though. Nobody could. And if they were here only to report, it wouldn’t be so bad. That wouldn’t be the case. They would try to mold and shape the thinking of their viewers according to their own warped perspective on the world, where everything America did was bad, every problem could be solved by raising taxes, and regular people were morons who were so stupid that they needed the federal government to take care of them from the cradle to the grave. That was the media’s version of Utopia, and nothing could shake them from that belief, which they held with a religious fervor that put that of regular Christians to shame. Big governm
ent was the left’s religion.

  “The reporters are here,” Alex said into her mike as she started down from the top of the bleachers. “Keep your eyes open. I’m going to talk to them.”

  She wanted to persuade the news crews to leave people alone while they were praying. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but she felt like she had to try.

  Alex reached the bottom of the bleachers, turned and went down a ramp into the area underneath the stands. As she did that, the Baptist minister began leading the crowd in a prayer for Pete McNamara.

  The first of the reporters to get set up was coming toward the ramp, carrying a microphone and trailed by her cameraman and a light man. It was the arrogant blonde who had clashed with Jack, Rowdy, and Steve the night before, Alex realized.

  She held up a hand to stop the advancing trio. “That’s far enough,” she said.

  “You can’t stop us, Chief,” the blonde said. “This is public property and a public gathering.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” Alex shot back. “This stadium belongs to the school district.”

  “Which is financed by taxes, which makes it public property.”

  “You don’t pay school taxes here,” Alex pointed out. “Anyway, people are praying up there, and it’s just common courtesy not to bother them.”

  The blonde shook her head stubbornly. “We have a right to cover this event … especially since it sounds like whoever is speaking is inciting these people to riot.”

  Alex turned her head to listen to the words coming from the portable PA system. The minister was saying, “—smite down the evildoers, Lord, and show them the error of their unholy ways.”

  “He’s not inciting anything,” she told the reporter. “He’s praying, that’s all.”

  “It’s a call for violence against immigrants,” the blonde insisted. “Anyone can see that. That so-called man of God is telling his redneck followers to ignore the verdict fairly delivered by our legal system and seek vengeance on Emilio Navarre.”

  Alex could only stare at her in disbelief. “You’re crazy,” she finally said. “How do you get that out of a prayer?”