Death Among the Mangroves (31 page)

“You forget one thing,” Stider said. He sounded tired.

“And that is?”

“That I control my own destiny.”

Aha
, Troy thought.
What I was waiting for.
“You don't control squat, you pathetic little loser. You couldn't control your own son, which any real man would have been able to do. You lost control over your wife and she's blabbing her head off to me about you and Mark. In a few weeks the system's gears start to grind and you turn into sausage. Control? Your only control is going to be whether you want the hot dog or the hamburger in the prison dining room.”

“I do have control. You know nothing. You're the loser.”

“I don't know, Hans. Mind if I call you Hans? You're not a judge any longer. And if you have control of your life, prove it to me.”

There was a long pause. “You still there, Hans?” Troy said. “Or should I start calling you Prisoner Number So-and-So.”

“I am still a judge,” Stider said. “And I'll die a judge.” Troy heard a loud gunshot over the phone connection, and some muffled thumps.

Troy turned off his own phone.
Christ, it took him long enough
, Troy said to himself.

Chapter 53

Saturday, February 1

Troy was in his office at eight a.m. Saturday when Lester Groud let himself in from the town hall side of the building. “Working weekends?” Groud asked as he sat down across from Troy.

“Catching up on a few items. Thanks for the vote of confidence last night.”

“My pleasure. Norris Compton is going to be a terrific town councilman. Unlike Doctor Duell, Compton actually knows how to tackle the work and is happy to do it.”

Troy smiled. “Where's the former Doctor Councilman Principal Howard Parkland Duell? I didn't see him at the town council meeting last night.”

“Gone. Moved to Miami. Maybe he can start collecting titles there. He cut a deal with the state attorney for a fine and probation and permission to move. His house is vacant and up for sale. Frieda the Flipper is handling that.”

Groud looked out the back window at Sunset Bay beyond. “It's a nice day. You should get out of here. I have a fishing party shortly. Be out all day myself.”

Troy looked out the window too. “Today is shooting practice day out on Government Key. The gang will meet me out there but I'll bring the ammo and targets from the storeroom. And the rifles too. After that, we all come back here and clean guns and have the monthly Bad Words Jar party. Pizza and beer for all while I take the patrol. And, first of the month, we change the shift schedule. Just so happens all three things are on the same day this month.”

“You do know that ammunition you expend in these monthly target practice sessions costs the town more than five thousand dollars each year,” Groud said. “I was just looking at the invoices for this year's supply.”

Troy nodded. “We buy in bulk and also get a law enforcement discount. And just a few days ago Angel Watson made a very difficult shot, facing a rifle, with a Glock pistol with a four-inch barrel. Training is never wasted.”

“Actually you both made that shot. The M.E. said Mark Stider was hit simultaneously by two bullets, one in the forehead, one in the back of the skull.”

“I know. So, we're both well-trained. Me better. They only shoot once a month. I shoot every week. I buy my own ammo.”

“Good for you. The shooting of Mark Stider was approved by a review board. But word is that maybe you sort of talked Judge Stider into committing suicide.”

“
Moi
? I wasn't even in the same room. We were having a pleasant chat on the phone when he decided to shoot himself. Conversation sort of went downhill after that.”

“Too bad none of us and nobody at the sheriff's office's review board got to hear that conversation. If you had used the department phone it might have been recorded.

“I know. I called Stider on my private phone. Just didn't think about that, I suppose.”

“Heh. I bet. You think of everything. But saved the county an embarrassing trial at least. But I came by to tell you I'd heard from Frank Lawton. He says Stider's frivolous lawsuits have been buried with him. With Stider gone, the lawyers doing his bidding all scattered like cockroaches when you turn on the kitchen light.”

“The legal profession's untiring devotion to the spirit of justice and fair play is an inspiration to us all.”

“Sure it is,” Groud said. “And speaking of that, what became of Martha Stider, last surviving member of that family? At least she doesn't have to testify now.”

“She doesn't have to testify now. She will, in fact, inherit the Stider fortune, which as I understand, is considerable. Hans Stider had left everything to his son in his will. But with his son dead before him, the estate goes into probate and the state will award it to his surviving wife.”

“And, now that we voted, three-zero, to make you the permanent director of public safety,” Groud said, “do you plan any changes?”

“I was thinking of putting in a requisition for a chief's car.”

“Go ahead. We won't approve it, but I don't wish to stifle ambition.”