Soundkeeper (11 page)

Arnold had checked on her twice this morning. He was working on the barge again, and if she understood the shouts and threats correctly, the doors on the bottom of the barge would not completely close after they dumped the load of contaminated soil yesterday. She heard Blondie leave in the truck late last night and hoped he wouldn’t come back, but knew that he probably would.

Something moved in the corner of the room, and she turned her head to see what it was. She thought it was another rat but soon realized it was a small, skinny kitten. She opened a can of Vienna sausages Arnold gave her and eased toward the skittish cat. Gale put the can on the floor, sat next to it and hummed quietly, waiting to see if he would come closer.

Within a few minutes the kitten was eating out of the can, and a few minutes after that he was purring in Gale’s arms. She couldn’t believe how much better she felt now that she had a friend. She wished she could train it to be an attack cat.

Suddenly Arnold burst through the door and the kitten shot out of her arms.

“He’s back!” he said.

Just like he had before, Arnold unlocked the handcuff and led her to the closet.

“Just remember, he’ll kill us both if he finds you,” he warned.

Gale took up her position on the dirty floor, staring under the door. She saw Blondie come inside the fish house, and heard him curse Arnold when he found out the barge wasn’t fixed yet.

“Then drive your ass to Beaufort and get the part you need!” Blondie thundered when Arnold tried to explain.

Gale saw Arnold leave the building and Blondie go back outside, then she heard a car start.

“Get me something to eat,” Blondie yelled, and Gale knew she was not being left alone.

After hearing and seeing nothing for a few minutes Gale couldn’t stand it any longer. She eased open the closet door and quietly walked over to the window. Blondie was lying on his back on the dock with his ball cap pulled down over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm.

The first thing Gale did was examine the pile of wires and junk on the floor. She found a few pieces that looked promising and put them in her pocket. Before she could do anything else she felt someone walking across the wooden planks and hurried back to the closet.

Gale didn’t get the door to the closet closed fast enough, but apparently Blondie was blinded by walking from the bright sunshine into the dark building and didn’t see her close the door. Once again she resumed her posture of lying on the floor and watching underneath the door. She took the sharp metal lid out of her pocket and clenched it in her hand.

Blondie scratched himself, burped, and slumped in the reclining lawn chair, the only piece of furniture in the building. He looked far less imposing than she remembered him being. Even though her jaw still ached whenever she moved her mouth she began to think about attacking him.

Gale could count the days of her life that she had been sick on one hand. She never slept more than six hours a night and always had too many projects going at one time. Ever since she had been a child she knew that life was what she made of it, and she had decided to make the most out of it. She had fought against people who wanted to hurt the land and water for their own profit. She was ready to fight now. As a teenager just out of high school she set sail on a mercy ship for a voyage around the world. By the time most of her friends were starting their sophomore year of college she had delivered babies and held the hands of the dying.

And now her life was threatened. Gale believed she would rather die trying to escape than suffer abuse at their hands. It had to be now. She couldn’t do anything when she was shackled to the chain. Blondie looked like he was dozing. She might get lucky and make it past him before he realized what was happening. If she could just make it outside, she knew he’d never catch her. She quietly stood and stretched her leg muscles. A muscle cramp now would be fatal.

While she stretched her quads and calf muscles she remembered the handcuff that was dangling from her left ankle. It would be noisy, banging along the ground as she ran, but she didn’t think that it would make her fall. She was ready.

On her hands and knees she peeked out under the door once again. Blondie was still in the lawn chair. One arm was hanging limply beside him and his mouth was wide open. She stood and began to open the closet door as quietly as she could. Just when the door was opened wide enough for her to see out of, it creaked loudly on its hinges. Blondie stirred from his sleep and Gale froze in place.

After minutes that seemed like hours, and aged her in years, Blondie appeared to drift back to sleep. Just when she was ready to try to open the door a little wider the door squeaked again. Blondie heard it too. She watched him rub his unshaven face and look around, trying to find the source of the noise.

Gale gripped her feeble weapon tightly in her fingers and stepped back against the wall of the closet. As soon as his hand touched the door handle she would explode against the door and knock him to the floor. She would be two hundred yards away before he got back to his feet. When she gritted her teeth a painful reminder of this man’s brutality shot through her jaw.

“Where did you come from?” Blondie asked.

With that simple question Gale felt the strength begin to sag from her coiled legs and arms. How had he seen her? She didn’t care anymore. She would fight until it was over. As she steeled herself against the opening of the door she heard another sound that brought terror to her heart.

The sick, mechanical sound of a switchblade opening was etched forever in her memory. She knew the man standing on the other side of the door had his knife in his hand again, and was ready to use it. She watched his shadow spill between the door and the doorframe and held her breath.

“Maybe if you’d eat some of the damn mice around here you wouldn’t be so skinny.”

Gale had to concentrate to keep from hyperventilating. The man who thought he had already killed her was standing less than two feet away, talking to the stray kitten.

“C’mere, cat. I won’t hurt ya.”

When the shadow moved away from the door Gale sank to her knees and peeked around the door frame. Blondie was near the middle of the building, trying to coax the kitten to come close to him. Much to her surprise, it went to the killer.

With much curiosity Gale watched the violent man stroke the small animal with tenderness and rub its head between his ears. He carried it back to his chair, and held him in his lap. They sat there together until Blondie tried to light a cigarette. Blondie shrieked when the frightened kitten sank his claws into his groin. He danced around the room with the now terrified kitten clinging to his crotch. The sharp claws had easily gone through his khaki pants and were drawing blood. The switchblade flashed in his hand once again, and he swung it at the defenseless kitten.

He misjudged the scrambling creature and Gale saw a seam of crimson flow from the tip of the knife across his leg. He finally managed to backhand the kitten off of him and it landed next to his lounge chair with a muffled thud, sounding like a shoe dropped on the floor. The kitten tried to stand and walk but he was woozy from spinning round and round with Blondie and teetered on unstable legs. Blondie picked up the kitten and stroked him a few times. Then he severed its head with his switchblade and squeezed it, watching the blood spurt from its neck and flow down over his hand.

Gale sobbed and bit her hand to keep from being heard. She slumped to the floor and pulled the closet door shut when Blondie walked out of the building.

Chapter Nineteen

His “formal” uniform, long-sleeved polyester shirt, clip-on tie and patent leather shoes, was much more uncomfortable than his everyday work uniform. Fortunately the courtroom was well air-conditioned and cool to the point of making his sweat-dampened shirt feel chilly. Hall had been here only once before, accompanying Jimmy when he met with the county solicitor to discuss a proposed plea bargain in an upcoming trial.

He saw the deputy that had taken his prisoner to jail a few days ago and sat down next to him. Hall relaxed a little when the deputy told nothing was likely to happen since this was the defendant’s first appearance.

“I’m sure his attorney will continue the case a few times, waiting for the time when you or the victim doesn’t show up. Then he’ll tell the judge that he’s ready to try the case, and the solicitor will have to dismiss, since there’s no witnesses present,” the deputy said.

Hall looked around and saw the girl who had been assaulted. She was sitting with an older couple he supposed to be her parents. The suspect sat on the other side of the courtroom, next to two men, one of whom had a briefcase on his lap. His attorney, Hall guessed. He made a mental note never to miss court.

The docket full of domestic assaults, traffic charges, and other misdemeanor crimes bored the other law enforcement officer to tears, but Hall was fascinated. He had never been in a court session before and was amazed and confused at how things were done. While the solicitor called one case and read the formal charges, her two assistants whispered with defense attorneys, working out last minutes deals and pleas. The judge was often engaged in different conversations with a defense attorney, the solicitor, and his clerk. Police officers, deputy sheriffs, and highway patrolmen testified about the grimy details of their cases: how many stitches the assault victim received, what the blood-alcohol level of the drunk driver was, and what verbal or physical abuse the defendant had given them. Their testimony was short and to the point.

Hall tried to rehearse in his mind what he would say when the judge asked him what happened. He made a few scribbles in his notebook, phrases and terms he heard the other cops use. The mock court he had participated in during his training had not prepared him for this.

During a recess one of the assistant solicitors approached him.

“Did you bring a copy of the statute with you?’ he asked.

“Excuse me?” Hall was confused.

“We don’t deal much with the game and fish laws, so Jimmy always brought a copy of the statutes with him,” the attorney for the state said.

Before Hall could speak the deputy next to him answered.

“He’s with me. CCW and underage possession of alcohol. No fish and game stuff today”

The solicitor looked at his notes.

“Hazelton is representing him. I’m sure he’ll ask for a continuance.”

At about the time Hal assumed court would be adjourned for lunch, the attorney who represented his defendant stood and asked the judge for permission to speak.

“Your Honor, I am scheduled to appear before the legislature this afternoon and I was hoping to take care of this matter before I return to the capitol.”

The deputy next to Hall whispered in his ear and told him who Ambrose Hazelton was, the former law partner of Hewlitt Sands. Hall recognized Sands as the top prosecutor in the county. The judge instructed the solicitor to call the case.

Hall didn’t realize what was happening until the deputy got up and sat down at the prosecutor’s table and motioned for him to sit beside him. The solicitor read the charges against the defendant.

“Carrying a concealed weapon and possession of alcohol by a person less than twenty-one years of age. How does the defendant plead?”

“Brandon Rodgers pleads not guilty, your Honor,” Mr. Hazelton answered.

Hall McCormick and the deputy rose from their seats and placed their left hands on the Bible and raised their right hands. The clerk of court swore them in and Hall took the stand.

In district, or misdemeanor court, Hall knew there was no jury. The judge listened to the evidence and made a decision. Any appeals were remanded to superior court for a jury trial. Hall looked at the judge and began to testify.

He related the facts of the case in the briefest way possible, just as he had seen the other officers do all morning. When he was finished, the deputy briefly spoke and the prosecution rested.

“The defense calls Katrina Wellsley,” Ambrose Hazelton said.

The teenaged girl Hall had seen the defendant pawing at walked down the aisle in the middle of the courtroom with her head hanging low. Hall looked at her, but she never looked up. She was sworn in by the clerk and took her seat in the witness stand.

“Miss Wellsley, do you remember coming to my office and giving me a sworn statement?” Hazleton asked.

She nodded her head, and the judge told her she had to give a verbal answer.

“Yes sir,” she said. Hall could barely hear her answer.

“Do you remember telling me you got the bottle of liquor from the restaurant where you worked?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you remember telling me it was your idea for my client to give you a ride home that night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more questions, your Honor.”

The solicitor shook her head when the judge asked her if she wanted to question the witness.

“You may step down, Miss Wellsley.”

The defense called the defendant’s father who testified that his son was driving his car, and that it was the father’s pistol that was under the seat.

“Brandon had no idea the gun was there, your Honor. It was my mistake, not his,” he concluded.