WALKABOUT - Taking a Mulligan (Part 4)

17

Ty Hamilton

It wasn’t the first time Dianna and I had argued about money. I didn’t want to give up my toys any more than she wanted to give up her show horses. I looked out the kitchen window just in time to see Dallas Remington brake his shiny new Chevy Silverado to a stop in front of the barn at the bottom of the hill.  I felt a sneer forming on my face as I exhaled a steady flow of hatred from my nostrils.

I had a bit of a dilemma, which had nothing to do with either Dallas Remington or Dianna. There was a video camera in my possession which didn’t belong to me. I had found it while trespassing, so I didn’t know if that would be considered stealing or not. Or if, under the circumstances, it would be admissible as evidence. I supposed that I could take it back, after dark, and put it in the general area where I’d found it. Leave it there for whomever had dropped it to find if and when they came back looking for it.

Or, I could pitch it in the dumpster and forget about it.  Why shouldn’t I? It was really none of my business, now that I’d been fired.

But I had seen a man, injured and bleeding, whether anyone else believed me or not. And I had heard a gunshot. Found and followed a blood trail that led me right to the camera. I couldn’t just let it go.

18

Ty Hamilton

The Page County Sheriff Department’s recorded message said if I had an emergency to hang up and call 911. From there, it prompted me on how to reach the party I wanted, or to stay on the line for dispatch. I left a message for Deputy Smiley. “This is Ty Hamilton, formerly of Sheepdog Security. I was the officer on duty at Lanter Construction the other night. I’ve found something that I believe will collaborate what I told you. A video camera. I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call.” I left my number and hung up.

19

Sheriff Mike Bridges removed his duty belt and placed it on his desk. He plopped down onto his chair and started rummaging through his desk drawers in search of some aspirin to combat his headache. There was a knock. Suzanne Smiley, one of his veteran deputies, stood in the doorway. “Got a minute, Sheriff?”

“What’s on your mind, Suzanne?”

“I just retrieved a voice mail from the security officer out at Lanter Construction, Ty Hamilton.”

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Sheriff Bridges said. “I spoke to Bobby Lanter, and he called the security company—which one did you say it was?”

“Sheepdog.”

“What a dumbass name for a company. Anyway, they canned him. There’ll be someone else out there from now on. Hopefully someone not so jumpy.”

“All good and fine,” Smiley said, “but he said in his message that he’d found something after I left. A video camera.”

The sheriff stiffened. “He say anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Did he check to see if anything was on it?”

Deputy Smiley shook her head. “Didn’t say. You want me to go get it, take a look at it? He lives in Hickory Hills.”

“I’m heading out that way in a few minutes anyway,” the sheriff said. “I’ll swing by and talk to him. See what this is all about.”

“You’re the boss,” Smiley said, and left him there alone with his throbbing headache.

20

Ty Hamilton

The dog went nuts when the doorbell rang. Why we had to keep a dog in the house when we lived out in the country was beyond me. But Dianna insisted. “Shut up, Pepper!” I shouted. I looked through the peephole, saw it was a cop, and opened the door.

“I’m Sheriff Bridges,” he said. “Are you Mr. Hamilton? Ty Hamilton?”

I nodded. “What’s left of him.” Pepper was barking louder now, using me as a shield between himself and the sheriff. I noticed the sheriff’s hand resting on his gun, and remembered him having used it on a couple occasions. Once when a suspect he was apprehending tried to take his gun from him. During the struggle, the suspect was shot. Twice. Which seemed odd to me, but the subsequent investigation cleared Sheriff Bridges of any wrongdoing. The other time, I seemed to recall, another suspect had been shot and killed while trying to escape. Again, the shooting was ruled justifiable. So, it seemed, Sheriff Bridges was a good cop. Just don’t screw with him.

Pepper was getting louder now, and I needed to do something about it. “Hang on a second,” I said, “while I put Cujo in his cage.” I grabbed Pepper by the collar and drug him to the wire kennel in the family room that we keep for just such occasions.

With Pepper inside, I slid the kennel latches closed and turned to go back to the door. In the process I nearly bumped into the sheriff, who’d walked into the house uninvited. It kind of pissed me off, but I supposed it was only a minor breach of etiquette.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I said.

“Deputy Smiley said you found something?” he sniffed. “She had some other duties to attend to. I told her I’d swing by to see you.”

Since he was already in the house, and Pepper had stopped barking, and I couldn’t think of any reason not to invite the sheriff to have a seat at the kitchen table. “Make yourself comfortable,” I said, nodding to the nearest chair, “while I fetch the camera from my office.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything on here that will be of any use to you or not,” I said as I handed it over to him a minute or so later.

“You mean you haven’t looked at it?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I haven’t.” And it was true. The camera was identical to the one that Travis owned. I had found his charger cord and a USB cord and plugged them in, then uploaded—or was it downloaded? I can never keep it straight—all the video content onto my computer. But, I had not looked at it. Not yet. And I might never. I wasn’t nearly as curious about it today.

“Where did you find this, Mr. Hamilton?” the sheriff asked.

“On the property next to where I was working.”

“Lanter Construction, right?”

I nodded. “Right. Not any longer, though,” I said, not bothering to conceal my displeasure. “Not since someone from your department complained about me making one too many calls.”

The sheriff tilted his head up, stuck his chin outward and said, “That someone would be me.”

I elected to drop the subject. “Anyway, yeah, I found it in the pasture behind the crematory.”

“What were you doing back there?”

“Following a blood trail.”

“A blood trail?”

“After your deputy left, I decided to have a look. See what I could find.”

“And what did you find?”

I pointed to the camera. “That.”

“You are aware that you were trespassing?” The sheriff’s expression let me know that he was dead serious. “And the owner of the property could have you arrested?”

“Is that why you’re here today, Sheriff?” I said. “To arrest me?”

“Just consider it a friendly warning. A word to the wise,” he said. “No sense blowing things out of proportion. You did the right thing, bringing this to our attention.” He stood, and we shook hands.

“You have a good day now, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Same to you. You be careful out there,” I said, and immediately had a flashback to Hill Street Blues.

Halfway out the door, the sheriff stopped. “You sure you haven’t looked at this?”

“Swear to God,” I said.

“Anyone else?”

“No one but you and Deputy Smiley even know that I had it.”

He nodded, then left my house without another word.

21

Sheriff Bridges opened his cell phone. There was a voicemail message from Larry Brown, owner of the local junk yard. Larry was a shady character. Ran a junk salvage yard which also served as a chop shop and a dog fighting venue on his property. The sheriff turned a blind eye to it, and Larry gave him a cut of the action. That and the pick of the litter whenever his Tosa Inu bitch had pups. Larry would keep and feed the dog, train it to fight. Sheriff Bridges enjoyed watching the fights from Larry’s “Executive Suite”, a ratty office with an acrylic two-way mirror set above the pit. It was always good to have a dog in the fight. 

Every now and then, Larry felt a sense of civic duty. From the sound of the voicemail, apparently today was one of those times. “Yeah, it’s me, Larry Brown. I had a guy come by ‘bout a half an hour ago—GOD DAMN IT LEON, PUT IT BACK!—‘bout a half-hour ago, wantin’ to know could I fix his Dodge truck. Said it was banged up pretty bad. Said he hit a cow out on Davis Meyer Road. One of the Amish’s. So anyways, I said sure, and—GOD DAMN IT LEON! I DONE TOLD YOU—” and then the message timed out.

The sheriff turned west and headed toward Larry Brown’s place. While driving, he found Perry Winter’s name in Contacts, made the call

Perry Winter’s cell phone rang. “Hello, Mike.”

“Perry, we need to talk.”

“Meet me at Trudy’s. Ten minutes.”

“Make it half an hour. I need to drop by Larry Brown’s place on the way back into town.”

22

Perry Winters was seated in a corner booth in Trudy’s Uptown Diner. Sheriff Bridges slid in opposite him. Before they could exchange greetings, the waitress appeared out of thin air. “What can I get you today, Sheriff?”

“Just a coffee, thanks.” Sheriff Bridges waited until she was out of earshot. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Perry. It took a little longer than I thought it would at Larry’s,” he said. “Larry’s got a honey badger out there. Don’t ask me where he found it. I don’t want to know. He’s going to put it up against a couple of dogs next week. The dog owners pay an entry fee. Two grand apiece. Larry matches it. Last one standing wins. Winner takes all. Of course, with all the gambling, Larry wins even if he loses.”

“You gotta give it to Larry,” Winters said, “He’s an entrepreneur, and a hell of a promoter.”

“Anyway, just before I got there, Larry’s cousin Leon got the honey badger out of its cage,” The sheriff laughed as he spoke. “He wanted to pet it. It bit him on the nose and jumped out of his arms. It didn’t get outside the shop, but it damn near tore the building down.” The sheriff chuckled. “Larry was pissed. And Leon’s bleeding like a stuck hog.”

Winters had just taken a sip of water, and it came out through his nose. He sat there, simultaneously laughing and choking with the image of Larry and Leon chasing a honey badger. “Oh, God!” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Leon!”

The sheriff waited for Winters to get over the choking spell. “On a more somber note, Larry gave me a lead on that hit and run that killed the Carmichael twins.”

Winters raised an eyebrow. “Larry Brown’s a snitch?”

“Larry is what he is and he ain’t what he ain’t,” Sheriff Bridges said. “He is a career criminal. But, he is also someone I can count on when I need him. So yeah, I tend to look the other way where he’s concerned. That’s the way it works. But, Larry ain’t someone who will repair a truck for cash money under the table, no dealing with an insurance company, so that a hit and run driver can get away with killing two little girls. He did take two hundred bucks cash up front, got the address where he could come pick up the truck with his wrecker later tonight. I’ll follow along, and make the arrest, make it look like I’m following an anonymous tip. I’ll probably cuff him, too. Maybe rough him up a little. Gotta protect Larry’s credibility as a badass.”

“So that’s what you wanted to tell me?” Winters asked. “I mean, I am glad to hear it, but …” he leaned in, raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice, “anyone I know?”

“Can’t talk about it. Shouldn’t have said anything. Keep it to yourself. And, no, that’s not why I wanted to meet with you.”

“Okay, then what?”

“The security guard at Lanter Construction, a guy named Hamilton—”

“Tyler Hamilton? Dianna’s husband?”

“You know him?”

“Not very well. His wife goes to our church. Nice lady. Don’t see him there, except maybe on Easter. A security guard, you say? I thought he was a pilot.”

“Anyway—”

“No, now that I think about it, I remember Dianna saying he’d retired from flying, some time back.”

“Okay,” Bridges sighed heavily. “Whatever. He’s the guy who was working security out at Lanter Construction the night that your son and my niece were . . .”

“Associating with the wrong sort of people,” Winters said.

“Exactly.”

The sheriff waited while the waitress set his coffee on the table for him. “There you go,” she said with a smile. “You want creamer for that?”

“No, thanks,” he said.

“Either of you need anything else, just let me know.”

Sheriff Bridges nodded. “We will.” She went to another table, and he turned his attention back to Winters. “Seems this guy Hamilton’s found a video camera.”

“Where at?”

“On your property. In the pasture out behind your crematory.”

“What the hell was it doing there? For that matter, what the hell was he doing there?”

“He had called in to report an intruder on the property he was guarding,” the sheriff said. “Then when Smiley blew it off, he decided to do some snooping on his own.” The sheriff leaned in, lowered his voice. “Listen, Perry, I looked, and this camera has something you need to see.”

“Okay, let’s have a look.”

“Not here. I’ll leave now. You wait a few minutes, then come meet me at the Target parking lot.”

23

At the southwest corner of the Target parking lot, far from any other vehicles or shoppers, Perry Winters slid into the front passenger seat of the Sheriff’s cruiser. “What’s with all the cloak and dagger, Mike?”

Sheriff Bridges handed him the camcorder. “See for yourself. Just hit the play button.”

It was dark. Maybe in a park. A young girl in a short skirt walked up to a lump of something on the ground and stopped. “That’s my niece, Shelby,” Sheriff Bridges said.

Whoever was operating the camera began speaking to someone. “Check it out! She’s standing right over him.”

“And that voice belongs to my son, Jimmy,” Winters said.

There was some off-camera snickering by at least two people as the girl poked the lump with the toe of her shoe. The lump on the ground moved. It was a man, a homeless guy, by all appearances.

The off-camera voice of Jimmy Winters said, “You believe this? She’s letting him look right up her skirt!” The snickers gave way to laughter.

The homeless man sat up, engaged the girl in conversation. She turned and walked—sashayed, really—toward the camera. As she got close, in better light under a streetlamp, Shelby Meyers came close to the camera and spoke directly into it. “He said okay,” she tossed her head back, laughing. “He said he’ll do it.”

“All right!” another off-camera voices said.

“You recognize that voice, Perry?” the sheriff asked.

Winters shook his head.

“I can’t believe she actually did that!” Jimmy’s voice again.

“Okay,” Winters said. “That was interesting, but not really all that much to it.”

“Oh, but wait,” Sheriff Bridges said. “There’s more.”

The next video was a bit of a shock to Winters. The sheriff had already seen it once, in his cruiser, so it didn’t have quite the impact as the first time. Still, it made him very uneasy.

Two homeless men, punching, kicking, gouging and grappling on the ground. A half-dozen or so young people shouting encouragement, laughing. A royal blue party van in the background, loud music coming from its audio system. Occasional lightning flashes.

“Bum fights,” Winters said. “Kids find a couple of homeless guys and give them a few bucks to kick one another’s teeth in. They get it on video, then post it on the internet.”

“What’s this world coming to?” Sheriff Bridges shook his head. “Every time I think I’ve seen it all . . .”

One of the men gained a distinct advantage over the other, and it began pounding his opponent mercilessly. No one stepped in to stop it.

The man on the ground, in desperation, grabbed a rock and brought it square against the head of his attacker. And the fight was over.

Lots of cheers, whooping and shouting. And then, someone said, “Dude, I think this guy’s dead!”

Winters looked at the sheriff. “Idiots!”

“It gets worse,” Bridges said. And it did. The two men watched as the video continued. The argument over money. The discussion about the merits of calling 911. Jimmy Winters saying that he worked at the crematory.

And then, later, one more video clip. The chasing down of the lone survivor of the fight. Darkness, mostly. The only light came from headlamps on ATVs, occasional lightning, and a searchlight. That clip ended before they could catch him.

“I’m guessing this fellow they are chasing was the one that the security guard at Lanter Construction saw.”

Bridges nodded. “Hamilton. Yeah, no doubt.”

“Anyone besides the two of us seen this?”

“Hamilton swore to God he hadn’t looked at it.”

“That’s good.”

“Except that when I picked it up at his house, it was fully charged and turned on.”

“We can’t let this come to the surface, Mike. It will destroy both our families,” Winters said. “Not to mention it could lead to other things coming to light. Things that could be very damaging to us both.”

“I agree.”

“Any idea who the other kids were? The ones that were off camera?”

“Like I said, Shelby tried to lie at first. Made up some bullshit story about it being fake, but in the end . . . Well, she’s my sister’s baby, so I had to handle her with kid gloves. Let’s just say I convinced her that it was better to tell me than for someone else to find out.”

“So you got names?”

“I did.” The sheriff flipped open his note pad. “There were six, counting Jimmy and Shelby,” he said. “Chuck Coffey—”

“The basketball player? The one going to IU on a scholarship?”

“Yup. Benny Harris. Tina Gibson.”

“Don’t know either one of them,” Winters said. “Oh, wait . . . Tina Gibson . . . Would that be Wade and Cindy Gibson’s daughter?”

“Could be,” the sheriff said. “I’ll check.” He paused, made a note next to the name. “Doug Blanchette.  He’s no stranger to the department. We’ve busted him a few times for possession with intent to distribute. That was his party van. Dumbass kid. No job, drives something like that, with orange stripes that just scream ‘Look at me!’ and then can’t understand why we keep an eye on him. Who can afford a rig like that? You should see it. He’s got a bar and a plasma TV in there. Leather couch. Hell, there’s even a galley and a lav. Gotta be dealing. I can’t wait until we catch the little bastard transporting contraband in that van. I’ll confiscate it and use it for a mobile command post.” Bridges laughed. “Ten to one, he’s the one brought the party supplies.”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” Winters said. “That everyone?”

Sheriff Bridges nodded. “Yup. Except, Shelby talked with one of her friends.” He checked his notepad again. “Dani Henderson.”

“Oh, my God!” Winters exclaimed. “That’s our preacher’s daughter.”

“We have to get this under control, right away, Perry,” the sheriff said. “Painful as it may be.”

“I know,” Winters nodded. “And we need to assume the worst with regard to Mr. Hamilton.” Winters slammed the palm of his hand on the dashboard. “God damn it!” There was a long pause. Winters spoke again. “That’s where your friend comes in,” he said. “The one who helped us last August.”

Bridges nodded, grim-faced. “I’ll give him a call.” Then, as an afterthought, “but, just so you know, he’s not my friend.