We began by giving a specific order that all our people were to have their walkie-talkies with them, turned on, with the shoulder mike/receiver in place where applicable. That meant all the uniformed personnel in the area, including State Patrol. And me. I was to be in uniform so I wouldn’t attract attention, if you can believe that. True, though. Nothing stands out less in a bunch of cops than a man in a cop suit. We figured I could issue orders better that way, without having to identify myself to a bunch of troopers I’d never met. We justified it all with what George referred to as the ‘‘Phantom Phederal Phacts.’’
‘‘Yeah, I know, but federal regulations require it…’’
Worked like a charm.
Anyway, the procedure was for a message to be immediately broadcast from the main transmitter at Dispatch the moment contact was made. We had a heavily sealed envelope placed on the console. Instructions said that it was to be opened only if there were people who were armed trying to get Nola Stritch.
We were ready. As ready as we were ever going to be.
Twenty-six
Friday, the 2nd of August, started for me at 0700, when I put on my best uniform, my only pair of polished lace boots, and got in my unmarked and headed for the office in the pouring rain. Brilliant flashes of lightning were coming about ten seconds apart, and the noise of thunder was virtually constant. I felt sorry for the special team. It was also very, very dark. Normally, when it got that way the streetlights automatically came on. But the lightning flashes were overriding the sensors, making the lights think it was brighter than it really was. Everybody had their headlights on, but it didn’t help a lot.
When I got to the office, I had to sit in the car for almost two minutes before running for the entrance, waiting for the rain to let up just a little.
I headed right for Dispatch. Sandy Grueber was on duty.
‘‘Sandy, any tornado warnings out?’’
‘‘Just a watch until eleven hundred hours,’’ she said, grinning as the water dripped down from my balding head onto my glasses. ‘‘Erosion gonna be a problem there?’’
I laughed in false appreciation, and then asked if all was well with the transfer of Nola to our facility.
‘‘What?’’
So, already a glitch. Nobody had informed Sandy that Nola was even coming. I had her check with the Linn County jail. They confirmed that Nola had been signed out to the U.S. Marshal’s Service at 0632. That’s all they knew, or were permitted to say. It was enough.
I went to the main office and asked our two secretaries if they’d been notified that Nola was heading up. Oh, sure. And just why hadn’t they notified Dispatch? Well, they weren’t in that particular loop, that’s why.
I’d forgotten. On the early day shift, Bud would have handled that. We didn’t even have a woman jailer on premises, let alone a matron. Great.
I had them call Sally, for matron, and got the ball rolling to get women jailers lined up at least through the weekend.
I sighed. I hate administrative crap.
At 0750, the U.S. Marshals called, asking for directions to the jail. Maitland is a town of about 2,000. Shows you how often the USMS came to call.
The rain, which had let up, started in again in earnest. The first unanticipated event of the day. The marshals and Nola sat outside the jail for seven minutes, waiting for the rain to let up. The perfect opportunity for a hit. I stood out on the covered porch, sweating blood, until the rain subsided. Damn. I hate tension. I wanted a cigarette, and it was just the start of a long day.
I was at the door to greet Nola. She was wearing jail orange, with a U.S. Marshal’s jacket thrown over her shoulders. She was handcuffed and had shackles on her ankles. They were hard to see, as she was wearing a pair of GI jungle boots without laces. Brought by her family. She had a little gym bag with her court clothes folded up inside. Her hair was pulled back tightly, revealing a streak of nearly white hair about an inch wide, beginning at her right temple. She was not in a good mood.
The first thing she said to me was ‘‘I don’t know why I have to come back here. I didn’t ask to come back here…’’
‘‘You have a hearing, Nola,’’ I said, logging her in to the facility.
‘‘Not in a court that has jurisdiction over me.’’
‘‘And,’’ I continued, ‘‘you have an appointment with your attorney in a few minutes.’’
‘‘Not an attorney I chose,’’ she said. ‘‘I wish to make my appearance in the People’s Court.’’
I put down my pen. I smiled pleasantly at her. ‘‘Tell you what, Nola, I’ll make a note.’’ I got out a pad. ‘‘When you’re released in fifty or so years, I’ll have ’em call the People’s Court for you, and make an appointment…’’
‘‘We can put a lien on your property,’’ she said. ‘‘We’ll see how you feel then.’’
‘‘Not on what I don’t have,’’ I said. ‘‘You gotta give me a raise, first. Now, let’s get you squared away here…’’
I was placing Nola in the interview area, which had two thick windows, when the sunlight suddenly came streaming through the window. We both looked up, just in time to see her attorney, brightly lit, walking across the reflecting wet surface of the asphalt parking lot.
‘‘It’s true, Nola,’’ I said. ‘‘They can walk on water.’’
She laughed for the first time since I’d known her. Pleasant-sounding.
I locked her and her attorney in the interview room, and went to Dispatch, where I could watch them on closed-circuit TV. No sound, and the camera far enough away to prevent lip reading. We knew the rules. But a good enough picture to enable me to see if she tore his head off.
I signed the release forms for the marshals, and they left. ‘‘Take good care of her,’’ said the taller of the two. ‘‘She’ll have you in People’s Court if you don’t.’’
Much to my surprise, twenty minutes had gone by and Nola and her mouthpiece were still talking. No blows or anything. My stomach was churning, as neither Volont nor Nichols had showed, and they were the ones in communication with the ‘‘hidden assets.’’ Every noise, I looked. Every creak in the old building. I hate that too.
At about 1045, Nola and her attorney finished up, and I placed her in a holding cell. She seemed pretty content.
Sally arrived, and I told her that Nola would be going to court at 1130 or so and that she’d be going along as matron. I hated to say that.
At 1105, Volont arrived. Just after he pulled up, Nichols came into the lot. Volont was in the suit of the day, whereas Nichols was in blue jeans and a light blue golf shirt. They ignored each other, passing through the door about a minute apart, Volont in the lead.
As soon as they got inside, they headed for my office. I joined them.
Nichols wasn’t so much excited as simply running in high gear.
‘‘We’ve got two suspects in the City Campground,’’ he said. ‘‘Silver aluminum trailer, came in last night. Put up a dish antenna they said was a new type of TV satellite dish, but my guys in the park say it’s a military radio of some kind.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said. I wanted to ask just how they knew that, but I didn’t.
‘‘The media are already set up at the courthouse,’’ he continued, ‘‘and we think they’ve already been scouting there. One male, one female, thirties-we’ll have photos shortly-were asking questions in the media group. A little weird, like if there was a back door.’’
‘‘Hell,’’ I said, ‘‘you can see the back door through the front door. They’re both glass and they’re at opposite ends of the hall.. .’’
‘‘They were asking about upstairs,’’ he said. ‘‘Where the courtroom is.’’
I knew where the courtroom was, thank you very much. But he was wound up, and it was okay.
‘‘Security’s pretty impressive down there,’’ he said. ‘‘Lots of it and obvious as hell. Troopers and deputies everywhere you look.’’
‘‘Are we overdoing it?’’ I asked.