Judge Harris tapped his fingers harder along the bench. “Is that true?”
Durkin shook his head. “No, sir. I showed him where in my contract it calls for that, but all I wanted him to do was find those boys so they could help out with my weeding as punishment.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Judge Harris agreed.
“Judge, he’s lying! That’s not how our conversation went!” Wolcott, his face flushed, stared open-mouthed at Durkin before turning back to face Judge Harris. “I learned this morning that Lester was one of the boys who pelted Mr. Durkin with tomatoes. I can’t help thinking that he found out and cut off Lester’s thumb as some sort of retaliation.”
“How do you know Lester was one of them?” Durkin asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Bert told me. Lester confirmed it,” Wolcott said without looking at him.
Durkin’s head dropped a few inches, his eyes mostly lifeless. For that split second he could’ve been a man heading to the gallows. Hank Thompson clapped him on the shoulder for support and sent a glare towards Wolcott.
“Mr. Durkin,” Judge Harris asked, his voice contrite, “did you know your son was involved?”
Durkin shook his head. “I had no idea.”
Wolcott made a noise as if something had caught in his sinuses. Judge Harris’s frown turned even more dour as he faced him. “Sheriff Wolcott, your accusations here have been scattered, at best. First Mr. Durkin committed this crime as part of a ruse, then as an act of revenge. Mr. Durkin has carried himself with the utmost decorum, while you, sir, have been the only one here who seems to be having difficulty controlling his emotions or thought processes. You’re one outburst away from seeing me do as you’re requesting and ordering a psychiatric evaluation, but not for Mr. Durkin. Do I make myself clear?”
Wolcott nodded, a darkness muddling his face.
Judge Harris watched him for a moment, then told Durkin that he was free to go but to be prepared to be back in court November second for his trial. “Although lacking additional physical evidence, it seems hard to consider your son’s statement credible,” he added under his breath.
Hank Thompson led Durkin towards the door, but before they reached it Wolcott caught up to them.
“Hank, you know I’m only trying to do my job here.”
“It sounded personal to me.”
“Not at all. I honestly believe Mr. Durkin needs help, and I hope for his sake that you see that he gets it.”
“I’ll take your concerns under advisement.” Hank turned his back on Wolcott and ushered Durkin out of the building.
“Let’s get you back where you belong,” he said.
Officer Bob Smith was waiting on the sidewalk, his hands stuck in his pockets and a forlorn look spread across his face. He walked slowly to Durkin and held out his hand.
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
Durkin nodded and took his hand.
“I hated what I had to do today. More than anyone else in this town I know everything you gave up.”
Durkin again felt like Smith wanted to ask him something, but the other man turned and walked away.
Hank Thompson offered to drive Durkin down Hillside Drive so he could pick up the path from there to Lorne Field. “It should be a shorter walk to Lorne Field that way than taking you home.”
Durkin agreed and got into Hank’s older model Cadillac sedan.
“If you’d like we could get you a bite to eat first,” Hank suggested.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d better just get back there. It’s late, and those Aukowies are growing every second. It’s going to be tough enough as it is.”
Like Officer Bob Smith, Hank seemed to have a question he wanted to ask. Durkin could see it in his eyes. After they got through the first traffic light on Main Street, the attorney finally broached the subject of Lester’s statement. “Any idea why your son might have said that?”
Durkin shook his head. “All I can think is he was in shock and didn’t know what happened. Maybe Dan Wolcott put the idea in his head.”
“That must be it,” Hank agreed after mulling it over. “I’d have to think your boy was so traumatized by the accident that he’d be vulnerable to suggestive or poorly phrased questions by our good sheriff. Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll find a psychiatrist who will testify to that. This case won’t be a problem, especially as long as we’ve got Judge Harris hearing it.”
Durkin stared mutely out the window and watched as they left Main Street behind. Once they got to the intersection leading to Hillside Drive, he told Hank Thompson that an Aukowie did bite off his son’s thumb.
“I’m not crazy,” he said. “I saw it with my own two eyes.”
Hank Thompson smiled thinly. “I’d say something about believing you, except admitting to something like that is not a politically smart thing to do these days. If my kids heard me, they’d have me declared mentally incompetent so fast it would leave your head spinning. Jack, let’s just say I sleep better at night knowing you’re at that field everyday. And I’d be willing to bet that Judge Harris sleeps better, too.”
Durkin nodded as he accepted that. “Anything you can do about Sheriff Wolcott and those others violating my contract?”
“At this point it’s probably best not to make an issue about it, especially with the town council we have now. Best to just lay low for the time being.”
“Why? What do you think the town council would do?”
Hank made a face like he had swallowed sour milk. “Let’s not worry ourselves about that. Let’s concentrate first on getting you cleared of these charges.”
Hank slowed down to look for the dead oak tree stump that marked the head of the path Durkin needed to take. After he spotted it, he pulled over and offered Durkin his hand.
“Jack, the words don’t exist to express how outraged I am over what happened today.” He paused for a moment, his long brow furrowing with concern. “You’ll be okay out there?”
“I’d better be.” Durkin took Hank’s hand, nodded grimly and set off towards Lorne Field.
It had been twelve-thirty when Wolcott and the two police officers trespassed onto Lorne Field and dragged him away from his duties. It was now ten minutes to four. Over three hours had passed, which meant the Aukowies he hadn’t gotten to during his second pass of weeding would now be over five inches tall. The thought of that weakened him. But with all the indignities he had been forced to suffer that day, it did help to know that there were people like Bob Smith and Hank Thompson and Judge Harris who believed in what he did even if they wouldn’t actually come out and say so. That both helped him and infuriated him. The most important job in the world and this is what it has come down to, hoping that a few people would still understand the importance of what he did.
Even his own son…
He was puzzled by why Lester would say what he did, but he no longer had any doubts that his boy had joined those others in throwing tomatoes at him. At first he thought Sheriff Wolcott had said that only to get a reaction out of him so he’d act crazy in court, but he knew Bert wouldn’t tell the sheriff that Lester was involved unless it was true. He thought back on how Lester had acted when he tried questioning him on whether he had heard anything-how Lester gave him a cock and bull story about some boy he didn’t know the name of telling him it was a group of strangers from out of town. He remembered the way Lester looked when he told that story, and he knew Wolcott was telling the truth. It made things easy in a way. As far as he was concerned Bert was now his only son, which meant he didn’t have to do anything to make sure that Bert would take over as the next Caretaker. He felt some relief accepting that, but it also pained him. He had hoped for better things for Bert.
He tried to clear his head and not think about anything except what he needed to. It was getting late, and he had to finish his day’s weeding before the Aukowies grew any higher. Still, as he made his way onto the intersecting path leading to the field, he couldn’t keep from chuckling as he pictured the look on Wolcott’s face when he sandbagged him in court. It was the first time Jack Durkin could remember ever telling a lie, and he was amazed he was able to do it as bald-faced as he had, but what else was he going to do? There was nothing in the contract against it, and if he were put away for seventy-two hours, that would be it. Even if he were released after that it would be impossible to weed a field of three-foot-tall Aukowies.