The sheriff pounded on the screen door with his fist. “Sheriff’s department! Open up!”
The inside door was open although there was no sound coming from the house. The officers stood quietly, waiting for a response. Birds chirped in the trees and a cicada trilled in a grove of trees behind the house.
The sheriff turned to Pam and the camera. “There’s no answer to our knock, and it appears no one is home. We’ll conduct our search on this warrant.” He held up the warrant for the camera. Finding the door unlocked, he announced, “Let’s go.”
Pam climbed off the car hood and followed the sheriff, Floyd, and Kerm into the mudroom of the farmhouse. Floyd stopped just inside the door. “There are several pairs of shoes here that I’ll bag to check for blood or evidence.”
Pam followed the others up the few steps to the kitchen. There was a slight smell of rotting food in the kitchen, like someone had forgotten to take the trash out for too long. Dishes cluttered the countertop, although there was no sign anyone had prepared food recently. The kitchen table was covered with empty beer cans and the carton from a twelve-pack of Grain Belt beer, a local favorite.
“Sheriff’s department!” the sheriff called out again. He crossed the kitchen and opened the front door for the two officers standing outside. “There doesn’t appear to be anyone home.”
Pam was standing near the hallway to the bedroom when she heard a rustling noise from behind. She turned toward the bedrooms just in time to catch Mark Roberts on the video camera as he stumbled out of the bedroom with a baseball bat in his hand. Her first impression through the viewfinder was of a clown in striped boxers running from a long way off. Roberts’ image was tiny in the viewfinder and Pam’s mind failed to register the threat quickly enough.
“Bitch.”
Sensing the swing of the oncoming blow, Pam’s instinct told her to fall back, but her training sent her into auto-pilot and she lunged forward, to get inside the arc of the bat. She threw herself against Roberts’ beer belly, and then rolled to her right, away from the hand with the bat. In the collision the video camera flew against the wall.
Pam spun as she passed Mark Roberts, catching her balance briefly only to be knocked to the floor as Floyd Swenson catapulted himself against the off-balance assailant. The three of them fell to the floor in a heap. Kerm Rajacich was close behind Floyd and he ripped the bat loose, throwing it into the living room.
Pam tried to scream in pain as Roberts landed on top of her, but her face was buried under the big man’s abdomen and his weight pressed the air from her lungs as her nose and one cheek were ground into the carpet. Her discomfort was only intensified as Floyd and Kerm struggled with Roberts as they attempted to cuff him. Pam panicked as she struggled to take a breath and she kicked her legs wildly to draw attention. Like suddenly emerging from the depths of a lake after holding her breath too long, Pam was freed when Rajacich yanked Roberts to his knees.
“Thank you, God,” Pam gasped as fresh air rushed into her lungs. She pushed herself to hands and knees and tried to get her eyes to focus. Behind her, Kerm, Sepanen, and the state trooper struggled to subdue the handcuffed Mark Roberts as he swore invectives at the officers, kicking, spitting, and biting anyone within reach.
“Are you okay?” Floyd asked, kneeling next to Pam.
Her nose was running and the side of her face burned. When her eyes finally focused Pam wiped her nose with the back of her hand and saw blood. She put her hand to her face and got a shot of pain when she touched her nose.
“I think my nose is broken,” she said.
A loud crash shook the house as Mark Roberts was thrown to the living room floor. Floyd reached for the video camera lying on the floor next to Pam. It was still recording, so he pointed it toward the melee in the living room as Pam rolled into a sitting position against the wall. Floyd captured the last few moments of Mark Roberts’ resistance, up until the highway patrolman took out a Taser and shocked Roberts into submission by immobilizing his muscles with a high-voltage shock.
The sheriff took one look at Pam and hustled into the bathroom. He was back in a few moments with a wet towel. “Are you okay?” He asked as he wiped the blood from Pam’s face and neck with a wet washcloth.
“I think I’m fine other than some bruises and maybe a broken nose.” Pam took the towel and held it across and under her nose to stem the flow of blood. Tears flowed from her eyes when the cold compress hit her face.
Kerm Rajacich and Floyd Swenson were dripping with sweat as they stood Roberts up and moved him to the door. All the officers in the house were dirty and had disheveled shirts and pants. Floyd followed Roberts out the door to fully document the care they were using in handling Roberts once he was subdued. He was determined that Rodney King’s name wouldn’t come up in any defense of Mark Roberts or his arrest.
Pam sat with Floyd in one of the Pine City emergency room bays waiting for their X-rays. Pam’s nose was packed with cotton and her right cheek was covered with a white pad where the doctor had treated her carpet abrasion. She was feeling no pain due to the lidocaine administered prior to setting her nose. The purple bruises were just starting to blossom under both eyes. The only thing looking worse than Pam’s puffy, bruised face was her bloodstained uniform shirt.
Floyd’s left arm was in a sling. The doctor reset his dislocated shoulder, and said he suspected several broken ribs. Floyd was unable to take a deep breath without experiencing significant discomfort. His uniform shirt and pants were torn and dirty.
“I suppose the television news crew is here,” Floyd said. They’re probably waiting outside the ER entrance.
“Why?” Pam asked.
“It seems like the kind of thing they like to splash as a teaser on the evening newscast. You know, two of Pine County’s finest beaten to a pulp during the execution of a search warrant.”
“Oh yeah,” Pam said. “I’d love to have my face splashed all over the television the way it is.”
Floyd sat next to Pam. “I’m sure it’ll be lots better by Saturday. You’ll hardly be swollen at all for the wedding pictures.”
“Oh, dear God! I’d forgotten about the wedding. Barb will kill me. She won’t want me in the wedding pictures.”
The emergency room doctor walked toward Pam. “It looks like all you’ve got is a broken nose, bruises, sprains, and strains. Take Aleve for the discomfort. I’ll give you both prescriptions for Tylenol with codeine, but I suggest you not even fill it unless the pain is intolerable.” He handed Pam and Floyd each a prescription slip. “If you do take the codeine, don’t drive.”
The exam room curtain flew back and Mary Jungers peeked around the doctor. Seeing Floyd, she rushed in and gave him a hug, which caused Floyd to gasp in pain.
“Oh, no, Did that hurt? I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping back.
Then she looked at the other patient. “Pam! Is that you?”
“Oh God, my face is so bad Mary didn’t recognize me!”
“No, no, no, it’s all the blood.” Suddenly, Mary took in the full picture of Pam’s bruised face, the bloody and torn shirt, and the nose packed with cotton. Mary’s face turned ashen and her eyes rolled back.
“Catch her, Doc,” Floyd said as he reached out with his good arm, trying to get his hand under Mary’s armpit as she slumped to the floor.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Mary said, for the tenth time. “I was just standing there, and then I woke up on the floor.”
Floyd held her hand as they crossed the parking lot. “It happens to lots of people who aren’t accustomed to seeing blood.” In the background a newscaster was speaking to a camera as they captured Floyd and Pam’s exit from the hospital. The logo on the white truck was from one of the Duluth television stations.