Steven Havill: Privileged to Kill

“How long did you stay there?”

He turned his head slightly, apologetic. “It was pretty much after dark, but I don’t tend to keep track of such things, you know.” He shrugged. “I got my health still, and the good Lord has seen fit to let me go my own way, so I don’t bother much with keeping up with the time. It just passes as it passes.”

Estelle hadn’t moved a muscle during the conversation. She still regarded Crocker expressionlessly, her deep, black eyes studying his whiskered, ruddy face. I would have liked to have known what she was thinking, but I would find out in due time.

“You decided not to spend the night in the park?”

He nodded. “It just seemed kind of open, you know. Like bedding down on somebody’s front step, with those busy streets on each side.”

I hadn’t thought of the streets of Posadas as busy.

Crocker continued, “So I was just ambling along, thinking I’d go over to that convenience store that’s just a bit south. Maybe see if they had any newspapers or magazines. There was about half a dozen youngsters there, and that’s the first time I saw the village police.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I was just leaning my bike up against the side of the store, kind of around the side there, behind the telephone booth, when the black-and-white drives up. The officer gets out and he starts talking to the youngsters kind of mean-like.”

“Mean-like?”

“Well, his tone of voice was hard, if you know what I mean. I couldn’t hear just what the argument was, but after just a little bit the officer grabs one of the kids by the arm and swings him around so he thumps up against the car. He sure had a swagger to him, that young fellow did.”

“The youngster, or the police officer?”

“The policeman. Anyway, I just tried to mind my own business. I went inside the store and got talking to the clerk-young fella there surprised me by knowing something about the area. We shot the breeze for maybe ten minutes, and he told me of this old mining town east and south of here that I should visit. I said I would, and he gave me a copy of one of his Mining West magazines. I sure did appreciate that. He’s the one who suggested I might camp out over in that grove of trees at the end of the athletic field.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, sir, I did.” He grinned. “I leaned my bike against the fence at the end of the football field and found me a nice spot in the middle of them trees. Had it all arranged just fine. And then seeing as how I didn’t have enough light to read by, and it was early yet, I hopped over that low fence there and plunked myself down right under the goalposts. Had me a night sky view all the way to Peru, I guess.”

“And that’s where you stayed?”

He nodded vehemently.

I looked down at the folder. There had been no time for Thomas Pasquale to fill out the reams of paperwork still facing him.

“When did you see the police officer again?”

Crocker pursed his lips. “Well, like I say, I don’t carry a watch. But it was after the kids left from across the way.”

“What do you mean by that? Across the way where, and what kids?”

“Sure enough, over behind the school. There was a couple cars full of them. Kind of sidled around behind the gymnasium, there. One of the cars left after a bit, but the other stayed on. Now and then I’d hear voices coming’ across. They were just doing what kids do, I guess.” He squirmed uncomfortably.

“Did they ever see you?”

“I don’t think so. If they did, they never let on. And then the other car, it left, too.”

“And you have no idea what time that was?”

“No, sir, I don’t.” His face brightened. “I was sure enjoying my grandstand view of Orion, though.”

“Orion?”

“The constellation. I was staring at it, letting my mind wander here and there, way up there where those stars were.”

“And after the kids left, things were quiet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what happened?”

His forehead creased. “Sometime later, this young police officer arrived. I’d gone back in the trees, and I guess I’d drifted off. I woke up when I heard the car pull in on the other side of the field, right across from where the big bleachers and speaker’s building are. He got out, jumped that little fence there, and darned if he didn’t jog right across the field to the bleachers. That’s when I got up and walked on over to the fence.”

“But by this time the two other vehicles that you saw earlier had gone?”

He nodded. “That’s why I was curious, I guess. I saw his light over under the bleachers for a bit, and then he come out like his tail was afire.”

“When did he see you?”

“I don’t know, sir. I truly don’t. But it could have been at just about any time. I was just standing there, leanin’ on the fence. He got to his car and sat in it for a minute or two with the door open. I could hear some bits and snatches of radio talk. And then he got out and walked right down the sidelines fence and cut across to where I was camped.”

“And what happened?”

“I saw it was a young fella, the same one from the convenience store earlier. He was breathin’ hard and edgy and had his hand right on the handle of his gun. So I thought to myself, Wesley Crocker, if he says stand on your head, you just say ‘yes, sir’ and do it.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He asked me to stand up, and I did. He asked me how long I’d been there, and I told him. He asked for identification, and I gave him all I had, those two cards right there.” He reached out and pointed at the folder. “And then he told me I was under arrest.”

Crocker looked up at me, his light gray eyes puzzled. “I didn’t know what for, except maybe trespass, and I surely would have left if he’d just said so.”

“When did you find out what the arrest charge was, Mr. Crocker?”

“When I heard everyone talking down at the police station.” He turned to Martin Holman. “I believe when you came in, sir,” and he turned back to me. “The good sheriff here and the officer were talking about a body found under the bleachers. Terrible thing.” He shook his head. “It’s the times, it truly is.”

I leaned back and took a deep breath, gazing at Wesley Crocker, trying to assess what might be going on in his mind.

“Mr. Crocker, why did you call me?”

He gazed at me for a long minute, his face composed. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I called you because I knew something about you, and right then I needed somebody who didn’t have no axes to grind, who could see things in a fair light.”

“All that because I spotted you a meal and some cigarettes?”

“Well, there’s that,” Wesley Crocker said. “But mostly because you never asked me where I was going or where I’d been.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Estelle’s left eyebrow lift. It was the first expression I’d seen on her face since we entered the room.

I looked down at the folder and its meager contents, then snapped it shut. “What a goddamn mess,” I said.

“You’re going to turn him loose.”

I didn’t respond to Sheriff Martin Holman. His remark wasn’t a question. I knew perfectly well that he meant it as one, but I didn’t have an answer for him. I sat down heavily in my ancient leather-padded swivel chair and tipped back into that comfortable lounging posture in which my brain had always worked its best. It wasn’t doing so well just then.

Holman moved away from my office door as Estelle entered, a steaming cup of herbal tea in her hand. She toed the door closed and the three of us looked at each other.