Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“I’d love to let you speak with him Mrs. Wood, but we’ve just transferred him to the Sheriff’s Department. You should be able to catch up with him there,” the officer said, understanding the anguish the accused mother must be feeling.

“The Sheriff’s Department, why have they taken him over there?”

“The Sheriff has jurisdiction over The Stalker case and we positively identified the gun found in your son’s locker as the one stolen from a crime scene, and the one used to shoot Jasper Jackson on the weekend,” the police officer clarified for the group.

“That’s impossible! Seymour was with me at home on Saturday night. He could not have shot anybody. This is ridiculous! Somebody is railroading my boy and I won’t put up with it!” The older woman suddenly became very angry and defiant. She turned, stormed away from the desk, took the other two by the hands and led them from the police station.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand for this bullshit!” the enraged farmwoman hissed through clenched teeth. “We’re going to the Sheriff’s Office.”

The drive took about ten minutes and no one said a word. Mrs. Wood simmered in her seat, a torrent of anger building inside her. She’d survived the death of a husband, the near collapse of her farm, and she was not going to let her son be incarcerated for something he could not have done. She was angry! No, furious! And somebody was going to hear about it.

With the 500 parked, the threesome made their way to the front door, Mrs. Wood leading the way. Mr. Marcus tried to temper her response but she was not in the mood for listening. Stepping inside the doors, she surveyed the landscape, desks with clerical staff, a few deputies milling about and a woman seated at a main desk. She boldly walked to the woman, slammed her fist down on the desk for affect, and grabbed the attention of the woman and most of the office.

“Where in the hell have you got my son?” she half yelled.

Arlene stammered, more than a little surprised by the attack from the modest looking countrywoman. “Who? What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“I’m Lillian Wood, and I better be able to see my son pretty damn quick! You hear me?” she continued her aggressive assault.

“What is going on out here?” came a voice from her left.

She turned to see the large Sheriff standing with his hands on his hips, just outside his office.

“Sheriff, this is Seymour’s mom apparently, and wants to see him.”

“Okay Arlene, I’ll handle this. Mrs. Wood would you step into my office please, and are these folks with you too?” he asked, pointing to Marcus and Blanche.

“I don’t want no run around Sheriff, I respect you, but you got my boy, an innocent man locked up back there and I want to see him.”

“You’ll be allowed all the access you want but give me a minute to talk with you,” he explained, keeping his cool, understanding the plight of the angered mother.

The group entered the office, each taking a seat, but Mrs. Wood continued to stand and pace the floor between Blanche and Marcus. 'The Wolf' sat in his chair and faced the three. Before he could start Lillian peppered him with questions and statements, her emotions boiling over as she collapsed into a nearby chair, sobbing, tears flowing freely down her wrinkled face and dropping onto the blue dress. Blanche immediately went to her, knelt on the floor before her and offered her hanky that she always kept in her clutch. The tears were blotted away and she mumbled into the hanky, talking to herself more than the Sheriff.

“How can it be? How can they have him in jail when he was with me? It just can’t be,” she uttered.

“Mrs. Wood, what was that? He was with you, where and when?” the Sheriff said, pen in hand and taking notes.

“Seymour, he was with me Saturday night. We spent the day rounding up and stacking the hay bales. Didn’t get done till pretty late, was dark when we finished. I fixed us a late dinner, pork and beans, and we watched a little TV before we both went to bed. We were together all night, he could not have shot that black boy,” she explained.

“I see, is there anyone else that can corroborate your story? Did anybody else see you around 7:00 p.m.?”

“It's no story, it’s the God’s honest truth.” She again began to sob.

Sheriff Lupo keyed the intercom on his desk, “Arlene, will you have Officer Guest take a statement from each of these people here to see Seymour, and then let them have access to him for no more than an hour, thanks.”

"Mrs. Wood, I know you are under a lot of stress, but you could help our department immensely if you would allow us to search your home and farm without having to go to a judge for a warrant."

"Will it get my son out of here any faster if I let you?" she said, wiping tears away, Blanche still kneeling before her.

"If he's innocent, yes."

"Then get to work. What do I need to sign?"

Young Deputy Guest had the friends and family follow her to a conference facility. She pulled two chairs from the room, placed them in the hallway, and invited Blanche and Mrs. Wood to have a seat and wait while she interviewed Marcus. Across the building, Sheriff Lupo had Seymour brought to his office for an interview. It was the first time 'The Wolf' had seen the young man and he wanted to get a feel for who he was dealing with before they filed formal charges. For now he was being held on a single charge, more evidence would be necessary before the additional charges could be laid by the district attorney.

Deputy Breland brought Seymour to the office, his hands still cuffed behind his back.

Sheriff Lupo greeted the two men with a nod, "Deputy, I think we can dispense with the cuffs."

The officer quickly removed the cuffs allowing Seymour to rub the soreness from his wrists, and Breland left the office. The two men stood, sizing each other up. The Sheriff spoke first, "Have a seat Seymour, I wanted to have a chance to talk with you before your mom and friends have access to you."

"Is my mom here? How is she doing? She's probably not taking this very well. When will I get to see her?" The questions came in a torrent. It had been hours since he had talked to anyone that would respond, and he had more questions than answers.

"Slow down there a minute fella. Let's take it a bit slower and I'll help you out if you're willing to help me," he said, keeping his voice soothing and even. "Your mom is angry, as you can imagine, I don't blame her, but she seems to be a strong woman and will be okay. She's given us permission to search your home and farm. You okay with that?" The Sheriff watched his eyes carefully for any hint of deceit. There was none.

"Fine. I have nothing to hide; I've tried to tell your people. I'm being set-up. I have no idea where that gun came from."

"You've been read your rights, is that correct?" Seymour nodded, he had. "Fine, and you understand them?" Again a nod, "They tell me you don't want an attorney. If it's a matter of money we can have a public defender assigned to you."

Seymour’s head hung low, looking at his feet. "We don't have much money, but it’s not a matter of money, it's a matter of truth and innocence."

"Would you answer some questions for me and I have to tell you, I will be recording our conversation, okay?" the Sheriff asked, taking a pen and preparing to take notes.

"Let's start with this past weekend. Your mom says you were doing some chores around the farm. Tell me what you were doing and when, be specific as you can."

"Well, I spent most of Saturday with mom, like she said doing chores. In the morning we did some weeding in the garden by the house, then in the afternoon and into the evening we took care of the hay. You know, moving the bales to the barn and storing the rest along side the barn and covered it with tarps. We finished after dark, had dinner, and watched TV for a bit then went to bed. Sunday we went to services in the morning, and had lunch with some neighbor friends. The rest of Sunday I did homework and got ready for my school week."