Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“Yes, your honor.”

“At this time I see no reason to impose bail. The defendant is free to go until then.”

Jill Bracken nodded as she arranged the stack of papers in front of her, but Wolcott whispered intently to her, then spoke out. “Judge, I was the arresting officer. I believe this man is a danger to the community and he should be committed for a seventy-two-hour psych evaluation.”

Judge Harris stared hard at Wolcott, annoyance deepening his frown. He started to tap his fingers along his bench. “Sheriff Wolcott, I don’t believe I asked for your opinion-”

“Judge, I have a sworn statement from his son, Lester, that Mr. Durkin tackled him to the ground and then held him down as he cut off his thumb.”

Judge Harris blanched at hearing that. He shot Hank Thompson a questioning look before turning back to Wolcott.

“Why would Mr. Durkin do that?”

Wolcott laughed sourly. “Somehow he got it in his head that he could convince the town a weed bit his son’s thumb off.”

“Are there other injuries consistent with the type of struggle that you described?”

“The boy’s thumb was cut off!”

“I understand that, but were there other injuries, such as scrapes or cuts, that would be consistent with the boy being tackled to the ground?”

Wolcott consulted with Jill Bracken as the two of them searched through her notes.

“I’m not prepared to answer that at this time,” he said.

“Well, you should be. Any other reasons to call Mr. Durkin’s mental state into question?”

“I’d have to think so. He believes the weeds at Lorne Field are some kind of monsters.”

“That’s a lie,” Jack Durkin said. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

“You haven’t been telling me those are monsters out there?”

“As far as I’m concerned I’m only honoring a contract with this town and pulling out weeds every day as my contract requires. Nothing more.”

Judge Harris smiled at that. Hank gave Durkin a wink. Jill Bracken consulted furiously with her notes. Wolcott stared flabbergasted at Durkin.

“Judge, this man told me just the other day that a weed bit off his son’s thumb. Also some boys snuck down to Lorne Field and pelted him with tomatoes. He wanted me to find them so they could be publicly executed!”

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?”