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Battered by Earl Staggs
As soon as he got the call, Detective Sam Hollis left the precinct and drove as fast as he could to Montgomery Village Trailer Park. Once in the park, he made a left at the first street and bumped over potholes and gaping cracks in ancient asphalt, past trailer homes nested in overgrown weeds and in bad need of repair. He knew the last one on the right was hers. He’d been here before.
The Medical Examiner’s van and three black and whites blocked the narrow street in front of her trailer. Sam parked as close as he could and made his way through some thirty onlookers who had gathered. They stood bunched in groups of two and three, men and women, some with coffee mugs in hand and cigarettes dangling from their lips, dressed in shorts and tees or bathrobes, many of them barefoot. In other neighborhoods, people would be at work. Most people who lived in trailer parks like this one didn’t work.
When Sam entered the trailer, overturned furniture, broken glass and a table lamp on the floor told him a struggle had taken place here.
Medical Examiner Pete Wilcroft was on his knees near the entrance to the kitchen, busy packing his tools and equipment into a black leather bag the size of a carry-on. She lay face up just behind Pete.
Sam avoided stepping on blood splatters as he crossed the room. Twenty-six years old, barely five-one and a hundred pounds, she lay nude and covered with cuts and bruises over most of her thin upper body, her nose clearly broken and possibly her jaw.
Pete looked up. “Hi, Sam. We’re waiting for a positive ID.”
“Her name was Judy Barkley.”
“You knew her?”
“Yeah, I knew her. When did it happen?”
“Best guess at this point? Eight to ten hours ago.”
Sam looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. That placed her time of death at somewhere between midnight and two AM.
Pete zipped his bag but left it on the floor and rose to stand beside Sam. “One of the worst beatings I’ve ever seen. I hope you find out who did this.”
Sam spoke quietly in spite of the rage building inside him. “I know who did it.”
***
At two o’clock that afternoon, Sam sat across a small metal table from Alonzo “Lonnie” Barkley in Interrogation Room Three. Barkley was thirty-four years old and had a long rap sheet for dealing drugs and petty theft. A ball cap turned backwards barely restrained his thick bush of dark hair. His broad shoulders and muscular arms stretched his black NASCAR tee shirt tight.
“You finally did it, didn’t you, Lonnie? You finally went all the way and beat her to death.”
Barkley sneered. “Hey, man, it sucks what happened to Judy, but it wasn’t me.”
“Yeah, right. Like it wasn’t you the two times you put her in the hospital. And that was after she divorced you. I hate to think what you did to her before she kicked your sorry ass out.”
“I walked on them charges, remember?”
“You walked all right, but only because she didn’t press the charges. If she had, she’d be alive today.”
“I was nowhere near her place last night, and I can prove it.”
“Let me guess. You have an air-tight alibi.”
“That’s right. Me and Bucky Hilton went fishing. All night. Ask him. Anyway, ain’t I supposed to have a lawyer here?”
“The Public Defender’s office has been notified. Someone will be here in a minute. But that won’t help you. I’m going to take you down for killing Judy.”
Lonnie Barkley leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He grinned. Gloating. “You ain’t doing nothing, cop. You got nothing on me.”
Sam was out of his chair in a second. He rounded the table, grabbed Barkley by the throat, lifted him up, and pushed him hard against the wall. “You miserable slimeball!” Sam pulled him away from the wall, then slammed him back against it as hard as he could. He did it again.
“Sam! Let him go!”
Sam recognized the female voice behind him but didn’t move.
“Did you hear me, Sam? I said let him go.”
Sam released his grip on Barkley’s neck, but didn’t back away until he felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him backward.
She guided Sam around the table and pushed him down in his chair. “What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?”
Sam looked up at her. “Why’d it have to be you?”
“I was next on call. You know how it works. What’s going on here?”
“This piece of shit beat his wife to death last night.”
“Did you read him his rights? Is he under arrest?
“We were just talking.”
“Looked to me like you were trying to kill him. Do you have enough evidence to charge him?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, for Chrissakes, Sam.” She went to the door, opened it, and beckoned to a uniformed officer out in the hall. When he entered the room, she said, “Put this man in another room, please. I’ll be there to talk to him in a minute.”
As Lonnie Barkley let the officer lead him away, she said, “Mr. Barkley, I’m Marcie Hollis from the Public Defender’s office. I’ll come and talk to you very shortly.”
Barkley looked at her, then at Sam. “Hollis? Ain’t that the same name as –“
“That’s a temporary situation,” Marcie Hollis said. “Now go along with this officer.”
When Barkley and the officer were gone, Marcie sat across the table from Sam and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “Damn you, Sam Hollis. What the hell is wrong with you? He’ll file charges against you for that.”
“Let him. That’s not going to stop me from nailing him.”
“Oh, sure. And get yourself nailed for excessive force. Are you trying to flush your career down the toilet?”
“He killed her, Marcie. She was twenty-six years old and trying to get her life together, and he beat her to death.”
Sam felt her eyes boring into him, a familiar feeling.
She didn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Like Megan?”
Sam turned away and stared at the wall. “This has nothing to do with Megan.”
“It doesn’t? Megan was twenty-six and starting a new life when she was attacked. Is that what this is about? This is not the man who hurt Megan, Sam. That man died in a head-on collision the next day. He paid the price for what he did.”
Sam shook his head and turned to face her but he couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Lonnie Barkley used his wife for a punching bag even after she divorced him. He has to pay for that.”
“If he did it and you can prove it, he’ll pay. But that’s not enough for you, is it? You want your own pound of flesh. The debt’s not paid until you get your revenge, is that it? You can’t get the man who hurt your sister, so you’ll take any man like him.”
Sam stood up. “Back off, Marcie. I’m just doing my job.”
Marcie lowered her head and rubbed her temples again. “Oh, yes, your job. Sam Hollis, protector of the weak, upholder of justice, no matter what the cost, even if it costs you your marriage.”
“This has nothing to do with our marriage either.”
Marcie rose from her chair and walked to the door. “I give up. Nothing’s changed. There’s no use trying to talk to you. I’ll see if I can convince Barkley not to press charges against you, but you need to get hold of yourself, Sam. Stop running around like a loose cannon. Will you do that?”
“Whatever you say.”
She opened the door a crack and stopped. “How is Megan doing?”
“Better. The doctors say she’ll regain eighty percent of the use of her left arm. She’ll start physical therapy soon, and they say she’ll be out of the wheelchair and walking again in a few months. The scars on her face look better, but they’ll always be there.”
“I need to go see her. I’ll do that today.” Marcie reached for the doorknob but paused again. Without turning around, she asked, “Did you get the papers?”
“I got a fat envelope from your lawyer, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know damn well that’s what I mean. Did you open it?”
“Not yet.”
“Open the envelope, Sam. Let’s get it over with so we can both get on with our lives.”
“I think we should talk about it.”
“Talk? We talked for six years, Sam. We talked for five minutes every night after you stumbled in from work at midnight and fell into bed exhausted. Mornings, you’d grab a cup of coffee and talk to me on your way out the door. When you’d take a Sunday off, we’d talk between your phone calls to track down your perp of the week, but that’s only when you weren’t out on a stakeout.”
“You knew I was a cop when you married me.”
“I know lots of cops, Sam. I know cops who have a life, who have a marriage and a family. They have kids and hobbies and spend time with their wives. Our marriage was nothing but a pit stop between cases for you. In six years, you never once took a vacation, not even a weekend. For six years, I spent holidays with my family alone because you were too busy to take off. I want a normal life, Sam, with a real husband, a partner, one who’ll take vacations and go out to dinner and a movie with me once in a while.”
“If you wanted someone with banker’s hours, you should have married a banker.”
“Just open the envelope, Sam. Sign the papers and let’s be done with it. Please?”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Damn you, Sam Hollis.”
***
Fifteen minutes later, Sam entered the Morgue and found Medical Examiner Pete Wilcroft changing clothes in the locker room. “Pete, what did you come up with on Judy Barkley?”
“I’ll have a complete report for you tomorrow morning, but cause of death was strangulation. Before she died, she took a hell of a beating. Whoever did it went after her with fists, feet and a leather belt. After beating her from head to toe with it, he wrapped it around her neck and strangled her.”
“Leather belt? How can you tell?”
“We found leather fibers in her hair and on her skin, and the welts and cuts on her body had impressions consistent with a buckle and belt holes. We also picked up a number of prints and hair samples at the scene. Maybe they’ll be of some help after they’re processed.”
“Not likely. The man who did it used to live there. His hair and prints would be there.”
“Wish I could be more help, Sam, but you find that belt and you’ll have your murder weapon and your killer. It’ll have her blood, his fingerprints and probably his DNA on it.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
As Sam left the Morgue, he thought back. Had Lonnie Barkley been wearing a belt? No, he hadn’t.
***
At six-thirty that evening, Sam pushed his glass across the bar of Rocky’s Roost. “Hit me again, Rocky.”
The man behind the bar ignored the empty glass. “Sorry, Sam, but you’ve had your limit. You want another one, give me your keys, and I’ll send you home in a cab. Otherwise, your next one is coffee.”
Sam glared at him. “Maybe I’ll just come over there and fix it myself.”
Rocky shrugged. “Sure. Only thing is, you have to whip my ass first.”
Sam locked eyes with the man who was nearly sixty but still two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. They both knew Rocky could take Sam and two more like him anytime he wanted to. “Sometimes you can be a real pain, Rocky.”
“Yeah, yeah. You want cream and sugar?”
“Black.”
Rocky brought the coffee and rested his forearms across the bar. “What’s up, Sam? You’re grumpier than usual tonight.”
“Why do they do it, Rocky? He beats the crap out of her, we lock the bastard up and next morning, she comes in and bails him out.”
Rocky snorted. “Thirty years on the force and I never figured that one out”
“You’d think they’d learn it’s just going to happen over and over again until they wind up dead. We don’t have the manpower to protect them around the clock.”
Rocky grimaced. “Uh-oh. What happened? You lose one?”
“Yeah. She divorced the sonofabitch six months ago, but that didn’t stop him from coming around to rape her, rob her, beat her senseless whenever he felt like it. Put her in the hospital twice. No matter what I said, I couldn’t convince her to press charges. Last night, he went all the way.”
“Okay, now I remember you telling me about her. Didn’t you pull some strings with Social Services to get her into college or something?”
“Nursing school. She was supposed to start next week. She had a chance, Rocky, and now it’s all over for her.”
“Damn shame. I always figured the women didn’t press charges because they had a fear that no matter how long we put him away for, someday he’d come back and do it worse.”
“The shrinks have another theory now. Now they’re saying that, after so long, the women start to believe it’s their own fault. If they tried harder to be good wives, everything would be all right.”
“That’s bullshit, Sam. Whatever, stop beating yourself up. You did all you could.”
“Not yet, I haven’t. I want this guy really bad, Rocky.”
“You got anything on him?”
“No, but I’ll come up with something.” He pushed his coffee cup across the bar. “How about a refill?”
Rocky took the cup and turned around to fill it. “So, if you get the guy, what’re you going to do?” When he turned back, Sam grinned and winked. Their eyes held for a moment, and a knowing look passed between them.
Rocky returned Sam’s grin. “A little payback? For Megan?”
“And for Judy. And for a few thousand women just like them.”
“Go for it, pardner. Give him a couple shots for me.” Rocky sat the coffee on the bar. “Speaking of wives, howzit with you and Marcie?”
Sam shrugged. “Terrific.”
“That bad, huh? She filed papers?”
“Yeah.”
“You sign them?”
“Not yet.”
“Sam, that girl is the best thing that every happened to you. She’s better than you deserve, and you’re going to fart around and let her get away.”
“Look who’s talking. What’re you on now, your fifth marriage?”
“Third, dickhead, and, yeah, I lost two good wives because I was a 24/7 cop like you. Took me a long time to wise up. I treat this one right, and she adores me.”
“Of course she adores you. You’re a horny old goat and what is she, nineteen years old?” What’s her name again? Brandy?”
“It’s Steffi, and she’s twenty-eight, smartass. Since I retired from the force, I go home every night to a home-cooked dinner. Once a month, I get my brother to run this place, and we go away for a weekend. Vegas, Tijuana, or up to that cabin of mine at the lake. Keep it up, and you’ll lose her, Sam, and it’ll be the biggest mistake of your life. Think about it, before it’s too late.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll think about it while you think about learning how to make a decent cup of coffee.”
“I’m serious. Took me a long time and two marriages to learn, but there’s more to life than chasing bad guys. Tell you what. You and Marcie go up to my cabin. Any time you want it, it’s yours. Don’t come back till you two work things out.”
“She’d never go anywhere with me.”
“That’s what I love about you, Sam -- your positive attitude. I don’t know why I waste my time on you.”
“And I don’t know why I tell you all this shit. You’re no help at all.”
“You tell me because I’m your best friend, and guys tell their best friends everything.”
“Wait a minute! Back up. What did you say?”
“I said I was your best friend. Truth is, I’m probably your only friend.”
“No, not that. The part about guys telling their best friends everything. Rocky, you old jackass, you just gave me an idea.” Sam slid off the bar stool and headed for the door. “Give my regards to Tiffani.”
“It’s Steffi, asshole!”
***
Bucky Hilton wasn’t hard to find, but he was with Lonnie Barkley all the next day, and Sam wanted to talk to Bucky alone. On the second day, Bucky went to the Double Deuce Grill at eleven o’clock in the morning, and Lonnie was nowhere around.
After an hour, Bucky left the Double Deuce, walked half a block to an alley and turned into it. His old rusted pickup sat behind a dumpster in the alley. Bucky always hid his truck. His tags expired three months ago. Bucky was a small, bony man in his early forties who walked with a marked limp. The limp came from a load of buckshot from a man he sold bad dope to years ago. Bucky liked to hang out with big tough guys like Lonnie who could protect him and who gave him a few dollars now and then for running errands and doing odd jobs for them.
Bucky reached his vehicle but stopped short when Sam stepped out from behind the dumpster.
“Jesus Christ, Hollis, scare a man to death, why don’t you?”
“Sorry, Bucky. Didn’t mean to scare you. Got a minute?”
“Uh, no, I’m late. Have to be at work.” He veered to his left to walk around Sam.
Sam stepped in front of him, blocking him from the truck door. “Come on, Bucky. You’ve never had a job in your life, unless you count cleaning toilets when you were inside. How long you been out on parole now? Six months?”
“Yeah, six months. I’m in a hurry, if you don’t mind.”
“Going fishing again with Lonnie Barkley? Is that why you’re in such a hurry?”
Bucky’s face paled. “Uh…yeah, that’s it. Me and Lonnie are going fishing.”
“Like you did the other night?”
“Yeah, like the other night.”
Sam stepped aside to allow Bucky to reach the door of his pickup. “I wouldn’t want to keep a man from a fishing date. I hope they’re biting real good for you.”
“Thanks. See ya ‘round.”
Sam followed Bucky to the car door and when Bucky opened it, Sam stuck his head inside the truck and sniffed. “Uh-oh. What’s that odor, Bucky? You’re not dealing crack again, are you?”
“No way. I’m clean now.”
“I’m glad to hear that, but let’s just have a look anyway.”
Sam reached his hand under the seat of the truck. When he pulled it out, he held a sandwich-size plastic bag. “Oh, my, my, my. What could this be?” Sam held the baggie up to Bucky’s ear and shook it. The rattling sound made Bucky flinch. “Sure sounds like crack to me. What’s it sound like to you, Bucky?”
“Aww, Jesus, Hollis. What’re you doing to me? That’s not mine. You planted it.”
“Now why would I do something like that? You’ve already done time twice for crack. One more bust makes strike three for you. Gee, that would put you away for a long time, wouldn’t it?”
“Wh...what do you want?”
“I want Lonnie for killing his wife. He didn’t go fishing with you that night, did he?”
Bucky Hilton shrunk even smaller than his normal slight frame. He looked up and down the alley as if to see if anyone was watching. “Gimme a break, Hollis. I tell you anything, I’m a dead man.”
“Not if I put Lonnie away.”
“That won’t mean nothing. What happens if I go back inside and he’s still there? Or if he gets out someday? He’s got the worst temper I ever saw. Piss him off, and he goes crazy.”
“Tell you what, Bucky. I’m not going to ask you to rat out your best friend. All I want to ask you is a hypothetical question. All right?”
“Hypa...what?”
“It means what if, or maybe. Here’s all I want to know. Suppose Lonnie had something he wanted to get rid of, say a belt with blood on it. Where would he – just maybe – dump it?”
Bucky leaned against the side of his truck. “Awww, Jesus. I’m a dead man.”
Sam held the baggie up to Bucky’s ear and shook it again.
Bucky swiped a hand at the bag. “Okay, okay. He maybe might bury it in his mother’s back yard.”
Sam said, “Have a nice day, Bucky,” and walked away. Behind him, he heard Bucky mumbling.
“I’m dead. I’m a frickin’ dead man.”
***
At two o’clock the next afternoon, Sam sat in his car across from the Double Deuce and watched Lonnie Barkley park down the street and get out of his car. Sam left his own car and followed Lonnie toward the bar’s entrance. When they both reached the sidewalk, he called out, “Wait up, Lonnie!”
Lonnie turned and stopped. A smirk pulled up one side of his face. “Whassup, Hollis? You didn’t get enough of me the other day?” Lonnie spoke in a loud voice. He was putting on a show for his buddies. Two of them were approaching the Double Deuce from down the street and stopped to watch.
Sam returned his smirk. “I could never get enough of you, Lonnie.”
“Hey, cop, you owe me. I coulda skinned your ass for police brutality. That pretty little wife of yours gave me a pass on some old warrants to let you off the hook. You should show some gratitude.”
“What I’m going to show you, Lonnie, is a jail cell. I’m taking you in for killing Judy.”
Lonnie chuckled. “You’re blowing smoke. You got nothing.”
“Wrong, Lonnie. I’ve got your belt. You didn’t dig the hole deep enough. It’s all the evidence we need to put you away. I’ll never understand jerks like you. You have to keep a souvenir of your kills, don’t you? You should have burned it.”
“Sam glanced around. Three more men came out of the Double Deuce and joined the other two. On the other side of the street, an older man with two dogs on leashes also stopped to watch. Sam saw two teenage girls peering out the window of a pizza shop next door to the bar. A half dozen other people had stopped along the street to see the show. Good. Sam wanted an audience for this.
Sam turned his attention back to Lonnie. “What I want you to do is grab that sign post there with both hands and spread ‘em.”
Lonnie stared at Sam with a look of disbelief, but did as he was told.
Sam stepped up behind him, placed a hand on Lonnie’s back, and kicked him in the left ankle. “I said spread ‘em, scumbag.” He then began the patting down process, taking his time. He leaned forward and whispered close to Lonnie’s ear. “You should like going back inside, Lonnie. Your boyfriends will be happy to get their favorite bitch back. You like that, don’t you, having a big stud throw you down and pull your pants off?”
Lonnie turned his head and gave Sam an angry look. “Watch your mouth, Hollis. Just get this over with."
“Awww, what’s the matter, Lonnie? I thought you liked having a man’s hands on you. That’s what I heard.”
“You’d better shut up, man. You’re pissing me off.”
Sam sneered. “Oh, my. I’m pissing big bad Lonnie off. That really worries me. What’re you going to do, tough guy? Beat me up? Like you’d really try something against a man. You’re only good for beating women. You know why? Because you’re nothing but a wimp, a chicken-shit queer wimp.”
Lonnie turned his head and glared at Sam, his face twisted in anger. Through clinched teeth, he said, “I’ll tear your head off for that.”
“You don’t have the balls, Lonnie. Look around. Everybody’s laughing at you for getting busted like a two-bit street punk. Now be a good little wimp and wait here while I go to my car and get my cuffs.”
Sam walked across the street toward his car. He walked slowly, waiting and listening. He reached the middle of the street before he heard the sound he’d been waiting for -- the shuffling of feet on the sidewalk, then footfalls coming at him hard and fast.
Sam kept his back turned and took the blow. The momentum of a two-hundred-pound man crashing into him sent him flying forward. He tried to break the fall with his hands but landed hard with Lonnie on his back. Sam twisted and swung his elbow back, catching Lonnie on the side his head. Lonnie rolled sideways, and Sam pushed himself up.
Lonnie struggled to his own feet and threw a roundhouse right at Sam’s face. Sam ducked and countered with a right to Lonnie’s left ear and followed with a hard left into Lonnie’s rib cage. When Lonnie bent over, Sam kicked him in the face. Lonnie staggered back a few steps, but wasn’t finished. He rushed Sam, wrapped both arms around him, and caught Sam with a head butt to the forehead. Sam saw stars, but brought a knee up into Lonnie’s groin. Lonnie went back two steps but rushed again and caught Sam with a right cross in the mouth. Sam tasted blood and felt a trickle of blood running down his forehead from the head butt.
Sam backed up a step and waited for Lonnie to swing again. When the bigger man tried another right, Sam sidestepped and caught Lonnie with a hard right square in the eye. Lonnie wobbled, and Sam took advantage. He threw a left and a right into Lonnie’s ribs, followed by a roundhouse left to the jaw. Lonnie’s eyes glazed over, and he tried to hold his footing but was clearly weakened. He reached for Sam, but Sam grabbed his right arm, spun him around, and threw a kick into his rear end. Lonnie went sprawling into the side of Sam’s car. Sam followed, turned him around, and put everything he had into a left, then a right into Lonnie’s face. He felt a jolt of pain in his right hand and knew he had cracked a knuckle.
Lonnie slid down the side of the car with both hands raised in surrender. Sam stepped back and watched him crumple onto the asphalt, barely conscious, mumbling, “No more. No more,” with blood gurgling in his throat.
Gasping for breath, Sam pulled his cell phone and put in a call for backup and an ambulance.
***
Three hours later, Sam walked out of the station house and headed across the parking lot to his car. His right hand was bandaged, he had three stitches in his forehead, and his right eye was swollen.
He heard a car coming fast behind him and turned to see a familiar blue Camry skid to a stop ten feet from him.
Marcie was out of the Camry in an instant. “Damn you, Sam Hollis. I just saw Lonnie Barkley at the hospital. Are you crazy? You busted his ear drum, broke his nose, his jaw, plus a few ribs, and there’s a good chance he’ll lose sight in one eye.”
“I had no choice. He attacked me, and I had to defend myself. There’s at least a dozen witnesses who’ll testify he jumped me from behind.”
“And, of course, you didn’t goad him into it, I suppose.”
Sam tried to look innocent. “Would I do that?”
Marcie scanned him up and down. “And look at you. You look like you went through a meat grinder.”
“I’m okay.”
“Oh, sure, you’re okay. You’ll probably lose your badge for this.”
Sam shook his head. “Nah. I’m only suspended without pay for thirty days.”
“That’s just great!”
“It’s not so bad. I’ve got a lot of unused vacation stacked up. Rocky offered me his cabin up at the lake. I thought I’d go up there for a while and chill out, maybe do some fishing.”
“You? A vacation? This I’ve got to see.”
“It’s about time, don’t you think? I thought you might come up for the weekend. We could just relax -- and talk. Maybe I could get you to rub liniment on my bruises.”
“Now I know you’re crazy. What on this good earth gave you the idea I’d spend a weekend with you?”
“Will you think about it?”
Marcie turned and stomped back to her car. “I don’t have to think about it. It’s too late for us, Sam.”
Sam watched her drive away. Her car stopped after only twenty feet and sat there for several seconds. Then it rolled slowly back toward him. The passenger side window eased down, and Sam leaned over to look inside the car.
Her face was still tight with anger. “It’s just a weekend, that’s all. It doesn’t mean we’re getting back together.”
Sam grinned. “Whatever you say.”
Her expression softened. She grinned back. “Damn you, Sam Hollis.”
THE END Earl Staggs © 2008 |
