good. My truck, she
is broken. I am sorry to not drive myself to jail. Please come put me in jail
so I can rest.”
This is way too easy, thought Zeb. It could be a
set-up, a trap. If the caller were a true psychopath, he might even have
another explosion in mind, something to send another lawman to his grave.
“Tell me where you live,” said Sheriff Hanks. “We
will come and get you.”
“Please just one to come and get me. I no want to get
killed.”
“Tell me where you live. I’ll come alone. You have
my word.”
“You know County Road 6.”
Sheriff Hanks had been right.
“My place four miles north of turnoff on east side of
road. My name is on mailbox. Can you come now?”
“Yes I can come right away. What name should I look
for on the mailbox?”
“Felipe Madrigal.”
The man sounded forlorn at the utterance of his own
name. The line crackled. Sheriff Hanks listened as the man once again began
to cry and apologize about the death of the deputy.
“Mr. Madrigal?”
“Sí.”
“When I come to the house, I want you to come outside
with your hands over your head. Do you understand me?”
His quiet response was drenched in sobs.
“Sí, yes, yes. I am very, very sorry. No one
supposed to get hurt. That already happen. No more hurting.”
“I will be right there to get you. It will take me
about thirty minutes. I will honk the horn two times. You come out with your
hands over your head.”
“Sí.”
“No weapons! Put your hands over your head. Do you
understand me?”
“Sí. Comprendo. I understand.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zeb’s heart thumped heavily, partly from anxiety,
partly from hatred and a desire for revenge. The near certainty of a trap
raced through his mind.
“Sheriff, do you recognize the name Felipe Madrigal?”
“Sure, I know right where he lives. Delbert used to
memorize the names on the mailboxes. One time when I went with him I saw
Felipe in the yard. He’s an old man. He walks bent over at the waist. He
waved to us. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. He seemed like a
nice old guy.”
“Did he just confess to the bomb threats?” asked
Deputy Steele who had overheard only one end of the conversation.
“Yes.”
“How about the murder of Delbert?”
“No, he apologized for Delbert getting hurt. He said
he didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Let’s go get him,” said Deputy Steele.
“He’s nervous. He wants me to come alone. You heard
me tell him to come out of the house with his hands over his head. As I
remember, his house sits down low, in a little glen. How do you feel about
covering me? You have to be ready to shoot to kill, if it’s necessary.”
Deputy Steele had intense training in her background,
but never had it been necessary to pull the trigger. At this moment she had no
doubts of her ability to do so.
“As Delbert used to say…never keep a criminal
waiting. Let’s roll,” said Deputy Steele.
The patrol cars crossed over the Hanksco River, headed
north on County 6, as Zeb’s concern about an ambush slipped into a state of
perplexity. Nothing about the case made sense. Why would a friendly old man
blow up the grade school? Then it dawned on him. The bomb was less about
producing physical damage than it was about inflicting fear. If Delbert had
not been in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time, he would not have been
injured. What message was Felipe Madrigal trying to send? Why the remorse in
his voice? When he had called to turn himself in, he had broken down and cried
like a child, not a sociopath. Beneath it all lay a fear that it all might
just be a set up. The crackling of the two-way radio broke the sheriff’s
concentration.
“Sheriff?”
It was Deputy Steele.
“I was thinking…why don’t you let me go on ahead? I
can park my car, climb up over the hill and get close to Mr. Madrigal’s
is broken. I am sorry to not drive myself to jail. Please come put me in jail
so I can rest.”
This is way too easy, thought Zeb. It could be a
set-up, a trap. If the caller were a true psychopath, he might even have
another explosion in mind, something to send another lawman to his grave.
“Tell me where you live,” said Sheriff Hanks. “We
will come and get you.”
“Please just one to come and get me. I no want to get
killed.”
“Tell me where you live. I’ll come alone. You have
my word.”
“You know County Road 6.”
Sheriff Hanks had been right.
“My place four miles north of turnoff on east side of
road. My name is on mailbox. Can you come now?”
“Yes I can come right away. What name should I look
for on the mailbox?”
“Felipe Madrigal.”
The man sounded forlorn at the utterance of his own
name. The line crackled. Sheriff Hanks listened as the man once again began
to cry and apologize about the death of the deputy.
“Mr. Madrigal?”
“Sí.”
“When I come to the house, I want you to come outside
with your hands over your head. Do you understand me?”
His quiet response was drenched in sobs.
“Sí, yes, yes. I am very, very sorry. No one
supposed to get hurt. That already happen. No more hurting.”
“I will be right there to get you. It will take me
about thirty minutes. I will honk the horn two times. You come out with your
hands over your head.”
“Sí.”
“No weapons! Put your hands over your head. Do you
understand me?”
“Sí. Comprendo. I understand.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zeb’s heart thumped heavily, partly from anxiety,
partly from hatred and a desire for revenge. The near certainty of a trap
raced through his mind.
“Sheriff, do you recognize the name Felipe Madrigal?”
“Sure, I know right where he lives. Delbert used to
memorize the names on the mailboxes. One time when I went with him I saw
Felipe in the yard. He’s an old man. He walks bent over at the waist. He
waved to us. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. He seemed like a
nice old guy.”
“Did he just confess to the bomb threats?” asked
Deputy Steele who had overheard only one end of the conversation.
“Yes.”
“How about the murder of Delbert?”
“No, he apologized for Delbert getting hurt. He said
he didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Let’s go get him,” said Deputy Steele.
“He’s nervous. He wants me to come alone. You heard
me tell him to come out of the house with his hands over his head. As I
remember, his house sits down low, in a little glen. How do you feel about
covering me? You have to be ready to shoot to kill, if it’s necessary.”
Deputy Steele had intense training in her background,
but never had it been necessary to pull the trigger. At this moment she had no
doubts of her ability to do so.
“As Delbert used to say…never keep a criminal
waiting. Let’s roll,” said Deputy Steele.
The patrol cars crossed over the Hanksco River, headed
north on County 6, as Zeb’s concern about an ambush slipped into a state of
perplexity. Nothing about the case made sense. Why would a friendly old man
blow up the grade school? Then it dawned on him. The bomb was less about
producing physical damage than it was about inflicting fear. If Delbert had
not been in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time, he would not have been
injured. What message was Felipe Madrigal trying to send? Why the remorse in
his voice? When he had called to turn himself in, he had broken down and cried
like a child, not a sociopath. Beneath it all lay a fear that it all might
just be a set up. The crackling of the two-way radio broke the sheriff’s
concentration.
“Sheriff?”
It was Deputy Steele.
“I was thinking…why don’t you let me go on ahead? I
can park my car, climb up over the hill and get close to Mr. Madrigal’s
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