Deputy?”
“Sorry. I guess I was trying to make a joke. Lighten up the conversation, since you seem to be a bit guarded.”
“An occupational hazard, I guess. Clients expect us to be discreet.”
“I understand. Maybe you can tell me what you thought I ought to know about your friend, Mr. Chandler. He is a friend, right?”
“We like to think all of our clients are friends.”
“I’m sure you do.” I cross my arms and wait. As the rule goes, the next one to talk winds up caving.
It doesn’t take Samuels long. “Yes we’re friends.”
“You called him yesterday. Is that something you do regularly?”
“Jake’s been through a lot over the past dozen years.”
“But you do check up on him?”
“It’s his memory.”
“Is he suffering from dementia?”
“No. The doctors aren’t sure what causes it. He just has these episodes when he forgets blocks of time. So, if he sounds a little sketchy when you ask him for details, he’s not trying to be evasive. He genuinely can’t remember.”
“Has he ever gotten violent during those episodes?”
“No. Never.”
“How often do you check on him?”
“Most every day.”
“But you live where?”
“South of the city.”
“By city, you mean San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t actually see him every day?”
“No. He spends most of his time alone. But, I’ve never seen … excuse me, Deputy, but is something wrong?”
“Mr. Samuels, do you hunt?”
“Do I hunt? What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s just a question. Yes or no. Do you hunt?”
“Haven’t for years.”
“Do you recall leaving a weapon, specifically a shotgun, in Mr. Chandler’s possession?”
“Ah … a few years ago I gave him a shotgun as a gift.”
“Why wasn’t the transfer recorded?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it was a detail we overlooked.”
“That little detail happens to be a law.”
“You’re right. I’ll check into it. Whoever was responsible will be dealt with.”
“You and Mr. Chandler were responsible.”
“But in the scheme of things?”
“Yes. Speaking of the scheme of things, how many guns did you give him?”
“Only one that I can recall.”
“Last night we found Mr. Chandler standing in front of his neighbor’s place as it was burning to the ground. His shovel was on the ground next to him.”
“So he was trying to put out the fire.”
“You might think so, but the shovel blade was covered with blood, and the fire crew pulled out a charred body. This morning, the ME tells us that the decedent was shot in the face at close range with a shotgun, then the face was bashed in with Mr. Chandler’s shovel. The only finger prints on the handle belong to Chandler.”
The blood drains from his face. “Where’s Jake now? Can I see him?”
“He’s at the hospital, under observation. He was pretty disoriented when we found him.”
He stands. “I’d better get over there to check on him.”
“You can see him later at the county jail. He’ll be under arrest as soon as he wakes up. I checked gun registration records, and Mr. Chandler owns several weapons, including a pricey Beretta shotgun. When we searched his residence for weapons early this morning, we couldn’t find the Beretta. However, we were able to make out the serial number on the shotgun we recovered from the fire. It was registered in your name.”
He tugs at his starched collar and says, “There’s got to be a logical explanation.”
“Yes. I can think of one very logical one.”
“You’re making a big mistake, here.”
Jacob
A plastic band cuts into my wrist. When I start to sit up, a strap digs into my chest. “What the ….” I fall back.
A chair slides on the floor somewhere near me.
“Take it easy, Mr. Chandler.” The words rumble around like I’m in an echo chamber.
“What’s going on?” I groan.
I turn my head and study a uniformed man walking like he’s in a slow motion video.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry. I guess I was trying to make a joke. Lighten up the conversation, since you seem to be a bit guarded.”
“An occupational hazard, I guess. Clients expect us to be discreet.”
“I understand. Maybe you can tell me what you thought I ought to know about your friend, Mr. Chandler. He is a friend, right?”
“We like to think all of our clients are friends.”
“I’m sure you do.” I cross my arms and wait. As the rule goes, the next one to talk winds up caving.
It doesn’t take Samuels long. “Yes we’re friends.”
“You called him yesterday. Is that something you do regularly?”
“Jake’s been through a lot over the past dozen years.”
“But you do check up on him?”
“It’s his memory.”
“Is he suffering from dementia?”
“No. The doctors aren’t sure what causes it. He just has these episodes when he forgets blocks of time. So, if he sounds a little sketchy when you ask him for details, he’s not trying to be evasive. He genuinely can’t remember.”
“Has he ever gotten violent during those episodes?”
“No. Never.”
“How often do you check on him?”
“Most every day.”
“But you live where?”
“South of the city.”
“By city, you mean San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t actually see him every day?”
“No. He spends most of his time alone. But, I’ve never seen … excuse me, Deputy, but is something wrong?”
“Mr. Samuels, do you hunt?”
“Do I hunt? What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s just a question. Yes or no. Do you hunt?”
“Haven’t for years.”
“Do you recall leaving a weapon, specifically a shotgun, in Mr. Chandler’s possession?”
“Ah … a few years ago I gave him a shotgun as a gift.”
“Why wasn’t the transfer recorded?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it was a detail we overlooked.”
“That little detail happens to be a law.”
“You’re right. I’ll check into it. Whoever was responsible will be dealt with.”
“You and Mr. Chandler were responsible.”
“But in the scheme of things?”
“Yes. Speaking of the scheme of things, how many guns did you give him?”
“Only one that I can recall.”
“Last night we found Mr. Chandler standing in front of his neighbor’s place as it was burning to the ground. His shovel was on the ground next to him.”
“So he was trying to put out the fire.”
“You might think so, but the shovel blade was covered with blood, and the fire crew pulled out a charred body. This morning, the ME tells us that the decedent was shot in the face at close range with a shotgun, then the face was bashed in with Mr. Chandler’s shovel. The only finger prints on the handle belong to Chandler.”
The blood drains from his face. “Where’s Jake now? Can I see him?”
“He’s at the hospital, under observation. He was pretty disoriented when we found him.”
He stands. “I’d better get over there to check on him.”
“You can see him later at the county jail. He’ll be under arrest as soon as he wakes up. I checked gun registration records, and Mr. Chandler owns several weapons, including a pricey Beretta shotgun. When we searched his residence for weapons early this morning, we couldn’t find the Beretta. However, we were able to make out the serial number on the shotgun we recovered from the fire. It was registered in your name.”
He tugs at his starched collar and says, “There’s got to be a logical explanation.”
“Yes. I can think of one very logical one.”
“You’re making a big mistake, here.”
Jacob
A plastic band cuts into my wrist. When I start to sit up, a strap digs into my chest. “What the ….” I fall back.
A chair slides on the floor somewhere near me.
“Take it easy, Mr. Chandler.” The words rumble around like I’m in an echo chamber.
“What’s going on?” I groan.
I turn my head and study a uniformed man walking like he’s in a slow motion video.
“Keep your voice down.”
Similar Books
