‘‘Okay.’’
I looked at the open trunk of my car. I thought about my emergency blanket, which was waterproof. I thought about my raincoat, which was too. Both in the trunk. Naturally. I could almost see my headstone: ‘‘Died trying to stay dry.’’
Resolved to get soaked, I forgot about the contents of my trunk, and tried to see if there was any movement in the shed. Nothing. I got 884 on the radio again.
‘‘See if they’re still in contact with the people in the house. Tell them we have an ambulance, and if anybody else is hurt, we’ll be glad to take them out with One.’’
‘‘Ten-four.’’
‘‘Then just tell them that a plainclothes officer is going to go to the sheriff with a blanket, and will stay with him until the ambulance gets here.’’
There was a pause. ‘‘You sure about that?’’
‘‘Nothin’ else to do.’’
‘‘Okay.’’
I waited about a minute. The door of the house opened, and the young man came out, this time with a rifle in his hand.
‘‘Just one,’’ he yelled. ‘‘Just for the ambulance.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I yelled back. ‘‘Are you all right too?’’
Silence, as he stood there, looking generally toward me. Then: ‘‘Yeah!’’ Pouty. Like I shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have cared. Well, I didn’t. But he’d gone for it.
I got 884 on the radio again. ‘‘You hear that?’’
‘‘Yes. You believe it?’’
‘‘I think so. Might as well. Unless you can think of anything else?’’
No answer.
I stood up, very slowly. Leaving my rifle by the post. I was carrying a. 40 caliber S amp;W auto under my shirt, but forgot about it until I was halfway to my car. Well, what the hell. If they were going to find that, they’d have to do it up close. I got to the trunk, got both the blanket and my raincoat, and walked slowly toward Lamar. I kept looking at the shed, but could see no movement, no silhouette, nothing. I was beginning to wonder if he was still in there.
When I got to Lamar, he was just about out. I knelt beside him.
‘‘Hi there.’’
He looked up, tried very hard to focus his eyes. ‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, weakly. His head went back down. I reached down and put my hand on his shoulder looking for the first-aid kit. It was a little further away, just past his head.
‘‘You’ll be fine. We’re getting you out of here real soon.’’ I ripped off the plastic cover of the emergency blanket, and the wind whipped it toward the shed. It snagged in the fence posts, then some old wire. It was a struggle, but I finally got it around him, just as big drops of rain splattered down.
I got 884 on my walkie. ‘‘I think you can send the EMTs in now. We’re lookin’ good.’’
I put on my raincoat, and looked back. There were about five cop cars sitting in the lane, and an ambulance was coming around them, lights flashing. Good. Very good. It was raining harder all the time, but we could handle that now. I watched the first two EMTs struggle in their bright yellow raincoats, leaning into the wind, as they came around the corner of their unit, and putting their heads down, they trotted through the rain. Brave people. When they got to us, I recognized them both. One owned a hardware store, and one was an electrician. In rural areas, they’re all volunteer EMTs.
‘‘Hi.’’ I gestured toward Lamar. ‘‘Gunshot, both legs, pretty bad. Shocky, he’s been out here for a while. The guy who did it is in that shed there. If he starts to shoot, just get out of here.’’
‘‘You got that right,’’ said the hardware man. They immediately began doing their EMT things, but keeping as low as they could. ‘‘Who bandaged his legs?’’ asked the electrician, looking at me accusingly.
‘‘He did.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
It began to rain harder.
The two ambulance people motioned, and two more EMTs came forward with a stretcher. It was becoming difficult to see the police line clearly, through the rain, and through the water running off my balding head. My coat didn’t have a hood, and I’d forgotten my hat.
‘‘I’ve got a dead officer over there,’’ I said, pointing. ‘‘I’m going over to him as soon as we get Lamar out. One of you want to come too?’’
‘‘I will.’’ She was one of the EMTs with the stretcher, and was a bank clerk. I knew her too. She looked like she was squatting down in a shower, with the rain running down her face. Or the sweat. It was ungodly hot under the raincoats.
‘‘Okay.’’
I put my hand on the lead EMT. ‘‘Look, as soon as you leave with him, I’m going to stand up and talk to one of the people in the buildings. I’m gonna tell him what I’m gonna do, and then I’m gonna do it. I’ll wait till you’re back under cover at the ambulance before I do it. But if I motion you back, we can pick up the dead officer, too. Okay?’’
‘‘Got it.’’
That’s what I did. As soon as I saw the three of them back at the ambulance, I stood up, and bent to tap the one left with me. We had remained in full view of the shed all the time, so there wasn’t any doubt who we were. ‘‘Here goes. Wait for my signal.’’ I hoped that the people back at the ambulance area could see us clearly.
I straightened up, and walked slowly toward the shed.
‘‘Stop right there, Carl.’’
It was old man Stritch himself in the shed. I could recognize his voice, especially when he said my name. He always had pronounced it like there was a u after the r. Good to know. He would pay, sooner or later.
‘‘I’ve got a dead officer over there, Herman. We’re going to remove him too.’’
‘‘Only if I say so.’’
‘‘I ever lie to you, Herman?’’
He thought. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘Then believe me now. We’re going to get him now, and if we don’t, there won’t be a living person on this farm in ten minutes. We don’t want that, but we’ll do it. And you know we can.’’
He thought again. I was right, at least about our being able to do it. Right at that moment anyway. As it turned out, it would be the last time for quite a while.
‘‘Go ahead.’’
‘‘The offer still stands, if you’ve got anybody hurt. We’ll get medical treatment for ’em. No strings.’’
‘‘We’re fine.’’
Shit.
I heard a beep, and I thought I heard him say, ‘‘Hello.’’ Phone in the shed. Neat. Lots of farmers had them in the barn, or the milk house. Why not a shed? It had just never occurred to me.
I turned and motioned to my EMT. She came directly to me, and together we went to Bud’s body.
He was crumpled up, but it looked like he’d been hit several times, at least once in the head. His handgun was still in its holster, the retaining strap still snapped. We bundled him up as best we could, and as I turned to signal the ambulance, it began to leave. I learned later that Lamar was beginning to ‘‘sour’’ on the EMTs; a term they use when they think they’re going to lose a patient. It only threw me for a second. Hell. Bud wasn’t going to need any treatment. I walked slowly back to the shed.
‘‘Herman!’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Herman, we’re going to have a couple of officers come in and help get Bud out. The EMTs have left in the ambulance, and we want Bud out now. Don’t shoot.’’
He didn’t say anything. I took that for assent. I was getting a little shocky myself, by this time, as the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and was getting an attitude.
I hollered toward the line of officers back in the lane, who were out of sight of the shed, but not the house. I told them to leave any long guns back there and to come on in and help us. Three of them came in, and together we wrapped Bud in a blanket and carried him back to the police lines. He was a heavy load, and with the plasticized blanket being wet, we nearly dropped him twice. I had a cramp in my carrying hand by the time we got to the cars.
I went back into the yard, at first just to get my car, but then saw my rifle near my hiding place. I couldn’t leave that. And it was getting soaked. I would have hoped that another officer would have retrieved it. No such luck. Then I decided I wanted to talk to Herman again. What the hell. I was on a roll.