‘‘Has he broken any federal laws?’’
‘‘Not today, as far as I know.’’ I sighed. ‘‘I’m sure he has, but it probably has to do with taxes.’’ I knew George. He wanted to help, but he needed a legal reason to do so. Most people don’t realize it, but the FBI has very little to do with murder cases. They only handle them on federal government property and on Native American reservations. They didn’t have much reason to actually work the case, but they could certainly ‘‘assist’’ in every way possible.
‘‘Right. And you say that it was an Original Notice he was resisting?’’
‘‘George, as far as I know that’s what was happening. I didn’t really pay too much attention. Why don’t you get hold of our office, and talk to Margaret. She can tell you all about the civil action.’’
‘‘I’ll get back to you.’’
‘‘Thanks, George.’’
It was 0200 hours. The rain had dropped off to a light mist, the temperature still hovered around eighty, and the humidity was fierce. So were the damned mosquitoes. I had thoroughly sprayed myself and my clothing, but since I was soaking wet in the first place, the repellent didn’t seem to be working well. I was talking with Hester, who had been sent up because there was a murder and she knew our county so well. We were in a large tent pitched by the good captain. Al Hummel, the agent in charge, was there too. We were going over what we had. Not much more than I had known eight hours ago, except that we now had a pretty accurate head count inside the farm perimeter, and they were demanding that we all just turn around and leave. Well, that was about as realistic as that bunch ever got. We had a negotiation in progress, as they say. And getting nowhere. They were a stubborn group, and were in denial. Just go away. Right.
‘‘But the shooter is Herman Stritch, right?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘No doubt in my mind. As far as I can tell, there’s only one way into that little shed, and I had that in view. Herman was in there, and he’s the one who threatened to shoot me.’’
‘‘That’s good.’’
‘‘That,’’ I said, ‘‘depends entirely on your point of view.’’
‘‘Good’’ was right, though. We’d gotten a warrant for Herman Stritch’s arrest earlier that evening. We were still waiting on the rest of the family, but I had the feeling that the young man I’d talked to was going to get it for obstruction. Nobody else yet. But they could all take a hit for accessory before it was finished.
‘‘I’m going to the Winnebago,’’ I said, ‘‘and check with the negotiator.’’ I hadn’t been in the HQ unit yet, and from the sound of its auxiliary generator, I had the strong impression that it was air-conditioned. Hester and Al said they’d be along in a minute. Micro DCI administrative conference. Fine with me.
As I squished over the soggy ground to the Winnebago, I played things over in my head again. It did bother me a bit that there was no longer any activity around the shed where I’d talked to Herman. If he had gotten out, and I believed that he had, it was also possible for someone to get in. Ergo, some ‘‘unknown’’ individual could be postulated as the shooter. By Herman’s attorney, during the trial, sworn to by Herman and his family. I’d always wondered about that aspect of the extreme right. I mean, they’d scream bloody murder about the ‘‘truth,’’ the Constitution, and swearing on the Bible, and then lie like a rug on the witness stand.
One of our biggest problems, from an evidentiary standpoint, was that we couldn’t get the lab team onto the property until the threat had been removed. And that could take days. Meanwhile, any biological evidence was fast disappearing because of the rain.
There was a young trooper I didn’t know guarding the Winnebago’s door. He stopped me.
‘‘Excuse me, but this is a restricted area.’’
I smiled. ‘‘That’s okay, I’m in charge.’’
‘‘I doubt that very much,’’ he said evenly. ‘‘Why don’t you just move along.’’
I reached in my back pocket and pulled out my badge and ID. ‘‘Carl Houseman, senior officer present for the Nation County Sheriff’s Department. Like I said, I’m in charge.’’
‘‘I wasn’t told that,’’ he said, not budging.
‘‘Well,’’ I sighed, ‘‘things have been pretty busy around here today. I suspect nobody thought to tell you. Until now. I just did.’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Deputy. I have no instructions to let you inside.’’
I looked over my shoulder for Hester and Al. Nobody.
‘‘Look, son. I’m really tired, and I want to talk to Roger in there about something very, very important. I know you’re doing your job as well as you can. I’m not pissed off at you, but I’m gettin’ a little testy at whoever put you here. Understand?’’
No answer, just a determined look.
‘‘So,’’ I said, ‘‘before I wander off and kill the first thing I see with stripes on its sleeve, maybe you could just ask Roger if it’s okay with him if I come in?’’
He paused just a second, and then opened the door, stuck his head in, and asked. Two seconds after that, I was climbing into the air-conditioned comfort of the Winnebago Command Center. In my soaked condition, it was freezing cold. It felt wonderful, and I had visions of ice-coated mosquitoes falling off my raincoat. Uttering little gaspy screams.
Roger was toward the rear, with a phone board, three TV monitors, and a large cup of coffee. He smiled when he saw me.
‘‘Sorry you had a problem there,’’ he said.
‘‘This is heaven,’’ I replied, ‘‘and I can see why you don’t want a crowd.’’ I looked the place over. ‘‘So what’s up with Herman?’’
‘‘Well, not a lot right now. Most of them are asleep, I believe.’’
‘‘Good idea.’’ I reached over to the pot, and poured some coffee into a cup. I heard the door open, and felt as much as saw Hester and Al climbing into the camper.
‘‘So,’’ I said, more to get my mind working than anything else, ‘‘just where are we at here?’’
‘‘Well,’’ said Roger, ‘‘these things come in stages. Right now, it’s in the ‘after the fact’ stage, and we have Herman experiencing dullness and disappointment. Things just aren’t happening the way he wants, and he’s exhausted, in other words.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ I said.
‘‘We have to be careful right now, so that he doesn’t progress to despair and dismay. That’s dangerous.’’ He sipped his coffee. ‘‘Or it can be.’’
‘‘I see.’’ I took a drink too. ‘‘So what’s the plan?’’
‘‘We have to try to maneuver him into defeat and debilitation. The stage where he feels like he has to just give up.’’
‘‘Of course. Is that going to be hard to do?’’
‘‘Not with enough time. Or if something else happens that affects his outlook.’’
‘‘Like?’’ I asked, sipping more coffee.
‘‘It’s hard to tell,’’ he said. ‘‘Could be anything. I read about a case once where a barricaded suspect’s mother’s picture just fell off the wall. He gave up immediately.’’
‘‘No shit?’’
‘‘Yeah. I read about another one where the suspect felt that he was getting all bound up, you know, with his bowels. Thought it would kill him, so he gave up.’’
‘‘Just so he could take a crap?’’
‘‘Yep,’’ he said, grinning. ‘‘Neat, isn’t it?’’
‘‘Sure is.’’
‘‘But you have to be very careful,’’ he said, his voice getting serious. ‘‘They can go right into denial and distress. If that happens, they get really violent sometimes.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘Then, sometimes, they go into a phase where they’re just doubtful and distant, and they sort of…’’
‘‘Dither?’’ I asked.
‘‘Sort of. But they’re vulnerable then, if you can get to them.’’
‘‘Fascinating business, isn’t it?’’ I asked. I was waking up. Probably just the coffee.
‘‘Oh, yes, it is,’’ he said, all enthused.
I noticed a little sign above his TV monitors. ‘‘Display Dominance.’’ Cute.
‘‘So,’’ asked Hester, ‘‘where are you going with this?’’
‘‘I intend to try to convince him to surrender tomorrow,’’ said Roger. ‘‘I think we have a chance here. This Herman isn’t really… well, quick, you know? Not dumb, but not too sharp. Certainly not a career violent criminal, that’s obvious.’’