“We didn’t need Pompeys Pillar blown all the way to Bozeman, either. I did what I had to do to stop him.”
“What happened to the robbery guys, Beau?”
“They, ah, sorta slipped away.”
“Sorta slipped away? You mean, while you were drilling Joe Bell a new asshole?”
“That’s not how it went, Vanessa.”
“Okay.” She set her Pearlcorder up on the desk and punched the button. “Let’s see how it did go. My name is Vanessa Ballard, assistant district attorney for the counties of Yellowstone, Big Horn, Powder River, Treasure, Custer, and Rosebud. In connection with the wounding by gunfire of one Joseph Bell, a citizen of Yellowstone County, this day and date, in Yellowstone County, we are questioning the officer of the Montana Highway Patrol who answered the emergency call. Please identify yourself.”
“Staff Sergeant Beauregard McAllister, shield number 2211, District Four of the Montana Highway Patrol.”
“Staff Sergeant McAllister, did you have occasion to make entries in your notes concerning the events of this date as they affect the matter in question?”
“I did.”
“Would you feel it necessary to refer directly to your notes as they concern this matter, should you be required to testify in court or in a pretrial hearing or in an examination for discovery, Sergeant McAllister?”
“I would.”
“Duly noted. Now … are you prepared to answer direct questions in this matter at this time, if such questions fall within your area of knowledge as they affect the discharge of your firearm while responding to this ten-seventy call?”
“I am.”
“And do you wish to have legal representation as is your right under the terms of the police act and the Escobedo decision?”
“Are formal charges being considered against me?”
“Not at this time, Sergeant McAllister.”
“Then I do not wish to have legal representation.”
“You agree to make this statement of your own free will. No one has made threats or offered you inducements or guarantees?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Very well. Can you tell us in your own words what you know of the events under investigation?”
Beau flipped out his notebook, ran a thick forefinger down the pages. “Okay. Got the radio call at sixteen-thirteen hours this date, a ten-seventy, an armed robbery in progress, at Bell’s Oasis. I attend scene accompanied by a Four car, the dog car, Trooper Thornton, and that wild-assed mutt he lives with—”
“You have that phrase in your notes, Sergeant?”
Beau grinned and kept reading in an official monotone.
“—and as we arrive at the scene we become aware of gunfire coming from the direction of the pump island. Trooper Thornton and I acquire tactical defense positions—”
“I beg your pardon, Sergeant?”
“Positions out of the line of fire, possessing sufficient material obstruction as to deflect or absorb such lethal ballistic energy as may be directed at the officers, Ms. Ballard. Tactical defense positions. We reconnoiter the scene. We observe citizens
in various positions of hiding, having taken cover from the line of fire. We also observe one white male in possession of Winchester semiautomatic twelve-gauge shotgun. White male known to this officer as Joseph Arnold Bell, D.O.B. the eleventh of the seventh 1939. Mr. Bell is the owner of Bell’s Oasis, at Pompeys Pillar in Yellowstone County in the sovereign State of Montana. Upon attempting to identify ourselves to Mr. Bell, these officers received immediate return fire from Mr. Bell.”
“Let me understand you there. Mr. Bell
shot
at you?”
“Yeah. Didn’t I mention that?” Beau’s smile was guileless and sweet. “Anyway, the officers received immediate return
shotgun
fire from Mr. Bell, whereupon the responding officers returned to their defensive positions and another attempt was made to identify ourselves to Mr. Bell. This attempt was successful, and Mr. Bell informed us that there was an attempted robbery in progress at his place of business.”
“That would be the Shell gas station known as Bell’s Oasis?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please continue.”
“Yes, ma’am. An attempted robbery in progress. At that time I observed a young Native American male lying approximately twenty feet from Mr. Bell’s position by the pumps. This young male appeared to have sustained a wound in his side and was in a prone position on his back.”
“Did you attempt to provide emergency aid at this time?”
“No, ma’am. At that time, we were advised by Mr. Bell that he was receiving hostile fire from a location in the vicinity of the propane tank on his property. I studied that area and did observe figures in that vicinity.”
“And you made no attempt to reach the wounded male?”
“I identified myself as a law officer to the people by the propane tank. I was then fired upon by one of those individuals.”
“What kind of fire did you receive?”
“It was arrows, ma’am.”
Ballard picked up the Pearlcorder and shut it off.
“Arrows! Some Indians shot at you with
arrows
, Beau?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well—how dangerous could that have been? Toys.”
“Vanessa, Finch Hyam’s got them in his evidence kit. You go look at ’em.”
She shook her head and turned the machine back on.
“You confirm that the fire you received was—were arrows?”
“Yes, ma’am, arrows. So we again secured a tactical defensive position”—Eustace was trying to restrain a smile—“and we commenced to deploy for a flanking maneuver.”
“Did you execute this flanking maneuver, Sergeant?”
“No, ma’am. At that time, Mr. Bell was attempting to return fire from his position, and I felt it was necessary to attempt to stop him from returning fire.”
“Why was that, Sergeant?”
“Because Mr. Bell was discharging a twelve-gauge shotgun in the direction of a fifteen-thousand-pound tank of liquid propane gas, and I considered this course of action to be unwise.”
“Why did you consider it unwise?”
“Why did I—jeez, Vanessa!”
“Please answer the question.”
“I considered it unwise because this tank has a dual-steel wall that can be punctured by a double-ought ball fired at a short range. Each twelve-gauge shell of double-ought contains twelve steel balls, each ball being of approximately .38 caliber and leaving the muzzle at approximately eleven hundred feet per second with a normal choke. I considered it to be highly likely that one of the double-ought balls being fired by Mr. Bell in the direction of that tank would penetrate the skin of that tank, thereby causing a violent rupture of said tank, resulting in the rapid dispersion of highly volatile gaseous material with a high explosive value, and that a blast of that magnitude would be likely to kill and injure anyone within the blast radius.”
“Are you in a position to
know
the blast radius of a fifteen-thousand-pound propane tank, Sergeant McAllister?”
“I am, ma’am. I witnessed such a blast while working as a
truck driver for Steiger Freightways in 1971. I witnessed a head-on collision between a propane tank truck and a touring bus on Interstate 94 outside Miles City, Montana, on the second day of July of that year. At the time of the blast I was approximately one half-mile away, and the blast wave blew in the front windshield of my truck and caused severe injury to myself and my co-driver, who subsequently died of her wounds.”
There was a long silence in the room.
“So yes, I would say I know something about the kill zone of a propane tank. Ma’am.”
Ballard shut off the recorder again.
“Eustace, did you know about this?”
“Yeah. Sorry, Vanessa. I didn’t think it would come up.”
Ballard looked at Beau for a long time.
“You never told me about this, Beau.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you bring up over lunch.”
“Is this the … Doc Hogeland worked on her, didn’t he? I remember the … she was in the Sweetwater burn unit for a while, wasn’t she? Her name was—”
“Alice Manyberries. She was a Crow Indian.”
“I—didn’t Custer County prosecute on that? Contributory negligence? Wasn’t there also a suit?”
“Manyberries
versus
Provo Gas Transfer, Felcher, et al. We lost the criminal on a faulty pathology report, but Provo Gas Transfer agreed to an out-of-court. Five years after.” It had paid for his daughter Laurel’s college tuition.
“Yes. And didn’t Doc Hogeland—”
“It took Alice three months to die. Doc Hogeland paid for all of her medical expenses himself, as well as mine. He said the State owed it to the Crow Nation.”
Ballard was quiet for a while. Beau tried to see something other than blue fire and flying glass and red blood.
“I’m sorry, Beau. That was a big case. Spellman Sterling wrote a paper on it for the law review. I remember reading it in school. I didn’t get the connection. I never knew she was your wife.”
“She had to keep the Manyberries name, or Indian Affairs
would have taken away her status. We married under Crow ritual. Never mind, Vanessa. It’s a long time back.”
There was another long silence.
Finally, Ballard reached forward and turned the recorder back on.
“Ah … yes, Sergeant. That would seem to be persuasive. So the—the—kill zone would have been somewhere in the area of one half-mile, in your informed opinion?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And can you tell us what buildings and people might lie within a half-mile of Bell’s Oasis?”
“Yes, ma’am. About half of the town of Pompeys Pillar, including most of the main shopping area and two other gas stations that might have become involved in the subsequent fire.”
“We have noted that these events took place around four-thirty on the afternoon of Friday this date. Can you estimate for us how many citizens might have been within the blast radius of this tank at that time?”
“I can try—say, fifteen hundred people.”
“I see. Fifteen hundred men, women, and children. Can you tell us what steps you considered taking to prevent this explosion?”
“Yes, ma’am. I made several verbal attempts to dissuade Mr. Bell from discharging his weapon in that direction.”
“With what words, Sergeant?”
“What words?”
“Yes. What words did you use to dissuade Mr. Bell from shooting at the tank?”
“I said … I said if that tank went up, we’d all come down as pink rain. I may have called him an asshole, too.”
“I see. And what was Mr. Bell’s response?”
“He stood up and prepared to fire again.”
“And at this point, what did you do?”
“At that point, nothing. At that point, one of the Indians—Mr. Bell was struck in the left shoulder by an arrow that seemed to have been fired from behind the propane tank.”
“And what effect did this missile have upon Mr. Bell?”
“Jeez—what effect!? He didn’t like it. It made him angry. He came out from behind the gas pump and fired another shell at the tank.”
“And what were your actions then?”
“Then I yelled at him to stop, and he said he was going to get some payback—”
“Pay back? Were those his words? Pay back?”
“One word. Payback. It’s an army term, ma’am. Bell was in the army for years. It means to get even. To get some.”
“I see. And did Mr. Bell continue firing after you had given him this verbal warning?”
“He fired that once, ma’am.”
“And what did you do?”
“I had the Browning on him at that point—”
“The Browning being your service revolver?”
“It’s not a revolver, ma’am. It’s a semiauto pistol.”
“Was it loaded at that time?”
“If it ain’t loaded, it’s a paperweight. Ma’am.”
“And you pointed this device at Mr. Bell?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you issued a verbal warning?”
“Yes, ma’am. A loud one.”
“What was the distance between you and Mr. Bell?”
“About seventy feet.”
“What happened then?”
“Mr. Bell was moving around some and screaming. He was trying to raise the weapon and get off another shell.”
“At this time, he had an arrow in his body?”
“In his shoulder, ma’am.”
“And yet you still considered him capable of formulating the intent to discharge his weapon in a careless or unlawful manner?”
“He had already fired it once with an arrow in him.”
“And he showed indications of intending to do so again?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And at that time, at that juncture, when you observed that Mr. Bell was not appearing to heed your verbal warning and
seemed to be preparing to discharge his weapon again, what did you do?”
“I took aim and shot him.”
“At what point did you aim?”
“Ma’am?”
“At what part of Mr. Bell’s body did you take aim?”
“At his … lower body.”
“You aimed at his lower body. Can you be more specific?”
“Yes, ma’am. I aimed—I aimed at his foot.”
“At his foot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So your intention was to disable Mr. Bell?”
“Yes, it was.”
“It was not your intention to kill Mr. Bell?”
“No, ma’am. It was my intention to use sufficient force so as to prevent the individual from continuing with his careless discharging of that shotgun.”
“And where did the bullet strike Mr. Bell?”
“He was moving around a bit.”
“Yes, duly noted. Please answer the question.”
“Ah—the bullet impacted him on his lower anterior quadrant of the gluteal muscle. At that point—”
“The lower anterior quadrant of his gluteal muscle? That would be in Mr. Bell’s buttock, then?”
“Yes, ma’am. In his right buttock.”
“Am I to understand that you took aim at Mr. Bell’s right foot, then contrived to shoot him in the
ass
, Sergeant?”
“Not actually in his ass, ma’am. More like in his wallet.”
“Do you receive firearms training in your capacity as a Highway Patrol officer, Sergeant?”
“Yes, ma’am. Twice a month. And you have to qualify once a year.”
“Are you considered a marksman by your department, Sergeant?”
“I am qualified to carry a weapon.”
“Did you consider the—I believe the phrase is backstop? Did you consider what material or structures might receive the
round in the apparently highly likely event that you should
miss
Mr. Bell’s prodigious ass, Sergeant?”