That Night at the Palace (18 page)

It was around nine-thirty when the first reporter showed. Brewster”s been dealing with reporters his entire career. Many of his fellow Rangers hated journalists. Conversely, a few loved the limelight. Brewster neither liked nor hated them. He simply saw them as a necessary evil. They had a job to do just like he did. The only problem as far as he was concerned was that they tended to be annoying, and they often wanted to over-play his personal role in the investigation. The simple way to deal with journalists, he had long since learned, was to give them a story. The trick was keeping from becoming part of the story. By nature of being a Texas Ranger, he tended to get mentioned in the papers. Reporters loved to get quotes from Rangers, especially when it was a small town case like this. So, Brewster had a simple method of dealing with newspaper mosquitoes. He’d give them a story - the story he wanted them to print. The story would be true, and they would get a quote from a Texas Ranger, but they wouldn’t get the whole story. Brewster always kept a few cards in his hand.

So when the reporter burst into the Elza Police Headquarters, Corporal Brewster McKinney of the Texas Rangers was prepared to hand out the same basic facts he had given the reporter who showed up at the bridge the night before.

Then the reporter told him, “I understand you have the murderer in custody.”

Brewster was explaining that the investigation was still in progress when another reporter came into the office and asked, “Is this where the press conference is being held?”

Before the second reporter got his question out, another reporter, followed by his photographer, entered the little office. They were all tossing out questions, but from the clatter Brewster managed to get that the county C.A. was on his way and was going to hold a press conference to announce that the “Alligator Killer” had been apprehended.

Brewster told the reporters that he didn’t know anything about any press conference and that they should leave. Getting them to go was easy. He stood and casually revealed the Colt Commander concealed in a shoulder holster under his jacket and told the reporters that they needed to go. It didn’t hurt that he was larger than all of the journalists, and showing the Colt certainly helped, but he knew that it was the Ranger’s badge on his belt that sent the mosquitoes scurrying. There was an intimidation factor with being a Texas Ranger. He was a member of a no-nonsense fraternity. The very last thing Brewster McKinney would ever do is draw his weapon on a journalist, but those fellows didn’t know that.

They weren’t out the door thirty seconds when the telephone rang. Brewster took the call thinking he was helping out the chief, but to his surprise the caller was his immediate superior, Company B Commander, Captain “Little Bigfoot” McCullough. Contrary to what one would expect, Captain McCullough didn’t have large feet. As a young ranger the Captain was partnered with a much older Corporal who took to calling him “Little Bigfoot” because he claimed that McCullough reminded him of legendary Texas Ranger,
William “
Bigfoot” Wallace. Captain McCullough hated being called “Little Bigfoot” but the nickname stuck, as these things tend to do and, as he once said, “There’s worse things in life than being named after a Texas legend.”

Initially Captain McCullough wanted to know how the case was going, to which McKinney answered, “A dead end, for now.”

Captain McCullough then informed McKinney that he was being temporarily pulled off the case. Apparently the local County Attorney had called the Ranger headquarters in Austin complaining that McKinney was interfering with the prosecution in a major murder case and demanded the Ranger be immediately removed. Texas Rangers Director
Calvin Anthony then called Company B Commander McCullough and “suggested” that Corporal McKinney take a few days off but, and this part was an order, “Keep an eye on the case.”

McKinney took that to mean that both Captain McCullough and Director Anthony felt that the reputation of the Rangers for getting their man was much more important than soothing the ego of an overly zealous County Attorney.

Brewster McKinney had long since come to the conclusion that if the only battles a law enforcement officer had to fight were with criminals, then the job would be a piece of cake. Unfortunately, politicians were the biggest enemy of the crime fighter. A perfect example was back in ’33 when Governor “Ma” Ferguson shut down the entire Ranger organization. Almost immediately afterward Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow went on their shooting spree all over the state, and there was nobody the Governor could send to chase them down. Eventually a laid-off Ranger, Frank Hamer, had to put a stop to it.

This time the problem was a small town C.A. trying to make a name for himself. Brewster had run across such before, but they tended to let him do his job. They just wanted the glory. Brewster cared nothing about the glory, but he did want to make sure that he put the right man behind bars. The only thing he knew for sure about this case was that the kid upstairs wasn’t the killer.

When he had finished talking to Captain McCullough, he walked to the front door of the Police Station and locked it. He looked out the front window and saw that there were several men standing around. None of them looked like they were locals. Among them, just getting out of his car, was the reporter from the bridge the night before.

This C.A. called more people than just Director Anthony
.

Brewster then walked down the hall to the back of the station and up the stairs to Jesse’s cell.

Jesse was sitting on his cot with his shoes off.

“Come on kid, get your shoes on,” McKinney said.

“I’m going?”

“Yeah, but hurry.”

Jesse put on his shoes and followed Brewster down the stairs to the back door.

“What’s going on, Corporal?”

“I’m not sure but we need to get you out of here. Don’t go home. Go to that girl’s house. No, wait. Last night the chief told me that you and that other boy once got in some trouble for climbing up on the roof.”

Jesse nodded.

“Do you think you can do it again?”

“I suppose.”

“Climb up there and wait until me or the chief come for you.”

“What’s this about?”

“Your lawyer’s not here yet and some idiot C.A. wants to make a big show of arresting you. We’re not gonna let that happen.”

Jesse hesitated, not knowing what to do. Then they heard the front door rattling. Someone was trying to get in.

“Go,” Brewster ordered.

Jesse went out the back door and over to the rain gutter he had climbed some five years before. McKinney watched to make sure that the kid made it and then closed the back door and headed to the front of the Police Station.

#

As the caravan pulled into Elza, Nathaniel Cockwright watched with a smile on his face while a group of a dozen or more journalists gathered in front of the Police Station. The C.A. was on his way to having the biggest day of his career. Granted, that little incident in the courtroom was a bit embarrassing, but the only ones who witnessed it were Judge Buckner, Primrose, and that dimwitted police chief - and really it was the chief’s fault. That fool should have come to his office the moment he arrived at the courthouse. The County Attorney should not be left in the dark when there was a crime of this magnitude in his county. The number one item on that fool’s agenda should have been to meet with the C.A. about what to do with “The Alligator Killer.”

But even this clown of a police chief couldn’t stop what was coming. Neither would that Texas Ranger, Nathaniel thought with a smile. That was a stroke of genius. Coleman out-did himself with that one. Nathaniel would like to take the credit for it, but it was all Coleman. As the deputy C.A. pointed out, the Rangers were only there at the request of a police department. When the C.A.’s office took the case, the sheriff’s department could take over the investigation.

“Let’s face it,” Coleman explained, “the Sheriff is too lazy and too close to retirement to buck us on this. We’ll build the case any way we want.”

“More importantly,” he continued, “a simple call to the Ranger’s headquarters in Austin, complaining that the Ranger is interfering with the C.A.’s case, will result in the Ranger being sent back to where ever he came from with his tail tucked between his legs.”

The boys had done their job. By the look of things, every paper in East Texas was represented. Thanks to that alligator, this story might just get picked up by the wire services, and if Nathaniel played it right it would make the headlines again on the day of the arraignment. If all went well, he could probably get headlines again when he met with the deceased family to promise a quick end to this painful ordeal. He’d be out front again, of course, throughout the trial, and he’d surely get to make a speech or two after the conviction and again after the sentencing. Finally, and this part would take some string pulling, but with some luck, he could get a picture of himself holding hands with the victim’s mother right before they threw the switch on the “Alligator Killer.”

The nickname had been his own idea. Thank God for that alligator. Hitting the boy and leaving him to die would be little more than a run-of-the-mill murder case. But to leave the helpless dying kid to get eaten alive by a vicious reptile was reprehensible. That was the sort of thing that could get picked up in papers all over the country. And that was just the start. The jury would eat this up. Nathaniel had half his opening remarks already written in his head. There was absolutely no possible way they’d give this kid anything short of the chair.

Nathaniel was all smiles as he stepped out of the car to be greeted by a throng of reporters.

“Gentlemen, let’s go inside and I’ll answer all of your questions,” the C.A. said as he led what amounted to a small parade to the front door of the Police Station.

Reaching down, he grabbed the doorknob and simultaneously turned and pushed. Unfortunately for Nathaniel Cockwright, the knob didn’t turn and the door didn’t open and he slammed his face into the glass.

There was a round of smiles and muffled laughter from the reporters as Nathaniel jiggled the doorknob in a futile attempt to open the locked door.

Smiling back at the reporters Nathaniel said, “Just a minute, gentlemen. The office seems to be locked.”

Primrose, a few steps behind him among the reporters, pushed his way through the crowd to the door. “Let me try, sir.”

He took hold of it and, like Cockwright, tried with no success to open the locked door.

“Where’s the Police Chief?” Cockwright asked with an obviously counterfeited smile.

Jefferson, unlike the rest of the caravan, had chosen to park the prowler in a parking spot rather than leave it in the middle of Main Street. Of course, with all of the reporters in town, along with the normal Monday morning business, there were no spots, and he had ended up parking almost all the way down by the domino hall. When he got to the Police Station, Cockwright had been standing there several minutes, fuming but smiling for the reporters.

“There’s our good Police Chief. Chief, the door to your office seems to be locked,” Cockwright said, still smiling broadly.

Jefferson had had about all he could take from the C.A. He wished that he could have talked with Corporal McKinney before turning Jesse over. Jefferson had no experience with this sort of thing and, frankly, had no idea if any of this was legal. Normally when he had an arrest, he took it before Judge Buckner and the judge took it from there. This was the first time he had ever even spoken to the County Attorney. He’d come across Primrose and Coleman a few times, but only because they happened to be in the courtroom, not because he had any business with them.

“I lock it when I’m out of the office,” Jefferson commented as he worked his way through the crowd of reporters to the door.

Cockwright continued his simulated smile but managed to give an aggravated glare at the chief.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to have the police station robbed, now would it?” Cockwright said with a broad smile.

There was again a little laughter, but much less than when the County Attorney slammed his head into the door.

Jefferson unlocked the door and let the C.A., his two deputies, and a mob of reporters into the office. Just as they came in, Brewster McKinney came down the hall.

“I thought I heard someone at the door,” McKinney said as the approached the chief.

“Corporal,” Jefferson began, “this is the C.A., Nathan Cock-”

Jefferson paused, trying to remember the C.A.’s last name. All he could think was Cockfight, but he knew that wasn’t right.

“Nathaniel Cockwright,” Nathaniel said with a glare to the chief and a broad, fake smile, “I assume you’re the famous Texas Ranger I’ve been hearing about.”

Brewster shook hands with the C.A., “Well, I don’t know about being famous, but yes sir, I am a Texas Ranger. Brewster McKinney.”

Suddenly everyone with a camera began taking pictures of McKinney, and Nathaniel seized that opportunity, smiling broadly for the photographs.

“Well, Mr. Ranger,” Cockwright began, “we’re here to take the ‘Alligator Killer’ off your hands.”

“I’m sorry, what killer?”

“The ‘Alligator Killer.’ The young man you arrested last night.”

Brewster looked at Jefferson, “Someone killed an alligator?”

There were a few muffled laughs from the reporters.

“They’re here to take Jesse,” the Chief answered.

“Oh, the kid. I let him go this morning.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flared, “You what?”

“I sent him home.”

“You sent a murderer home?”

“Well, we didn’t have a case, and there’s no real reason to think he did it.”

Stunned, Cockwright looked around at the reporters who were all jotting down notes.

“Ah, perhaps you two should brief me on the status of the investigation, and then I can fill in our friends in the press,” Nathaniel said in effort to save face. “Gentlemen, would all of you mind stepping outside a moment? When I get an update I’ll fill all of you in.”