HIGHWAY HOMICIDE (24 page)

Carl reached out and shook the old doctor’s hand. The rest of it was now up to the State boys to tidy up. The killer was dead, so there would just be an inquiry, but no lengthy trial. But his department, if not himself personally, had brought peace and safety back to Cooper’s Corners. He was well satisfied with the outcome.

Chapter Thirty Seven

It was in the early spring, almost three months later, when Errol Cook passed away in his sleep at the hospital. In spite of their past rivalry, Doc had been at his bedside when he died and a surprising number of the community’s residents turned out for his funeral.

It was well known, or at least well assumed, by the folks in Cooper’s Corners that Errol Cook hadn’t been hurting for a buck or two. But they were absolutely astounded when it was made public what his estate had actually been worth.

Errol had gone back into hospital for the last time and in one of the many bedside discussions he’d had with Errol, Carl had learned, at least partially, what Errol wanted done with his money.

“I don’t want people around here to remember me for that
awful thing I did, Carl,” he had said, with tears in his eyes.

“They won’t, Errol, because nobody around here knows anything about it except me and I’m sure as hell not gonna tell them.”

“You didn’t tell
anyone
then, Carl?” Errol whispered unbelievingly, “No one at all?”

“Of course not, you old fool. If I’d have told someone, I’d have had to put you in jail, wouldn’t I?” Carl said, “And there was nothing at all to be gained
by that after all this time, was there?”

Errol shook his head.

“No, I suppose not, and I’m truly sorry I did what I did. My Dolly was never really planning to leave me really, you know. It was all just said to needle me. She sure knew how to get a rise out of me, that woman did, Carl. But I did love her dearly. Still do and that’s what I want to talk to you about. I’d like you to arrange it all for me if you can. Be my executor.”

Without even knowing what ‘it’ was, Carl readily agreed. “Sure thing, Errol, consider it done.”

When Carl paid his next visit to the hospital, he’d sat by Errol’s bedside and had said, “Hi, Errol, how you doing?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he could have bitten his tongue. What kind of a dumb question was that, for Christ’s sake? The guy was dying of cancer. How would he be feeling?

Errol looked at him with a wry smile.

“Actually, I’m not feeling too bad today. Dosed up to the eyeballs with everything they feel like pumping into me, of course, but I’m really not in a lot of pain.”

Carl just nodded, unable to trust
himself not to come out with an even dumber comment.

Sensing his embarrassment, Errol said, “Apart from the last few years as a drunken idiot, I’ve had a pretty good life overall, you know. Even when I was drunker than a skunk, you guys were always good to me and I appreciated it. May not have seemed like it at the time, but I did. They don’t treat me right in here though.”

Carl raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Really, Errol?” he said. He’d thought Errol had been receiving the very best of care, especially since it was being overseen constantly by Doc.

“Sure, Carl. I asked that blonde nurse to put some straight Bourbon in my IV line last night, and do you know what that crazy woman told me, Carl? I just couldn’t believe it.”

“What did she tell you, Errol?” he said carefully, fearing what Errol’s answer might be.

“She told me
she’d have to water it down a bit first. Do you believe that? Christ, Carl, everyone knows you don’t
water down
good Kentucky Bourbon, don’t they?” he said with a laugh that shook his whole frail body.

“Better not to have any at all than to ruin it like that then, right, Errol?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too, Carl. Crazy damned woman,” he said, almost to himself. Or so it seemed since his voice was so low.

A few minutes later, when Errol’s eyes drooped closed, Carl got up quietly and left.

A day or two later, Carl dropped by O’Shaunessy’s Pub. He slid into the booth opposite Doc. After a perfunctory greeting, Doc said, “Tell me something, Carl, does the law actually
allow
you to make some of these decisions you make?” Doc asked him.

Carl just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“The law, Doc? I really don’t know, I never ask it. Wasn’t it some English guy that said the law is an ass? Or something like that. Very often, most times even, actually sticking exactly to the letter of the law, doesn’t solve a goddamned thing. All it does is make some people, who maybe don’t deserve it, bloody miserable anyway. What does putting people in jail really do, Doc? A lot of times it ruins some basically good people’s lives, that’s all it ever accomplishes.”

“Vigilante justic
e then, Carl? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Christ, no. The exact opposite, if anything. I’ve just always tried to see the good in folks if I can. At least around here, I do. A lot of what I do you won’t ever find in the police manuals or law books either, Doc, but most
times, what’s done is done. And no amount of law or jail time is gonna change that, is it? Sometimes you need to use a little commonsense and compassion, that’s all, and the law doesn’t often leave any room for that.”

“That’s setting yourself up a bit like God though, isn’t it, Carl?”

“Is that what you think when a judge puts some poor bastard away for life, only to find out after twenty years hard labor that, whoops, sorry, it wasn’t him, after all. Who’s playing God then, Doc?”

“In all this talk, you’re speaking with someone specifically in mind, aren’t you?” Doc said, smiling.

Carl smiled too and said, “You know something, Doc, that’s for me to know and for you to wonder about, isn’t it?”

“You know something, Sheriff, if
you weren’t a cop; I think you’d have made a damned good doctor. Psychiatrist, maybe. You always try to figure out what’s wrong, make your diagnosis and come up with the right treatment. Unlike a lot of cops I’ve met in my time, you don’t insist on putting on a bloody great big plaster cast just to treat a minor bruise, do you?”

“I know
it’s all a judgment call, Doc, but it doesn’t make sense to me to just dump folks in jail and throw away the key if it can possibly be avoided. Sometimes even murder can be justified,” he said, giving Doc a long, hard look. “Jail time never brings the victim back to life either, does it?”

Doc smiled faintly and gave a shake of his head,

“You can’t fool me, Carl Berger, I know you too well. You’ve been talking about Errol, haven’t you? And for what it’s worth, I agree with you completely.”

“Like I said, Doc, that’s for me to know and for you to wonder about, and for what it is worth too, you’ve been wandering about in the right direction.”

“Wondering, Carl, not wandering,” Doc said.

“Whatever, Doc.” Carl said, with another shrug. “Drink up, my good friend. Want another?”

Some time later, when Err
ol’s will was read, Carl found Errol had left his house to him. There was also a sealed letter addressed to Carl, one he’d been waiting months for. He slipped it in his pocket and would open it later when he thought the time was right.

A couple of days after the funeral, Judy had planned a small wake for Errol at O’Shaunessy’s Pub.
Carl said like it or not, the township, via the Sheriff’s office would pay for it. He said even now he believed Errol would be solving the mystery of his wife’s disappearance for them and that was worth the price of a party.

On the night of the wake, after perusing it quickly, Carl read Errol’s letter aloud to everyone present. There were horrified gasps when he got to the part in Errol’s detailed letter where he described the burial o
f his wife. In his letter, he’d explained his action in this way.

‘She was dead’, he wrote, ‘
but it wasn’t my Dolly I buried that morning, it was just the container she came in. It was just, when I found her dead like that, I didn’t have a suitable one on hand to send her on her way in, that’s all. In any case, she really hadn’t gone anywhere at all. She would always remain in my heart for as long as I lived and hopefully throughout eternity as well.’

The letter had borne out Doc’s version of the happening and as Carl finished reading it and had returned the letter to its envelope, there wasn’t
a dry eye in the place. Carl looked over at Doc but he’d made no mention of his connection.

On the day following the wake, the local undertaker and his men began the gruesome task of exhuming Dolly’s remains for proper burial. Errol had asked in his letter that they both be buried properly i
n the same grave. His letter said that he’d never wanted to be away from her for another moment and that was the reason he’d buried her himself in his own garden.

A few days after the wake, Judy made an annou
ncement of her own. She said she’d decided to retire.

“What will you do with all that extra time on your hands,” Almost asked her.

“I’m going to be doing something that I love to do, something I’ve thought about for a long time now and something I told Carl about years ago,” she said.

Carl looked suitably puzzled.

“Do you remember what I said to you when you wanted to pay me for the meals I made for you?”

Carl remembered very well indeed what she was referring to but shook his head, in order not to spoil her story for her.

“I told you if I wanted people to pay for my food, I’d put a bloody great big sign over my front door saying ‘restaurant’. Remember that now, Carl?”

Carl nodded.

“So that’s what I’m going to do. As you can see, I’ve got loads of space here and since you’re all here tonight, you know how I just love to cook. So what do you think? You guys can even come up with a catchy name for it for me,” she said.

For a moment there was a stunned silence around the dinner table and then she ad
ded, “By the way, Carl, there’ll still be a second sign, but this time it’ll say ‘all goddamned cops are
welcome
’.”

For the next few minutes they all congratulated her and wished her well. Then Judy spoke up again. “You know something? You guys are all so full of crap! Here you all are, wishing me well and every one of you is wondering what the hell are we going to do now, aren’t you?”

There was a chorus of protesting voices until Judy interrupted it by saying. “Quit your whining, all of you, because Erica here has got an announcement to make as well. Over to you, Erica.”

Judy winked at Carl, since he was the only one, apart from Judy, who knew what Erica was about to say.
After all, it had been he who’d arranged it.

As Judy sat down Erica stood up and said. “Well, this may come as a huge surprise to you, but since I’ve been here I’ve come to just love all of you, just the way Judy does.” She paused for a moment, smiling around at all of Judy’s seated gu
ests. “So much so, in fact, I’ve agreed to take over as your new gofer, den mother, mother hen or whatever you want to call it. Judy has been coaching me, especially regarding the details of all your bad habits. And don’t you look so smug, Carl, that includes you too,” she said.

They were all having dinner at Judy’s house and there were twelve of them altogether. Almost and his wife, Jennie, was there, together with Carl and Lisa. David and Rosetta, Erica and Russ Harris, Doc, Pam, and Donna completed the party, with Judy as their chef and hostess.

Erica continued. “I’ve decided to sell my house down in Rutland and move up here,” she told them. “Carl has agreed to sell the house he’s inherited from Errol Cook. Therefore, folks, as of the first of June, I will be the new voice of the Cooper’s Corners Sheriff’s office, on the radio, at least. Judy and I have agreed Carl should be allowed to continue to have a small say in some of the lesser, unimportant things. And, Almost, you can relax as well. The ladies will
always
make the decision as to when to pick up the donuts. That is way too important for a mere man to decide.”

Ac
tually, after her shooting of Bernie Woodall, Erica had become quite a celebrity in the whole county. In fact, even Burlington’s CBS TV station, WCAX, had done an in-person interview with her. Her story had been covered in all of the local papers and by every one of the radio stations in the county.

She
and David were considered to be the local hero and heroine, even though neither of them were from Cooper’s Corners. Erica especially, had been likened to the hardy pioneer women who’d protected the homestead whilst their men folk were away hunting and fighting.

In David’s case he’
d also been considered a hero but he’d just thought of himself as not being smart enough to slide over to the driver’s side when he’d gotten out of Almost’s cruiser.

That would have been the smart and safer way, putting the car between the killer and himself, as the other two had done. Although that had been David’s take on the incident, the shopkeepers watching the action from inside their stores had viewing David completely differently.

They had seen him as bravely standing out in front, trying to protect Carl and Almost. Some were even speculating as to how he’d managed to cause the rifle to explode.

When David had heard all about this
and had protested to Carl, he’d just said, “Let it be, Dave. If the gossip in this place said you did it, then Dave buddy, believe me, whether you knew it or not, you
did
it! Nothing you can say or do now is gonna change a goddamned thing. Just thank your lucky stars it was something good they thought you did.”