Chapter Two #2
He hands my cards back and gives me the same brief studying I’d applied to him, before nodding his head slightly as if he’s decided I’m probably legit.
“How can I help you, Miss Gore?”
“Chief, I was hired by the daughter of one of your locals, Ezra King. She asked me to look into the details of his death.”
“Ezra King?” he says, surprised. “I believe his funeral was this morning.”
“That’s part of why I’m here. Katie—his daughter—is a little disconcerted by how fast everything moved. You mind if I ask a few questions?”
“No,” he says. “No, not at all. Have a seat.”
He gestures to the pair of black wooden chairs positioned in front of his desk and I sit in the one on the left.
Dishman’s desk is well used but tidy. Beside the computer there’s a pen cup and mail tray aligned with a gold photo frame turned to face him.
I open my bag and pull out my notebook and pen.
“Katie came to visit me this morning and—”
“Sorry, Chief,” a voice says as the door opens behind me. I turn and find the young officer I’d seen outside leaning into the room. “We just got a call from one of the Highway guys. They pulled somebody over out on Brindle Ridge.”
“So?” Dishman says.
“He’s drunk as hell and towing a horse trailer with a mess of donkeys inside. They want us to come and get him so they can stay out and write tickets.”
“Jeanine’s the one grew up on a farm,” Dishman says after a moment’s thought. “And she’s out that way already.”
The young officer looks from Dishman to me and back to Dishman before nodding and ducking out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Dishman says. “Holiday weekend. Everybody’s out on the road so we’re all hands on deck.”
“I’ll try not to take more time than I need,” I say. “Katie told me she was informed of her father’s death by one of the officers here.”
“Right,” he says, rubbing his palm along his jaw.
“Officer Alvey. He’s the one that worked the scene—he was asking me who to put on the report as next of kin.
I couldn’t think of anyone. But then, this morning, I remembered Ezra’d had a wife and daughter.
Maggie’s little girl was the same age as my daughter.
Her name is Katie, you said? How are they doing? ”
“I’m afraid Maggie passed away a few years ago,” I say, and watch as understanding and sorrow shadow his face.
“Well, hell. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But Katie’s doing well,” I say. “She has a baby of her own now.”
“That’s good,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’m glad he was able to track her down.”
“Katie says she was told that her father died from a snakebite.”
“That’s right,” he says. He reaches for his mouse and then taps a few keys on his keyboard. I can’t see what’s on the monitor, but I’m guessing he’s just closed whatever it was he was working on and is looking over the police report regarding Ezra King’s death.
“He was a snake-handling preacher,” I say.
“Yes,” Dishman says. “He was pretty well-known around here.”
“Were you one of his parishioners?”
His big shoulders bounce with a silent, ironic laugh.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I’m Mount Zion Church of Christ. But of course everyone knows about Ezra King. He was a man of powerful faith.”
“Powerful? You mean the snake handling?”
There’s a half nod in my direction before he says, “Ezra’s brand of religion wasn’t to everyone’s liking.
It was intense, especially back in his early days.
Too intense for me. But, if you’d ever seen him preach, you couldn’t deny his—well, it was like a shine.
You know how some people have that? Like they just burn very bright.
That’s how Ezra King was. His voice especially. People said he spoke with God’s voice.”
“You respected him,” I say, as I realize it.
“I respected the strength of his belief, certainly.”
There’s another knock at the door and we both watch as the same officer as before pokes his head in. He looks like he’s barely out of high school, with chubby cheeks and a hesitant, apologetic smile.
“Sorry again, Chief,” he says. “Sounds like someone’s been setting off fireworks down in the Cherry Dairy parking lot. A little fire started but they got it out. You want me to send someone down there?”
“Who’s left?” Dishman asks.
“Well, Jim’s on his way back from lunch, I think.”
“Call him and have him stop by.”
The kid starts to back out of the doorway and Dishman says, “And Gavin!”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Have you taken your lunch yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Well, take it, son,” Dishman says. “You need to eat.”
The kid exits, closing the door behind him.
Unable to help myself, I smile at the stern kindness in Dishman’s voice.
Between Security Forces and Special Investigations, I served under plenty of tough, hard-nosed superiors.
But the best of them? They were all cut from the same cloth as Chief Dishman.
The kind of guy who treats his officers like family.
The kind of guy whom you’d die of shame if you disappointed.
“Sorry about that. Like I said, it’s a busy weekend. Summer always starts like this.”
“How long have you been on the job?” I ask.
“Almost thirty years now,” he says. “Chief for just about the last twenty. You’d think a small town like this wouldn’t have that much going on.
Traffic to Red River Gorge is a blessing, but the tourists really balloon the population and we don’t have enough staff to cover it in the summer.
I’ve only got six officers and only three of those are full time.
Sorry, I’m rambling. What else were you gonna ask? ”
“You knew about Ezra King’s snake handling,” I say.
“Sure,” he says. “Everyone did.”
“Isn’t snake handling illegal in Kentucky?”
“Well … yes,” Dishman says with a grimace.
He turns in his chair, away from the monitor, folds his hands together on the desk, and says, “But I do believe in freedom of religion, as long as you’re not hurting anybody.
He never let anyone else touch those snakes.
It was always only him and, these days, only special occasions. ”
“Christmas and Easter,” I say.
He chuckles, good-naturedly, and says, “That’s about it, yes.”
“Could I see the police report?”
Dishman looks at me for a protracted moment while phones ring down the hall.
“Yeah,” he says, finally. “I can print it off for you.”
“Thanks.”