Chapter 48
CHAPTER
BULLOCK COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA
Two hours later, I was sitting in the sheriff’s office, giving my statement to Deputy Lonnie Sparks—another cop I’d known since he was a kid.
It felt like the shooting had gone on for an eternity. In fact, it had lasted about ten seconds. Nobody was killed, thank God. Multiple hospitalizations, mostly from folks getting trampled when the shooting started. The bullet wounds were mostly grazes.
I related all the information I could recall. Every detail of my observations on the street. I shared descriptions and names of the people who sought shelter at the courthouse when the rampage began. I was talking so long and so fast that my voice was getting raspy.
Lonnie stopped taking down what I was saying. “You need something to drink, Judge Mary?”
“I could use a Diet Coke,” I croaked.
He smiled. “Be right back.”
As Lonnie walked down the hallway, I looked around the office.
The whole force had been mobilized for the rally, and now they were trying to sort out the aftermath.
But this was a lot bigger than the Union Springs PD.
No disrespect, but most of these officers were used to dealing with domestic disputes and drunk-and-disorderly calls. They’d never seen anything like this.
Neither had I.
“I hear you’re thirsty.” I turned around. Mick Owens was standing there, dangling a frosty can of Diet Coke. “Come talk,” he said. “You can finish your statement later.”
I grabbed the can. “You got a deal.”
I followed him into his crowded office in the corner of the floor. He looked back at me.
“You owe me a dollar for that Coke, Mary.”
“I don’t owe you shit, Mick.” I popped the can and took a long, deep gulp.
He propped his boots up on his desk. “I just got back from the hospital. Taking statements, getting information. Records of injuries. Seeing who had video or pictures on their phones.”
“It’s a miracle nobody died out there,” I said. “Why weren’t you more prepared? You knew it was brewing.”
“I surely did not.”
“The hell? This has been stirring up for months. Shoot, the governor has been threatening to send in the National Guard since the Bria Gaines case was filed, seems like. So why wasn’t the Guard called in today?”
“Nobody could’ve foreseen this, Mary. It’s not our people raining shit down. It’s outside agitators. We wouldn’t be having these problems if publicity wasn’t dragging in a bunch of crazies.”
He was right, in part. But he was leaving something out. “It wasn’t only out-of-towners. You can’t blame a faceless enemy for this. I know what I saw. You saw the same thing. Mason Phelps was leading that Dixie demonstration. He’s been hyping it up for weeks.”
Mick waved me off with a hand. “Don’t you worry about Mason Phelps. Couldn’t organize a keg party.”
“You telling me not to worry? This was his party, he could’ve wiped out our town today. I know he planned it. He was over at Coley’s after Cocheta’s funeral, handing out Replacement Theory flyers.”
Mick sighed and wiped a hand over his face.
“Mary, Mason Phelps is a worthless shithead, everyone knows that. And a true Alabama cracker, racist to the core. I don’t fool myself, I know what he’s capable of, where his sympathies lie.
But I’ve come down hard on him. Kicked his ass more than once.
He doesn’t mess with me. Trust me, I’ve got Phelps and his buddies under control. ”
“You call what happened today under control?”
“Look. I talked to Phelps at the scene. He said it wasn’t him that was doing the shooting. He said one of the guys from out of town brought a defective firearm. Went off accidentally. Then people went nuts. Shoving and running and knocking each other down.”
“That’s bullshit.” My prom date was no Sherlock Fucking Holmes, but he wasn’t that stupid. “You were out there, Mick! Did those guys look like the types to carry defective firearms?”
“Mary, take it easy.”
“I don’t think anything went off accidentally. Do you have anyone in custody?”
“We’re a small force, Mary. We’re working on it.”
I could tell that I was getting under his skin.
Good. I decided to burrow a little deeper.
“Working on it? Just like you’re working on solving Cocheta’s murder? Was that just an accident, too? Did Cocheta accidentally get lynched in her own backyard?”
“Goddamnit, Mary!” Mick swung his right arm and swiped everything off the top of his desk.
Coffee cup, papers, pens, pads. His nostrils were flaring.
“I don’t answer to you!” he shouted. His chest was puffed out, voice rumbling.
“I’m an elected official—just like you. The voters gave me this position. I answer to the people.”
“Yeah, well, the people are wondering why you can’t solve a case.”
I stood up. He still towered over me. “Get out of my office,” he muttered. “Before I lose my temper.”
I looked down at the mess on the floor. “I think you already lost it.”
“Fuck you!”
“Thanks for the Coke.”
“Leave!”
Whatever. I was tired. I wanted to go home, anyway. I picked up my bag and turned to head out the door. When I was almost there, Mick called after me.
“Hey, Mary! You wanna know what the people are saying to me? What I hear is they want to know why Judge Mary Stone won’t get that goddamn abortion case over and done with! Try the fucking case! Then everybody in Bullock County can put it behind us.”
I paused for a second. Was that really what folks were saying about me? Maybe so. But I’d never admit it. Not here. Wouldn’t give Mick Owens the satisfaction.
As I walked out into the hallway, he had one more thing to say. He shouted it so loud everybody in the office could hear it.
“If anyone gets killed over this abortion case, Mary—that’s on you! It’ll be your fault! Blood on your hands!”