Due Process (Joe Dillard #9)(67)

“I’ll be out,” I said. “Don’t shoot me.”

“You get shot, it’ll be of your own accord,” Hobie said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I turned to Jack and Charlie.

“Stay in here no matter what. Lock these doors down. The bailiffs are all armed with rifles and shotguns today, nobody’s going to get past them. I’m going to go see what’s going on outside.”

“Dad,” Jack said. “Why don’t you just stay back here with us?”

“Because Leon’s out there, and Leon’s my friend.”

“But you don’t even have a weapon.”

“I hope I won’t need one. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I went out the door and jogged down the hall. I turned a corner and went through a door that led to the lobby. I could see Leon outside standing on top of a department issue SUV. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying through the thick glass that ran all along the front of the building, but suddenly, a lone shot rang out and Leon went flying off the top of the SUV and landed on the asphalt. Everything went into slow-motion as I felt myself yelling, “No!” and I began to run toward the front door.

When I hit the door with my shoulder, a cacophony of small arms fire, assault rifles, mostly, was building to a crescendo similar to that at the climax of a holiday fireworks display. Bullets were whistling, smashing glass, tearing into metal vehicles, skipping off the asphalt pavement.

Leon was lying in the fetal position on the asphalt about thirty feet outside the door. I made my way to him quickly while the firefight raged around me. I pulled him up close under the SUV and looked at his flak jacket. There was a tear, but no blood, and upon further inspection, the ceramic tile backed by Kevlar had held. Leon had been hit by a high-powered round. He’d be in a lot of pain, but he was alive and would be okay. He moaned and opened his eyes.

“Damn,” he said. “Damn. Some son of a bitch broke my ribs, brother.”

I pulled him closer to shield him further from the bullets that were still whizzing, albeit more infrequently.

“Where the hell is your weapon?” I said.

“It’s on the seat.”

The gunfire was beginning to slow. I stuck my head up and looked around. Police officers were advancing on vehicles on both ends of the parking lot. The vehicles had been shot full of holes. I could see bodies lying in pools of blood. There were men writhing and screaming. It reminded me of a time many years ago on Grenada when my Ranger battalion jumped onto Point Salines airstrip. It was a time I didn’t want to think about.

“It’s almost over, Leon,” I said. “Your guys have them. Their vehicles are too damaged to move. Nobody’s getting away.”

“I tried to stop it,” Leon said. There was pain in his eyes. “I swear it, brother Dillard. I tried to stop it.”

“I’m sure you did. A lot of people tried to stop it. This isn’t your fault.”

“We’ve got a mass shooting in my county caused by a woman I got too close to. This is on me.”

“There’ll be plenty of room for blame later,” I said. “For now, let me see if we can’t get you on your feet. You’re the sheriff. Stand up and act like one.”

Leon smiled and looked at me with a sparkle in his eye. I could tell he was grateful I came out to help him.

“Don’t be giving me a hard time,” he said as I helped him to his feet. “Look at you. Who comes to a firefight in a damned suit and tie?”





THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17

I turned Leon over to the medics and went back inside. As I went through the front door, I looked back over my shoulder. It truly did resemble a military mop-up operation out in front of the courthouse. A helicopter had landed on the front lawn beyond the parking lot, there were medical personnel everywhere, blue lights flashing, police and dogs, and there was blood. A lot of blood.

I wondered whether everyone had gotten what they came for. Several men had apparently ridden in on a wave of hatred and adrenaline, inspired by events that didn’t concern them, determined only to kill either a policeman or someone with a different skin color. Several of them, it was obvious, had paid the ultimate price.

The bailiffs were beginning to release people from the courtroom. They were ordering them to proceed straight to their vehicles and to leave the courthouse immediately. That included the media. The media was told they could go across the street, drive up and down Highway 11-E, or observe from the shopping center across Tavern Hill Road. There would be a press conference later. Everyone else was told the best thing they could do was to get as far away from the courthouse as possible as quickly as possible.

I went back into the jury room. Jack and Charlie and the rest of the people I’d left ten minutes earlier were still there.

“The bailiff said you went running right into the middle of it,” Jack said. “He said you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Leon was hit,” I said. “I just went to make sure he was okay, and he is. I think it’s over, but let’s get out of here.”

The four of us—Charlie, Jack, Kevin and I—gathered our things and walked out of the jury room, down the hall, through the door, into the lobby, where we were met by Kevin’s parents and three other members of his family. Mr. Davidson shook my hand and thanked me.