Summer of the Guns Read online

  By then we’d reached the elevator, which was operated by an old, bent-over man who manipulated the brass control knob like he was driving a race car. The elevator creaked and groaned upward, moving so slowly that it seemed like hours before the doors opened again on the fourth floor.

  “Over there is the judge’s chambers,” said Captain Sykes as he led us out of the elevator toward a glass door that had black printing on it. “ROBERT E. KNAPP, JUDGE OF THE SUPERIOR COURT,” it read. Those words filled me with dread. I just knew he was going to do something terrible to us. I was glad Sara didn’t understand what was happening—at least I hoped she didn’t.

  Captain Sykes opened the door and we walked into a large, brown paneled room that seemed dark and threatening. A bald man wearing a tan suit sat behind a huge cluttered desk. He hardly looked up as he spoke. “Just take seats over there,” he said, pointing to some wooden chairs. When he finally stood up, I noticed that he was taller and skinnier than I’d thought. “Nice to see you, Charles,” he said to the Captain. “These must be Billie Jane and Sara Moran.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the Captain. “They’re good kids. Sara here can’t talk though—she’s deaf and dumb.”

  “She ain’t either,” I protested. “She’s just as smart as anyone. Mama said Sara can’t talk ‘cause she can’t hear. And my name is just Billie. I don’t go by the Jane part.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said the judge, his eyes taking on a kindly expression. “Of course I’ll call you Billie. And I know Sara’s smart. Probably smarter than the rest of us. That’s a pretty doll, too,” he added, referring to Raggedy Ann. “My granddaughter has one just like that.” He was trying hard to be friendly, but I still didn’t trust him.

  Just then the door opened again and two people entered—a bespectacled man in shirtsleeves, helping a young woman who appeared to be injured. In spite of her bandaged forehead and blackened eye, I could tell she was the woman we’d seen at the rest stop. Somehow she looked very pretty despite all her wounds.

  “Miss Atkins,” the judge said uncertainly, “you’ve made a fast recovery. I was surprised when your father called and said you’d be here. Frankly, I thought you’d still be in the hospital. But...” He hesitated when she failed to answer. “It’s good to have you up and around.”

  “It’s good just to be alive,” she answered. “Fortunately those bullets didn’t hit anything vital.” Before she could say anything else, another man burst through the door and filled the room with his giant presence. He had a droopy mustache that hid his lips. He looked like a sad walrus in his oversized white linen suit.

  “Governor Atkins!” the judge stammered. “We, uh, we...”

  “Yes, I know,” said the huge man, “you didn’t expect me to come along. It was Jessie’s idea. She’s lost her memory about the whole damn incident. She thought this might bring things back. I decided to come myself at the last minute in case she needs me.”

  Suddenly, Captain Sykes spoke up. “Jessie,” he started, “these are the perpetrator’s children, our only witnesses, I’m afraid.”

  The young woman wore a simple green dress that was sort of clingy. She looked around at Sara and me, then smiled brightly. “Hello,” she said as she looked at us. “I’m Jessie Atkins. I bet this has been as hard on you as it has been on me.”

  “Let’s all sit down,” said Judge Knapp. “You must be Dr. Kessler,” he said to the bespectacled man. “We met once, on the golf course at the Biltmore Hotel.” Dr. Kessler smiled as he extended his hand. The judge shook it limply. “We could all use your help about now,” said the judge. “This is a strange situation. I think your expertise as a psychiatrist will come in handy.” The doctor said nothing, almost like he was purposely ignoring the judge’s words.

  After everyone was seated, Judge Knapp spoke again. “I want to keep this as informal as possible. This is just a fact-finding session—nothing official at all. I think we all need to understand the facts better and hopefully help you get your memory back, too, Miss Atkins. In fact, right now I’m pretty confused myself.”

  He turned to Captain Sykes and spoke in a business-like tone of voice. “Captain, you’re the officer in charge of this case and you also were first on the scene after the crime had been committed. I want you to tell us what you remember.”

  The captain cleared his throat. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts as he sat there, spine erect under his brown uniform, his billed cap held stiffly on his lap. His boots were polished so bright they reflected the overhead lights. Somehow I couldn’t help looking at that big, blue-black pistol holstered on his side. When he started talking he sounded nervous, but his voice grew softer as he went along.

  “It was about five-thirty p.m. on Wednesday, June fourteenth,” he said slowly. “I was patrolling west of Wickenburg when I passed the ten mile rest stop, and there was no one in sight. About a half hour later, I decided to head back to the rest stop so I could pee...I mean, use the bathroom.” He cleared his throat again, looking around at the lady. Then he continued apologetically, “not that that was important, I mean, the bathroom.” He saw he was making things worse and hesitated again.

  “Well, move ahead,” Judge Knapp prompted him. “What happened next?”

  “When I got back to the rest stop, I saw a white Cord touring car—Jessie’s, I mean, Miss Atkins’ car—parked with the driver’s side door still open. I got out of my patrol car and walked over to it and that’s when I saw Miss Atkins laying there near the restroom. There was a colored man lying near her—Carl Moran. They were both unconscious and bleeding. I’d met him earlier up on Yarnell Hill where I gave him some gas. When I came on the scene of the crime, the girl, Billie, was standing over her father. The little girl was crying and Billie was sobbing, too.”

  I teared up a little as I listened to him.

  “It’s all right, Billie,” said the captain. “It’s all right to cry. I do it too, sometimes, and I’m a grown man.” Then he faced the judge again and went ahead with his story.

  “The first thing I did to make Miss Atkins more comfortable was placing my car seat pillow under her head. There was blood all over her head and her blouse so I figured she’d been shot twice. Then I checked her pulse, and I could hardly feel it. Of course, she was unconscious and beaten up pretty bad. Then I knelt down and checked the man’s pulse. I couldn’t find any at all so I assumed he was dead. I opened his right hand and I could smell gunpowder residue there. But I couldn’t see a gun anywhere.”

  He brushed his hand across his hair, then continued. “We found the gun in the brush nearby—it was a little twenty-two automatic. I learned later that Miss Atkins owned it.” Then he took a deep breath and apologized. “I’m getting ahead of my story so I’ll backtrack. Of course, I used my radio to call for help. I was out of range but I figured another patrol car would relay the message to Wickenburg. I asked for two ambulances because I didn’t think it would be proper to take Miss Atkins in the same one with the perpetrator.”

  “I can’t believe how lucky I was,” said the lady, as if changing the subject. She put her fingers on her bandaged forehead and bent her head slightly. “The police think I got the gun out to protect myself. I guess he wrestled it away from me after I shot him. Then he shot me, though I can’t remember any of it. But there’s something about it that doesn’t make sense. As badly as he was wounded, how did he manage to stand up and shoot me twice? And why would I not have run?”

  Then Dr. Kessler spoke again. “One of those bullets was fired from very close range. It glanced off her skull, causing a severe concussion.”

  “I’ve got my father to thank for that,” Miss Atkins interrupted, smiling. “I inherited his iron head.” Everybody looked over at Governor Atkins and chuckled. They got quiet, however, when he didn’t laugh back. Then the lady spoke again. “Strangely, though, I have no memory of the incident—none at all. The last thing I recall was thinking how hot it was getting as I drove into the valley.”

  “Wh
atever happened,” replied Dr. Kessler, “it must have been extremely traumatic. I’ve tried to regress Miss Atkins with hypnosis, but that part of her memory is completely blocked. We both thought that this hearing would help, but I have my doubts. She’s afflicted with a condition we call amnesia. It’s not uncommon after injuries to the brain.”

  “How likely is she to get her memory back?” asked the judge.

  Dr. Kessler cleared his throat before he continued. “It may take months. In fact, many people never get their memory back at all after a terrifying event like this. But that’s not all I’m worried about. She’s had some minor seizures since the incident. We call them petit mal seizures. Almost unnoticeable to her. A few moments of confusion and slurred speech. Sometimes, however, such seizures can become grand mals. Bigger seizures, in other words. Seizures that can lead to temporary unconsciousness. The Greeks called it epilepsis. We moderns call it ‘epilepsy.’”

  “I see,” said the judge. “Is that your full report, doctor?”

  “It is, Judge Knapp, at least for the time being. I’m still hopeful Jessie will regain her memory and that the seizures will diminish and finally go away. But we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Then the judge looked at Captain Sykes. “Please, go ahead with your report, Captain,” he said. The captain wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t about what happened.

  “It’s getting hot in here, Judge. Why don’t you turn on the cooler?” he complained.

  “I hate that noisy thing,” the judge answered apologetically.

  “I second the captain’s suggestion,” interjected Miss Atkins. “It’s so hot in here that I’m beginning to feel faint.” The judge obligingly moved across to the window where a big, four-blade fan sat inert behind a wire screen. He switched it on, then twisted what looked like a water faucet knob. The room quickly cooled down but the papers in the judge’s desk began to rustle and fly onto the floor. Governor Atkins reached over and helped pick them up, handing them back to the judge one at a time. Judge Knapp shuffled through them carefully until he found one he wanted. There was a roaring fan noise now, forcing the captain to almost shout when he started again.

  “Anyway,” he resumed, “I couldn’t do anything for Miss Atkins. Frankly, I thought she was dying. I noticed that her purse was beside her and there was some money scattered around—about $20.”

  “Wait right there,” the judge interrupted. “Before you go on, I’d like to hear what this girl, Billie Jane, has to say. I understand there are some contradictions here.”

  “There are,” said Captain Sykes emphatically. He looked straight at me with an expression like he thought I was going to lie again. Of course, I had lied about the gun, and I’d have lied more if I thought it would help Papa.

  Before I could speak, the judge lifted the paper he was holding and waved it in front of him. “I just got these fingerprint results this morning,” he said. “It seems that little automatic the police found in the brush out there had four sets of fingerprints—those of Miss Atkins, Captain Sykes, Carl Moran, and yours, Billie.” He looked at me accusingly. “There’s no point in lying. That won’t help your father. Just tell the truth and everything will be fine.”

  That was a lie in itself, I thought. I was silent for a moment as I considered what to say. Finally I decided to tell the truth. I didn’t have much choice in the matter. They knew I had handled the gun. Still, I wanted to delay telling about it as long as I could.

  “I’d better start at the beginning—back in Arkansas,” I said. I spoke slowly and carefully, trying to sound adult. “After our mother died, we had to live with her aunts. We were ecstatic when our dad came after us. Of course, we didn’t know then that he had escaped from prison. We were heading for California.”

  “We don’t want that part,” the judge interrupted, “we just want what happened at the rest stop here in Arizona.”

  “Then I’ll start where we ran out of gas past that rest stop,” I resumed, trying to recall the details. “Like I told Captain Sykes, we’d seen a Model A Ford and two boys back there and my dad decided to ask ‘em for help. After Papa left carrying his gas can, we just waited. Then we saw a pretty white car come by with a lady driving, but she didn’t see us. We didn’t have a clock but we guessed an hour or so had gone by. Then, later on, that Model A roadster we’d seen at the rest stop came roaring by. The two guys inside both looked right at us and they screeched to a stop. I got scared and we hid, but they came after us, talkin’ about us bein’ able to identify them. One of ‘em had a gun. Then the other one said they didn’t have time to look for us. After they drove on, I made a decision: ‘Let’s go find Papa.’ I yelled. I motioned to Sara with the sign for ‘go’ we’d made up between us. She was already movin’ though, headin’ back toward the rest stop. Sara was as worried about Papa as I was. It was a hard walk back to the rest stop and we were tired when we got there. Sara tore her dress on a mesquite bush, too. I didn’t see how things could get worse. But they did.”

  I got quiet after that. “Go on,” said Judge Knapp.

  “Well, it was like Captain Sykes said. When we got to the rest stop, we found Papa and the lady both layin’ there all bloody. Sara started to cry and I pushed her back, but she ran to Papa anyway and lifted up his head. I was sure he was dead.”

  “And where was the gun?” the judge urged. “Where was the little automatic pistol?”

  “In his hand,” I said, almost under my breath. “It was in his hand. I took it out and threw it in the brush ‘cause I didn’t want my dad found that way.”

  The judge stood up and so did the governor. The lady stood up, too. Then she walked over close so I could smell her perfume. There was a whiff of alcohol on her breath, too. “You did very well, Billie,” she said. “But tell us more about that other car and the men inside it. I wish I could remember anything, but I can’t. You’ll have to remember for me.”

  I was glad she believed me, but I couldn’t tell her much beyond the make and color of the car—a blue Ford Model A roadster. “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t remember much else except they were both young—maybe sixteen or seventeen. When we first seen ‘em at the rest stop, before all this happened, they were waitin’ for somebody. We heard ‘em arguin’ in the toilet about it, but we left then. I could identify them if I saw them again.”

  “What did I say about lying now, Billie?” the Judge reprimanded me. “Don’t make up stories—that won’t help.”

  “But I did see them,” I protested.

  Then Captain Sykes spoke up. “Well, I didn’t see a Model A or any other car,” he said, “at least, not until I went back to the rest stop and found Jessie’s car.”

  “Wait just a moment.” The lady furrowed her brows as she looked at him. “If you were patrolling west of the rest stop, I’d have passed you going the other way. I never saw you at all.” Then she got a confused look on her face. “But I suppose I wouldn’t remember. I guess you could have passed me. It’s all a blank after I came into the valley. Oh, God, I hate this.” Then she sat down again, putting her hand over her face like she was embarrassed.

  “Give it time,” said Dr. Kessler. “Just give it time.” I saw a worried look flash across Captain Sykes’ face but I couldn’t understand why. “Is that all there is for today?” he asked the judge. “I’m on duty. Saturday night always keeps me busy with drunk drivers and accidents. I need to get going if I’m gonna make it home for dinner.”

  “We’re almost finished here,” the judge answered, “except for one thing. The governor and his daughter are going to stop by the county hospital briefly. I’ve been told that Carl Moran’s still unconscious. It might help Miss Atkins to remember if she sees him face-to-face.” He hesitated, then looked at me. “I want you children to go, too,” he added, “you deserve to see your daddy.”

  I was relieved to hear that Papa was alive. The judge fussed with his papers, then spoke apologetically. “I realize this is all
out of the usual order as things go, but these are special circumstances.” Governor Atkins looked at the judge and nodded. I figured he was calling the shots. Everyone got up then and moved toward the door. Before he got there, the judge stopped and turned back to Captain Sykes.

  “I hear that you and your wife have agreed to care for these children until we can find proper placement for them. I suppose I’ll agree to it even though it’s a little unusual. It’s hard to get temporary placements for mixed race children. We all thank you for it. They don’t belong in that detention center.”

  “Well, our boys are gone now,” said Captain Sykes as he looked me up and down and patted my shoulder. “We’ve got an application in to take foster children. My wife Vergie loves kids, you know.” I was glad that we were going home with him, though it surprised me that he’d take us.

  When I looked up at the judge, he had a frown on his face. “Your boy, Tom, has a bad record, Charlie. I guess you know that better than I do.”

  “Yeah, I do,” answered the captain. “Like I said, he’s got a job and his own apartment. I’d be happy if he never comes back here.”

  3

  The sun was still high when we got to the parking lot. Captain Sykes herded us into the car and settled behind the wheel, smiling back at us reassuringly. As best I could, I explained to Sara that we were going home with him.

  We turned west at a sign that said “Washington Street”—I knew it was west because the sun was moving that way. Across from the courthouse was a big brownstone building with a sign that said “First National Bank—Since 1885.” Next to it was a movie theater called “The Strand” with its marquee proclaiming “John Wayne in Riders of the Dawn.” Then we came to a yellow and green streetcar taking on passengers at a corner where a big ramshackle building stood. The captain told us this was the old Ford Hotel—Governor Atkins’ favorite hangout. It was seven stories high and had huge covered porches all around it on every floor. On the sidewalk, I could see Indian women in bright colored clothes sitting with their rugs and jewelry. I’d never seen Indians up close before. I couldn’t take my eyes off of their red and purple costumes. They wore big silver buckles and lots of turquoise jewelry.