Joel wanted to word his query carefully, so he hesitated for a moment. This did nothing to gain Joaquin’s trust. He believed that people who told the truth didn’t need to think about what they were going to say, and he didn’t trust lawyers, anyway. It had been a lawyer, Joaquin thought, who had ruined his chances to play in the NFL.
“I’m Joel Steadman, and I’m a lawyer who works for the county’s Public Defender’s Office-” Joel began, but Joaquin cut him off.
“I don’t need no lawyer, and certainly not one who works fo’ the government. Now, quit waistin’ my time and…” Joaquin’s voice trailed off as a sheriff’s department’s car pulled up.
“Joaquin, I need a word,” the deputy was all business, which baffled Joaquin. He was usually very friendly when he stopped by to have a cup of coffee with the Paynes or their hands.
“What’s goin’ on, Don?” Juaquin showed his confusion to deputy sheriff Don Wilkerson. Deputy Wikerson wasn’t anxious to do what he’d been asked to do. He knew Joaquin well, and he knew that the large man had a bad temper. However, Don had been doing his job for twenty-five years, and he was one of the most reliable deputies in the county. It was just bad luck, he told himself, that he’d been asked to patrol the area by the Payne Ranch that day, but he knew better. The high sheriff was running for re-election, and he surmised that it would be a good idea to keep his best deputy close to the place where the most interesting case in the county was unfolding. Don Wilkerson may be able to discourage some locals, as well as some reporters from Houston from sticking their noses where they didn’t belong was High Sheriff James Robert Thomas’ reasoning. That would help keep the quiet town peaceful, and increase the high sheriff’s chances of being re-elected.
“Joaquin, I need to talk to you,” Don had one hand on his pistol, but it was unnecessary. Joaquin was so distraught over the situation that he looked as if he wanted to cry.
“First, a lawyer who came to see Ms. Judith says he needs ta talk ta me, and then you do the same thing. Don, am I in some type o’ trouble that I ain’t aware of? I mean, am I under arrest? Is Sheriff Jim Bob ticked at me for somethin’ I did that I don’ remember ‘cause I’s too drunk ta remember it?”
“No, Joaquin, you aren’t under arrest…yet. You are a person of interest in the matter of the murder of Jim Payne, so don’t leave the county-”
“Murder!! I thought that the d.a.’s office was just tryin’ ta make themselves look decent by scarin’ Ms. Judith. I figured when the election was over, this would all blow over. But, what makes you think that I had anything ta do wit’ Mr. Jim’s death?”
“Well, you did want to be a vet, before your grandpa died and you had to come back and run the family ranch. You came to work here, and Mr. Payne asked you to vaccinate his cattle and other livestock because of your background.” Don stopped, because Joaquin was getting more and more confused, so he cut to the chase.
“What killed Jim Pyane wasn’t an overdose of morphine, but an air bubble that went to his brain. It was injected into his carotid artery with an empty syringe and a small gauge needle. The smallest ones you use to vaccinate calves and foals is an 18 ½ guage x 1 1/2” needle. I know this because that’s what I use on my young livestock. That size needle would have done the trick quickly. I know how your abuelo died, and that makes you look suspicious.” Don tightened the grip on his gun before he continued.
“Both your abuelo and Jim Payne died the same way, and there were size thirteen EEEE boot prints in the room where each person died. You worked for both men, and, well, I know why you didn’t go pro, Joaquin. You gotta admit, the evidence is pretty strong.”
“I ain’t killed nobody, but even if I did, it was mercy, not murder in both cases. My abuelo was sick for a long time like Mr. Jim, and they were both sufferrin’ a whole lot. If’n a horse or a cow is down wit’ a broke leg or somethin’ else that we figir it can’t recover from, we just put the animal out of its misery. But humans, we gotta suffer until nature or the Lord, or whichever deity you believe in decides it’s yo’ time ta go. It ain’t right, if ya ask me.” Joaquin then turned to Joel.
“It looks like I’ll be needin yo’s services, sir. I ain’t got much money, and lawyers and cops speak the same language, ‘Lie through yo’ teeth an’ then lie some mo’.’ I ain’t got it in me ta defend myself against that, and it looks like the cops already done made up their minds.”
Joel and Joaquin then went into the barn and began to talk in the room that Joaquin lived in. It was clean and air conditioned, and Joel was thankful for that. Even in late October, the heat can be stifling some days in Southeast Texas. Today was one of those days.
When Joel left, Joaquin took a shower and popped open the first of several beers. It took a while and more than a few beers for the large man to become inebriated because he was a large man with a high tolerance to alcohol. When he fell asleep, though, he could only dream about the possibility of being tried for and convicted of the murder of his emplyer. He also wondered if The State would try to convict him of murderinghis abuelo. He shuddered at the consequences that a guilty verdict would bring him.
C.: Well, I must stop here, because, well, I’m tired of reading. I’m a cat, so I need a minimum of twenty hours of sleep per day, and, it’s National Freedom Day, so I’m going to free myself to go to sleep. I’ll continue and maybe finish d.c. scot’s shortstory “Mercy or Murder?” tomorrow. You can read along if you’d like, right here on Cal.E.’s Korner.
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