Chapter 1

 

My name is Cody Ridges and I remember the day I first came to Boxwood.  It was spring and everything was beautiful and in full bloom but I was as low as a wart on a snake's belly.  Why was I in that little town?  The simple truth is, I screwed-up…literally.

I picked up a beautiful woman in a bar and she took me home with her.  We were getting mighty friendly when her husband walked in the bedroom.  I think we recognized each other about the same time.

“Ridges, you son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“Chief!”  I stammered.  He wasn’t my boss, he was my boss’ boss and I knew I was in deep trouble.  I tried to explain that I didn’t know she was married and I damned sure didn’t know she was married to him.  While it was true, it sounded lame even to me.

He was holding a pistol in his hand as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to use it or not.  Maybe he didn’t know which of us to shoot.  I used his hesitation and I beat-feet out of there and it wasn’t at all dignified.  I didn’t really care about dignity right at that moment.

Two days later my boss, the chief of detectives, called me into his office.  He didn’t seem to be as pissed-off as I would have thought.

“Cody,” he said after motioning for me to sit.  “Cody, Cody, Cody.  I knew your pecker would get you into trouble sooner or later, but the Deputy Chief’s wife?  What the hell were you thinking?”

“I found her in a bar, boss,” I said.  “She didn’t mention having a husband.  How was I supposed to know?”

“The deputy chief is demanding your head, Cody,” he said.  “He is prepared to fight the union and the civil service board if necessary.  Frankly it’s a fight you can’t win even if you do win, if you get my drift.”  I did get his drift.  My reputation and my effectiveness were shot all to hell even if I couldn’t be fired.

We both sat silently and contemplated the seriousness of my dilemma.  I knew the brass, including my boss, would rally around the deputy chief.  If I got any assignments they would all be crap stuff.  More than likely I would be filing papers and counting paper clips until I was old and gray.

“Cody, do you know where Boxwood is?” the chief asked me after the contemplation was finished.  I told him it was somewhere down state.  “That’s right, Cody.  The newly elected sheriff of Boxwood County is an old friend of mine.  He needs an investigator.  My advice is to apply for the job and get the hell out of Capitol City.  Maybe things will cool off and you can come back sometime in the future.”

Boxwood is a smallish town twenty-two miles south-east of Capitol City.  Its revenue comes mostly from property taxes the Capitol City residents were more than glad to pay to live there.  The completion of the interstate highway a few years earlier open Boxwood  County and the City of Boxwood  to the city dwellers who longed to breath air that hadn’t been breathed before.  I suspect the much lower property prices and taxes had a lot to do with the migration.

The drive from Cap City to Boxwood took about fifteen minutes unless you were a crazy driver.  The surge of new citizens cause a problem because where you have people, you have trouble.  That’s why I came to Boxwood.  "When they smell trouble; they call for Ridges".  (I love that line even if it is corny and it sounds better than "I got ran out of Cap City with my tail between my legs.")

I graduated from college with a degree that would normally be worthless to anyone except the U.S. Army.  The Pentagon doesn’t really care what you pretended to study.  They wanted college graduates of any kind to lead the enlisted rabble.  Of course they didn't put it exactly that way.

I signed up and soon found myself in a military police company.  I was surprised to discover that I loved the job.  The military police, just like the civilian counterpart, is charged with enforcing the rules and keeping the peace.  A certain percentage of people do not like to obey the rules and don't like peace.  It's been said that five percent of the people cause ninety percent of the trouble.

I spent six years in the military and decided I might like civilian life better.  After knocking around doing first one job then another I went back to enforcing the rules.  I worked for the Cap City police for five years and became their foremost investigator.  Okay, that “foremost” thing is my own assessment.

Having brought law and order to Cap City I was ready to move on with my life.  It helps me to think the move was my idea.

When I went for my interview with the sheriff, I was on my best behavior and even wore a tie and a jacket.  Apparently, I did well for soon I was notified to come on down to Boxwood and get to work.  It took me almost as long to pack and leave as it did to drive the twenty-two miles to Boxwood.

I had been close to Boxwood a few times but never actually inside the city limits.  The town was built around a square like many older towns.  The sign at the city limits proclaimed Boxwood was settled in seventeen eighty-one so I guess that qualified it an older town.  I discovered the county and the city were named in honor or a man named Boxwood and not an ornamental plant as I had supposed.

The courthouse sits on all of one side of the square.  The sheriff’s annex, which looked new, was built onto the back of the courthouse.  I found a place to park that was assigned to visitors and went in.

Inside I found a waiting room with a few citizens waiting on something.  I went to the closed glass window and waited for about three minutes before I pecked on the glass.

A scruffy looking man in a rumpled deputy’s uniform came, opened the window, snarled, and told me to take a seat and someone would get around to me sooner or later.  I stopped the window from closing and told the thing inside I was expected and I needed to see the sheriff.

“He’s busy, asshole,” the man said.  “Sit your ass down.”  He should not have called me an asshole.

I got a good grip on his hair, which was too long anyway and pulled him through the window.  He squealed like a stuck hog and squealed even louder when he hit the waiting room floor.  After thrashing around on the dirty floor for a few moments he grabbed for his weapon.  The only problem was he wasn’t wearing one.  His gun belt was lying on the desk inside.

While the deputy was trying to figure out what to do next, the door opened and a stocky man emerged.  It was Sheriff Toby Hanson.  He stood quietly, looking down at his deputy.

“Silas, meet our new Chief of Detectives, Cody Ridges,” the sheriff said to the man.  “That carries the rank of Capitan and he out-ranks you by a long ways.  Maybe you should dust yourself off and get back in your cubbyhole.”

“Can’t,” the man called Silas said getting to his feet and glaring at me.  “It’s lock from inside, Sheriff.”

“Well, that brings up a couple of things, doesn’t it?  One, why are you not wearing your leather?  Did you not read the memo I sent out a month ago?  I said if you were in uniform you would be in full uniform and that includes wearing your equipment.  Two, didn’t I tell you just a few days ago that you would always have the key to your door in your pocket or on your belt?  Yes I did, Silas.  I told you that right after you were locked out for the third time.  Climb back in the same way you came out.  Come on with me, Cody.”  He wheeled and I followed him through the door.

“I would like to say that Silas is not typical of my deputies.  I would like to say that but I’m not that big of a liar,” the sheriff said seriously and sadly.  “He’s a moron surrounded by a collection of morons.  My department is exactly the same size it was ten years ago.  The deputy's pay is the same as it was ten years ago.  I have twelve cars assigned to the department.  Two of them don’t run at all.  Two others are on their last legs and should be put out of their misery.”  He shook his head and sighed.

“It sure looks like a prosperous county and city,” I said.

“It is,” he said.  “The county commission increased property tax several times so there is plenty of money.  The problem is none of it gets to the sheriff’s department.  None of those old fogies seem to realize that everything has grown in this county including crime.”

“Is the city police department any better off?”

“The city police department is a joke.  A chief of police, some kids, and two old RIP officers,” he said with a snort.  I asked him and he explained that the RIP stood for Retired in Place.  "The county commission doesn’t get it.  Crime is up in every category and yet they hold to the money as if it were theirs.”

“Sounds like you should sue them for more money,” I said.  My off-the-cuff remark caused him to look at me as if I had said something important.

“Maybe I should at that,” he said.  “Come on, let’s get you sworn in and get you a tour of the facilities.”  He got to his feet much more spryly that a man of his bulk should be able to do.

It didn’t take long for me to be sworn in as a deputy sheriff and accept the gold badge of an investigator.  The tour of the annex took longer

My assumption that the annex was new was right.  The sheriff told me that the previous sheriff applied for some federal funds thinking he could put some in his pocket.  He had been wrong.  The feds were too smart just to hand over the cash.  They paid a contractor directly.

“This jail has the capability of holding three hundred inmates,” the sheriff told me pointing to the mostly empty cells.  “It’s probably a good thing that no one is being arrested because I’m short on detention officers, cooks, and cleaners.”  He pointed out the state-of-the-art booking station and jail offices. “Come on and I’ll show you where your office is located.”

On the way to my office, he handed me building keys, ID card to go in my badge case, a holstered nine millimeter weapon, and a set of car keys.  Everything except the ID card was used.

“What kind of car do you drive?” the sheriff asked after showing me to a large office space with one beat-up and scared desk.  I told him I drove a nearly new Ford Explorer.  I bought the vehicle foolishly thinking I would have a job where I could afford the payments.  Forty-six more payments and it would be all mine.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Sheriff Hanson said.  “You take your car to the county garage and have them install hidden emergency lights and siren and a radio.  You drive your car for work and I’ll make the payments for you.  I’ll also make sure it’s insured and maintained.  You fill up the gas tank at the county garage.  What do you say?”

I loved my nearly new SUV and the sheriff was offering a way for me to keep it.  Coming to Boxwood I had to take a severe cut in pay.  I resisted the urge to hug him and simply told him his offer was acceptable.