“Stop. Stop. Stop.” Her terrified voice could be heard in the video. She had her baton raised, much like Ned had his fist raised moments ago in the other video.
“What is this?” Her voice cracked.
“Someone took a video with their cell phone.”
She stared at the screen as if watching someone else. A million memories from that day assaulted her, but this particular one escaped her. As she approached, Ned dragged the man behind his patrol car. This was when her dash cam lost coverage. But this video caught more, like a second camera on a movie set. This time Becky could be seen marching toward where the two men had disappeared.
The sheriff stopped the video and pointed to a part with the tip of his pen. “What are you doing here?”
“Um—” she stared at the computer screen until it went blurry “—I’m raising my baton.”
“What did you do with your baton?” The sheriff moved the pen away from the screen and covered the mouse with the palm of his hand. He clicked on Play. On the video, she was commanding that they stop.
Who? Her fellow officer? The man getting beat?
She blinked rapidly. “I needed to help...” The next word got caught in her throat. Did she need to help Ned? Her fellow officer? Or had she been determined to save the young Amish man?
“Who were you going to help, Deputy Spoth?” He hit Pause again.
Becky sat ramrod straight on the edge of her seat and squared her shoulders. She had the answer. The question was easy, right? “I had to stop the fight. I had to get the driver safely into custody and away from Deputy Reich. The situation had turned out of control.”
“Would you say you’d do whatever it took to stop the fight?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.” She flinched, then turned to stare at the screen, her digital form frozen with an anguished expression on her face. Becky may have been fairly naive because of her upbringing, but she studied people, knew how to respond. She was a quick learner and she wasn’t going to allow the sheriff to get her to say something that could jeopardize her career.
The sheriff clicked Play. Video Becky walked authoritatively toward Reich’s patrol car. She could be seen with her baton raised. To hit someone? Then she saw nothing.
On the video, someone muttered and then gravel came into view as the person took off running through what looked to be cornfields while still recording on their phone. Then the video came to a quick stop and the screen went black.
“I don’t understand.” A hot flush of dread blanketed her skin.
The sheriff sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. It groaned under his weight. “This video was submitted to Deputy Reich’s lawyer.”
“Who?” The single word came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Who turned it in? Why not turn it in to the department?”
“We’re working on that. The lawyer said it was from an anonymous source. The witness claims you hit Elijah Lapp on the head with your baton, thus ending the fight and potentially leading to the young Amish man’s cracked skull.”
Cold dread washed over her and she thought she was going to be sick. “Wait...what? No. That’s not...” The memories of that day were disjointed, but she didn’t hit Elijah. No way.
“Deputy Spoth,” the sheriff said in a soothing voice, but she was having none of it.
“This is all a misunderstanding. I didn’t hit anyone with my baton. I used it to pry the men apart. That’s why I had the baton out.” It was all coming back to her now in a flood of formerly suppressed memories. Or was she grasping for the truth? Was she confused? Had she done something regrettable in the heat of the moment? She blinked slowly. The walls of the room closed in on her. She tugged on her collar. “You can ask Ned.” As soon as the words spilled from her lips, she realized the futility of it. Why would Ned help her after she testified against him? Cost him his job? She looked up and met the sheriff’s even gaze and knew she didn’t stand a chance to talk her way out of this.
“Ned’s lawyer insists that you landed the final blow that cracked Elijah Lapp’s skull. Ned’s lawyer provided the video.”
“But...”
“Reich’s been with the sheriff’s department for twenty-five years.” The sheriff glanced at the closed door behind her, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Between you and me, he’s a hothead, but he’s never gone this far.”
“We can interview Elijah.” Becky leaned forward on the edge of her chair, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.
“Elijah has no memory of the incident.” The sheriff’s calm, cool demeanor only served to morph her initial fear to white-hot anger. “He’s recovering at home and his family isn’t allowing anyone from the sheriff’s department to speak with him.”
“I can’t believe this.”
The sheriff held up his hand. “I don’t believe you hit the young man.”
Hope straightened Becky’s backbone, only for her to be immediately deflated with the sheriff’s next words. “Despite what I think, I can’t ignore this video. I ran for sheriff on the pledge that this office would be transparent and not allow any wrongdoing. This community has a reason to mistrust the sheriff’s department after one of our own was arrested for murder.”
Becky grew dizzy. “That was so long ago.”
“But the perception that the sheriff’s department protected him has hurt us.” The sheriff shook his head. “We must regain the trust of the community.”
“But—” Her world was sputtering out of control.
“Until we can clear you, you’re suspended.”
Becky stood to leave when the sheriff held out his hand.
“I’ll need your gun and badge.”
* * *
Deputy Harrison James climbed behind the wheel of his patrol car and turned the key in the ignition. He took a minute to adjust the AC vents, directing them toward his face. It was going to be a scorcher today. But hot in the country was never the same as hot in the city.
Fighting crime in the city was a whole new ballgame when the temperatures rose. Tempers spiked in direct proportion. And the concrete buildings held the heat. Here, the soft wind had a chance to reach a person across the large open spaces giving him time to think before he threw a punch or pulled the trigger.
Most of the time.
He thought about the deputy he had chatted with on his way into the building at the start of his shift. He wondered if her shell-shocked expression was a result of being run off the road or if the tight lines around her eyes were the aftereffects of the incident splashed all over the news. It was probably a combination of the two.
Harrison knew what it was like to have personal business laid out for public consumption. That was a big part of why he had taken a job with the sheriff’s department in Quail Hollow. He never thought the small-town sheriff’s department would be dealing with a case of excessive force. But he supposed people were people and bad decisions could happen anywhere. He had come here to get his head on straight and he hoped he could keep his distance from any interoffice drama. He wanted to do his job and go home at night with a clear conscience.
Such as it was. He carried a lot of guilt with him regardless.
As Harrison pulled out of the back lot of the sheriff’s department, he noticed Deputy Spoth