Wednesday 7 October 2020

LAKE FRANCIS V

Driscoll drove straight home. It was late and he couldn’t think of anything else he could do at the time. Charlie Scheels’ rifle that Stan had so willingly turned over for the lab to check out, had fired the bullet that blew the front tire of the car, no doubt causing the driver to lose control and crash into the lake where he subsequently drowned. That made it a case of murder. It could be argued many ways in court but Driscoll’s hands would be tied. The prime suspect would be anyone who had access to that rifle. It could’ve been Charlie’s brother, Stan’s Uncle Artie, but what would the motive be? That left Stan. It happened before he and Wendy were even dating. The only thing that bothered the sheriff was that the motive was still weak. But for the time being, Stan was a suspect and could only be treated as such. Driscoll decided to give it a couple of days so he could check into it further.

This was one of those times when Driscoll hated his job. 

A new day found Driscoll at his desk at the office. It was fairly routine, mostly reviewing some notices of wanted people, who were several states away. Hinkley was running the front desk today, giving Larson a chance to go out on patrol. He had two rookies out on patrol too. Five officers to staff a county sheriff’s department that normally ran eight. But so far there wasn’t a lot of trouble; the worst thing was the state enforcing a vehicle emission law regarding diesel trucks that the owners had chipped so high that they poured black smoke out of their tailpipes—they called it ‘rolling coal.’ First one busted was the son of the county commissioner. Driscoll wanted a full staff but as much as that, he just wanted to call it quits and turn the job over to someone else.

It was back a few years now, when he allowed himself to get talked into this job. He’d managed to get the staff up to speed and things went well. Then things went south. Scheffer moved over to Flathead County to run for sheriff there; Davis went into the border patrol; Jessop had retired, only to become incapacitated from a stroke less than a year later.

The door opened and footsteps could be heard. A typical curt greeting from Hinkely and the visitors headed for Driscoll’s office. First one through the door was Stan Scheels, who was followed by Munson Beals, a very sharp attorney, whose services had been retained by Driscoll, himself, not very long ago.

“So, what’s happening, Mooney?” Driscoll asked although he was sure what the answer was.

“My client wishes to make a statement,” the lawyer said.

“What about?” Again Driscoll knew the answer but there was a protocol.

“I’m the one who shot at Jacob Weiss’ car back in 1972,” Stan said. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all the night before.

Mark leaned forward. “Are you sure you want to own up to that?” he asked. “You know that there haven’t been any charges drawn up yet.”

“I’ve lived with it since high school.”

Driscoll glanced at Mooney and got the nod of assent. “OK,” he said, then raised his voice to get Hinkley’s attention. “Hey Gator, can you get these guys set up in the interview room?”

Hinkley promptly gathered up the video camera and carried it into the special room with the one-way glass and set the equipment up. Mooney and Scheels followed. Driscoll entered the room and closed the door. After everyone was seated, Driscoll started the camera, introduced himself, then getting it on record that this concerned the car with the body of Jacob Weiss that was found at the bottom of Francis Lake. He then introduced Stanley Madison Scheels, and got it on record that Stan had come in, voluntarily with his attorney. He then turned the mike around toward Stan so he could begin his statement.

“It was June 22nd, 1972. We had graduated high school a week before and a bunch of us were partying it up at the ‘HooDoos,’ between Sunburst and Sweetgrass. Jacob Weiss was there with Becky Clark. He was drunk and mean as a snake; he treated her like crap. Jacob used to date Wendy Peterson, as she was known back then. Wendy came to the party and told Jacob that she was carrying his baby. Jacob got violent with her and threw her on the ground—told her to get an abortion.

“I always liked Wendy and thought Jacob had gone way too far. We got into a fistfight and then Jacob grabbed Becky and took off.”

“Did Becky resist?”

“She begged everyone else to give her a ride. Terry Barnes was there and I thought she was going to get a ride with him. Next thing any of us knew, Jacob and Becky took off.

“I’d just had my dad’s guns appraised and they were in the truck. I was drunk and in a blind rage but I didn’t think about pulling a gun on him; none of us did. I just wanted to have it out, hand to hand, with Jacob and stomp him into a bloody mess, so I followed him, all the way to Choteau. They pulled up to the Circle K and then Becky got out and took off. I watched Jacob drive off, looking for her. I decided to forget about it all and headed for home; I was leaving for Camp Pendleton in a couple of days but as I was driving home I got to thinking about Jacob again and decided that this was going to end; he wasn’t going to do this to another woman again. So I headed to the lake and parked over by the tavern. It was closed for the night and everything was dark. I took Dad’s rifle and hid behind the berm.

“I dozed off and almost missed him but I heard the blast of his open headers. I saw him come around the corner, way too fast, and I aimed and fired.”

“Where did you hit him?” Driscoll asked carefully.

“The first shot hit the tire; I don’t know where the other one went.”

“Just two shots?”

“I think so; I was still really drunk.”

“So what happened after that?” Driscoll asked reasonably.

“The car went straight off the road, down the boat launch and into the lake; it went out a couple hundred yards then went under, pretty fast.

“I just stood there, I don’t remember how long, then I got into the truck and took the backroads to Cutbank then back home through Galahad and Devon.”

“What did you do with your dad’s guns?”

“I just took them all and put them away. Next morning, I cleaned the M-1 then packed my bags and got ready to ship out.”

“Did you intend to kill Weiss?”

“Hell no! I just wanted to scare him.”

The interview ended shortly after that. Stan Scheels was formally charged with Second Degree Murder and placed under arrest. He appeared in court to answer the charges and was released on bail, pending a hearing and resulting trial. The likelihood of Stan spending much time behind bars, although up to the judge, was fairly slim. Stan was a well-respected man in the community; he showed remorse but his record since had been nothing short of stellar. He had honorably served his country, then come home to run a successful ranching operation and raise a good family. It could be reasonably proven that none of the shots fired had hit Weiss. Witnesses had come forward to corroborate that Weiss was intoxicated and agitated the night he was last seen. Still, shots had been fired and Weiss had lost control of his car; Stan could be facing some severe penalties. Hopefully, the judge would show some mercy.

Sheriff Driscoll was putting the last of the reports into a file when Deputy Larson entered his office. “Cased closed yet?” she asked.

Driscoll shook his head. “Well, our end of it is pretty well done; it’s up to Scheels and the judge.”

Larson detected a hesitation in the sheriff’s tone. “Something tells me you’re not satisfied,” she observed.

“No, I’m not.” Driscoll picked up the printed copy of the statement the Stan had given, then he looked at his service record. Then he looked at the statement again. Then he re-read the statement from former cashier at the Circle K. He checked the dates, then he dropped them back on the desk and stood up.

“Dammit!” he shouted as he punched the wall, leaving a large indentation in the sheet-rock.

“What’s wrong, sheriff?”

Mark donned his official baseball cap and headed for the door. “The dates don’t match; he was already deployed!” He paused for a moment. “Get your gun, and come with me.”

Dusk was gathering when the sheriff’s Yukon pulled into the yard of the Scheels ranch. Driscoll stopped the SUV in front of the gate to the house and got out. Stan was already out the front door of the house and was halfway across the yard when the sheriff got out.

“What can I do for you now?” Scheels asked. Then he saw the look on Driscoll’s face. Stan shook his head. “No, Sheriff, please don’t—”

“I have to; I haven’t got a choice; if I don’t, someone else will.”

“Come on, Mark, one marine to another—please—Wendy’s got cancer for God’s sake.”

Driscoll stopped abruptly. He gazed at Stan. He could see that his friend was desperate. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. But Stan, I’ve still got to do this.”

“No!” Stan’s pleading voice was almost a wail. “There’s got to be a way around this.”

“It’s Okay!” Wendy’s voice interrupted from behind. “Stan, I’ve lived with this—we’ve lived with this—for over forty years.” She turned to the sheriff. “I was pregnant; I was carrying Jacob’s baby. He told me to get lost—have an abortion—then he tossed me aside and started tomcatting around with that Becky Clark from Choteau. I was so messed up; I just wanted to make him suffer—feel the pain. I knew where the rifle was, so I drove out to the ranch, got the rifle, and followed Jacob.

“I just waited beside the berm, just like Stan’s mother told me she did all those years before. I saw that car—I knew the sound of that motor—it came around the bend and I just lost it; I emptied the gun! I watched him drive straight into the lake! And I’d do it to that bastard again—in a heartbeat!”

Larson handcuffed Wendy Scheels and put her into the caged rear seat of the Yukon. Driscoll turned to his friend who was completely devastated by this time. He felt sorry for Stan and wished there was another way. But there wasn’t; the law was clear. At times like this Driscoll hated his job; hated being the one to tear a man’s life—his family’s life—in two. An act of passion from the distant past, never to happen again but this was still a nation of laws. Stan went up to the SUV and put his hand on the rear glass. His wife of forty years looked out at him. “Be strong,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “I love you.”

Sheriff Driscoll felt a strong tug at his own heartstrings. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Tammy was taken away from him like this. He desperately tried to think of a way to help them out of this but his hands were tied; he’d just end up in a jam too. He opened the door and slid in behind the wheel then he turned to Stan.

“Stan,” he said, “Call Mooney, then come in and be with Wendy. She needs you now—more than ever…” Driscoll closed the door and started the engine.

                                                       THE END 

2 comments:

  1. Oh my word! Never saw this coming. Well done! Very well done!!!
    You have to keep an eye on the women in this town...

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  2. Some years ago I saw an episode of 'The Sixth Sense' where a girl was drowned in a Cadillac in the pond behind the house. I also saw the movie, 'Ghost Story' where some college buddies did something similar. While staying at the Stone School Inn down in Valier, MT, Kenzie and I were driving along the road to Choteau which passed by a large reservoir, and that story just kind of formulated in my mind. And, presto! There is was...

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