It all makes perfectly good sense, I think, folding the letter and returning it to its envelope. A murderer needs three things: opportunity, means, and motive. Red certainly had the opportunity; being a cop, with the power of the badge to stop anyone without being questioned. And means? If having a patrol car at his disposal, and being able to travel anywhere without suspicion wasn’t means, what the hell was? But, what about motive? Here is where I have the greatest difficulty. Had he gotten the girl pregnant? No sign of that. So what was his motive? Then, it hits me. He didn’t have a motive. The letter says, “He didn’t do it on purpose but he done it just the same.” He probably panicked, got physical, and finally lost control completely, and killed her. It’s a classic case of second-degree murder—and one that will probably stick. I can’t help but feel a sense of sadness. From all accounts, Red Buckner was a good Chief of Police. He was active in the community, and probably helped solve a murder or two himself. What a waste.
It’s doubtful that Red poses a threat to anyone else at the moment, except to his wife—and then, only if he should learn of her attempts to give him up. Of course, a wife can’t be made to testify against her husband, but Claire probably doesn’t know that. Besides, we have the notes. Perhaps Red might even welcome the opportunity to relieve himself of the millstone he’s been carrying around for the last eight months or so. Confession is good for the soul, or so they say. Maybe Claire has done her husband a big favor. But, there’s no point in taking any chances. I decide to err on the side of caution, and have Nancy summon Bobcat and Rick to my office.
“This can go down one of two ways,” I say to my officers. “Either Red will give it up easy, and hope that a good lawyer can convince a jury that it was an accident—”
“Or he’ll try to run,” says Rick, “and we’ll have to take him down hard.”
“There’s a third possibility,” offers Bobcat. “He might try to fight it out. He’s always been a nut for guns. He probably has a small arsenal out at his house. Christ, I remember him buying semi-automatics like they were kids’ Transformers when he was chief. For what it’s worth, my money’s on him fighting.”
Although I’d never bet against Bobcat’s intuition, I’m hoping he’s wrong just this once. “Personally,” I say, “I think he’s too smart for that. If what Claire says in her letter is true, there’s no reason for him to run. His best chance is to go to trial—maybe get a friendly jury. Who knows, he might even be acquitted. It’s happened before.”
For the next couple of hours, Bobcat and Rick discuss the various options available to us, while I head over to Monticello for the arrest warrant. I’ve decided to make the arrest as soon as I return.