Two months later
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Red Buckner took his own life. There’s no worse fate for a cop then to spend time “inside” with the general criminal population. No amount of money or muscle would be sufficient to keep some wise guy from trying to prove his mettle by knocking off an ex-police chief. Besides, Red carried a hefty life insurance policy, its suicide-clause waiting period having long since expired. Making the money available to Claire was the least he could do for his long-suffering widow. It was the right thing to do.
I’ll always have to live with the guilt I carry for not insisting that Bobcat cuff Red’s hands behind his back, where he couldn’t have accessed the patrolman’s gun. I had to put him on official leave for a week, and enter a formal reprimand into his file for permitting a prisoner to capture his weapon. It’ll take a while, but he’ll recover. Or, maybe he won’t, and I’ll have to find a replacement. Only time will tell.
As for me, just being able to allow poor Rhonda’s mother to put her daughter finally to rest, secure in the knowledge that her killer had paid the ultimate price, will be some consolation. It’s not much, but it’s something.
It’s late October, and it snowed again yesterday. It looks like it’s going to be an early winter. Soon, everything will be covered in a white, protective blanket. And, for a while, at least, it will be as if nothing ever happened. Life will go on as it always does in Roscoe.
Maybe by February I’ll be able to think of tying flies again. And, in early March, I’ll go through my gear, checking my waders for leaks, and filling in the empty spools of tippet material in my vest. In April, I might even go fishing again with Val—maybe try to catch that big brown. But just not on opening day, which somehow will never be the same.