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(Skagit Valley Sheriff’s Department, Mount Vernon, WA)
Sheriff Pete Norton was in his 40s, and if he sounded like John Wayne on the phone, he looked more like Pierce Brosnan as James Bond, complete with a very nice dark gray suit, a white shirt and tie. Mac’s eyes narrowed. One of these things is not like the other, he thought. He’s too young, too polished for the voice. Affectation? Living up to expectations? Interesting.
“Come on then,” he said, and Mac decided he was right about the man’s voice. Very John Wayne, western drawl. He led the way through the building, which looked like a house from the outside with light green paint, and darker green trim, to the various vehicles outback. He unlocked a Ford Interceptor. Nice, Mac thought. Doing well for themselves. The Interceptor was a souped-up Ford Explorer — as if an Explorer wasn’t overkill in this state. Did they even get snow in Skagit Valley? Well they did out Highway 20, he conceded. Was that part of Norton’s turf?
“Girl? You OK with riding in the back?” he asked.
Mac started to say something, but Angie spoke up.
“Mac, you should have introduced us. Sheriff Norton, I’m Angie Wilson, we spoke on the phone,” she said, and stuck out her hand. Norton looked at it for a moment, and then shook it gingerly, as if he’d never shook hands with a woman before. Mac knew he must have; he’d seen women in uniform inside. And he was in his 40s, and looked like that? He had to have women chasing him all over the place. He glanced at the man’s left hand. No ring. He felt like he was being shined on, and he didn’t like it.
“And yes, I’m fine with riding in back,” she said, opened the door and hopped in.
Mac said nothing and got in front.
“So, your editor sends you up here wanting the usual quote from a sheriff opposing gun regulations?” Norton said, as he headed out of town. “Do you even know which end to point?”
Mac laughed, relaxing in his seat. “Do I look like some bleeding-heart liberal?” he asked, genuinely amused. The man was baiting him, and he missed his mark.
Norton looked at him out of the side of his eye, but said nothing.
“Sheriff, I’ve got more guns in my rig than you do in this one,” Mac said, still smiling. He looked out the window. Tulips. He rolled his eyes. “Two tours in Afghanistan in the Marines? You think I’m a bleeding heart?”
“Mac Davis,” Norton said slowly. “You did the story that took out Howard Parker. How do you justify that if you’re some gung-ho Marine?”
Mac looked away from the tulips and studied the sheriff a moment. “Howard Parker started sacrificing his men for his own good rather than for the good of the country. And I put him down like the rabid dog he’d become,” Mac said coldly. “What about you? Have you gone rabid?”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Norton demanded, red creeping up above that pristine white shirt collar.
“You tell me. What’s with the constitutional sheriff bullshit?” Mac asked.
“This your usual interview style?” Norton asked. Mac just waited.
“Fine. I believe that the Constitution mandates that sheriffs are the top law enforcement, period. We are supposed to enforce the Constitution. No exceptions. And that means none of these gun regulations some Democrat in Olympia thinks we need. They’re unconstitutional, and I won’t enforce them.”
“You think that about all the Constitution or just the 2nd Amendment?” Mac asked. Now that he had the man on topic, he pulled out a notepad and pen to take notes.
“All the Constitution,” he said. “I enforce the Constitution as the people of my county want it enforced.”
“So, most the folks up here are Christian,” Mac said. “Probably don’t believe in drinking. You closing down the bars as part of their First Amendment rights?”
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “There’s a very small minority who believe that.”
“But if it got to be a majority? What then?” Mac persisted.
“Not going to happen.”
Mac shrugged. “Majority of voters think gun laws are a good idea, especially after these school shootings.”
“We can protect our students without stripping people of their constitutional rights,” he said with a snort.
“How, exactly?”
“We need to arm teachers,” he said. “Train them and arm them. Then we station uniformed cops at schools.”
“The answer to a bad man with a gun is a math teacher with a gun?” Mac asked. “Man, my math teacher couldn’t remember where he put his glasses most days. And you want to trust him with a gun?”
“Not all teachers, maybe,” Norton conceded. “But there are vets like you who teach. Why not let them have a gun?”
Mac rolled his eyes. “OK,” he said. “Let’s run with that. I’m a math teacher in a high school in Mount Vernon. I see a kid in the hallway acting strange. He’s got a long overcoat on. He’s looking in the windows of the doors to classrooms like he’s looking for someone. Warning bells go off in my head. It’s shoot-don’t shoot time. What do you want me to do?”
Norton actually looked like he was considering the situation. “You wait,” he said.
“Until?” Mac asks. “Say I recognize the kid. He got expelled last week, isn’t even supposed to be on the premises. I know his home is pretty fucked up right now. Still waiting?”
“You ask him what he’s doing there.”
“And he whirls on me. I’m carrying, but it’s not in my hand, obviously, because that would be weird,” Mac said. “So, I’m dead because he shot me. Or, I pull a weapon, shoot him, and find out he’s not carrying, I just startled him. And he’s dying. Or he pulls a weapon, but I hesitate, because Jesus, this is a kid I know, and he whirls and blasts an AR-15 into the classroom and kills six people, because I hesitated.”
Norton scowled.
“Sheriff, I was trained for shoot/don’t shoot scenarios. And a school? No way would a military squad go into a school in a war zone — a place we know people are shooting at us. And you want teachers to make those decisions? Quite frankly any teacher who was willing to should immediately be blocked from having a weapon in a school.”
“So, what would you do?”
“I’d establish no gun zones that include schools. Strict gun safety regulations on who can own guns. Give courts the ability to block someone from having guns if they are deemed mentally unstable. Background checks,” he said. “I have guns. And I’m confident that I can pass any rule that’s established. And if I can’t? I’ll put my weapons in your lock box until I can.”
“And while they’re in my lock box, someone breaks into your house and beats up your family? Then what?”
“I’d hunt him down and make sure he couldn’t do it again,” Mac said, his eyes were cold. “Ask Howard Parker how that turned out.”
“Jesus, your editor know you interview like this?” Norton demanded with a laugh.
“Whatever it takes,” Mac said, noting that the John Wayne drawl was gone. “Let’s start over. What made you go into law enforcement, and how did you end up in Skagit County?”
Pete Norton was actually a California boy, turned out. He’d come up to Bellingham to go to college, majoring in criminal justice.
“How did you decided to come all the way up here for that?” Mac asked, curious. He was also a graduate of the university, but he didn’t think it drew many Californians.
“Baseball,” Norton said with a laugh. “They were willing to let me play baseball. Nice scholarship in fact. Baseball was my top priority in choosing a school.”
Mac grinned. “Got it,” he said. Before he went into the Marines, he was ranking school choices by football.
“Turned out I was lucky,” Norton continued. “Western Washington University suited me. I liked Bellingham. I liked the mountains. I didn’t even mind the rain. So, I graduated with a degree in criminal justice and looked for a job. To be honest? Becoming a cop wasn’t high on my list of jobs. I’m not sure what I thought you did with a criminal justice degree, but it finally registered that you’re supposed to become a cop somewhere. Bellingham has all the inexperienced cops they could possibly need, so I looked farther afield. Got on in Mount Vernon.”
He hesitated, then rolled his eyes. “And I married a local girl,” he said with a shrug. “We started having kids. I ‘settled down.’ When the former sheriff retired, I decided to run. And I was elected. Been re-elected once, up for election again in 2016.”
“Do you like it?” Mac asked. He didn’t completely buy the story, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it sounded practiced? Like the voice thing?
“I do,” he said. “Oddly enough, because I didn’t set out with this job in mind. But I like taking care of people, and that’s what I do. I take care of my people, my county.”
He pulled over. “I want to check out this venue. Walk through, shake some hands,” he said. “You game?”
“I’d rather be shot,” Mac muttered, getting out of the car. “But sure. Angie needs tulip photos.”
Angie grinned at him. “He’s lying,” she said very softly as she got out of the car. Mac nodded. “Do not ditch me here, guys,” she warned. “I will make your lives a living hell if you do.”
Mac laughed. Norton didn’t.
“How is it to work with a woman like her?” Norton asked as they strolled through the crowd of people who were ogling the tulip beds around the farmhouse and barn. Kids were chasing each other. There were tables of ‘art’ set up for sale.
“Like her?” Mac asked.
“In your face, pushy,” Norton amplified.
Mac looked startled. “I don’t find her pushy at all,” he said slowly. “She’s very good at what she does. She doesn’t let people put her down or stop her from doing her job. But she’s very easy to be around. This is the first long shoot we’ve done together. But I couldn’t ask for someone better.”
“You don’t look like a man who lets himself be pussy-whipped,” Norton said. Then he stopped and smiled at an elderly lady he obviously knew. They chatted for a moment, while Mac studied him. He was oozing charm now, Mac observed, and a minute before he was poking at Mac about Angie? Who was this guy?
They walked on. “You work for a woman, too,” Norton picked up his line of questioning again. “That must be tough.”
Mac laughed. “Janet’s easily the best editor on the West Coast, and she’s got the awards to prove it,” he said. “She stands behind her reporters, fights for us with the bosses for better pay, and can edit the hell out of a story. She’s good people. You got something against women? I saw some female deputies.”
“Got to have some,” he said. “They are pretty good at handling domestic disputes or when kids are involved. And you have to keep an eye on the employment stats. But that’s not the same as working for one.”
“You’ve never worked for a woman?” Mac asked curiously. A painting caught his eye, and he stopped to look at it. He actually liked it. Tulips blooming against a dystopian background. It said something. He thought his aunt would like it, and he bought it. Birthday present. Score.
“Once. Hated it,” Norton admitted freely. “I like women.” He grinned, flashing a dimple. “And women like me. But that’s not the same thing as working for one. Or partnering with one.”
“Thought you were married?” Mac asked, puzzled by the direction of the conversation, but he was in no hurry to address gun rights and school shootings at a tulip farm.
“Was. We split up,” he said. “We’re fighting right now because she wants to move down to Seattle for work and take the kids. I won’t let her take my kids away from me like that.”
“Hardly a long drive, man,” Mac said. They were headed back to the SUV, thank God.
“Not the point,” Norton said. Before Mac could ask him what the point was, Norton’s radio went off.
“Sheriff? We’ve got a situation,” a young male voice said anxiously.
“What’s up?”
“We went to serve those papers on Jorgensen? He’s barricaded himself inside that trailer of his, and he’s threatening to shoot.”
Norton sighed. “I’m on my way.”
He looked at Mac. “You better get that photographer of yours here ASAP, or I will leave her behind.”
“I’m here,” Angie said cheerfully coming up to them from the side.
He grunted.
“So, who’s Jorgensen?” Mac asked as they pulled away from the farm.
“Not a bad guy,” Norton said. “Well, OK, so he’s kind of a bad guy. Lives in a trailer on the edge of Sedro-Woolley. Has a small shop where he sells porn and guns. And I suspect meth, but we haven’t been able to catch him at it. And given the way he lives, he isn’t making a very good living off it if he is. His wife left him, and we’ve been tasked with serving the papers. No private server will touch them — Jorgensen’s known to have a temper. He’s off balance because he’s losing his kids, and that makes him touchy. Can’t blame the man.”
No, of course not, Mac thought. A local sleazebag who’s probably cooking meth and is now pissy because his wife took off? Kudos to the woman. And he has a gun shop? Whoa. No wonder that deputy sounded anxious.
“So, I’ll go and talk him down,” Norton said with a shrug. “My deputies probably surprised him. And men like him don’t take surprise well.”
“He’s shot at people before?” Mac asked. Because if he was reading between the lines correctly, the deputy thought he might.
“He’s been a bit touchy since his wife left,” the sheriff conceded. But he didn’t say anything more.
Norton pulled up alongside another SUV with sheriff written along its side. “Should have dropped you off,” he said with a frown. “Stay in the car, please.”
“Not me,” Mac said. “I want to hear how it goes. Angie?”
“Can’t take photos from the car,” she agreed, and she got out before the sheriff could say anything further.
“Jesus,” Norton muttered.
Mac looked at him levelly for a moment. Norton looked away and got out of the car. Mac followed the sheriff up to his men. His men gave him a rambling account of trying to serve the papers, and Jorgensen’s response. He had actually shot at them. Norton sighed.
“Give me the damn papers,” he said.
Norton walked up to the steps that led to the trailer, a small travel trailer, that Jorgensen had parked next to a single-wide mobile home. It looked like Jorgensen had recently moved the travel trailer to his place of business to live in. At least, Mac couldn’t imagine a family living in it. There had been mention of a wife and kids.
Mac looked over the mobile home. It was old, and the skirting was coming loose. Two doors had small stoops in front of them. One had a sign that said guns above it; the other said adult movies. No frills, Mac thought, amused. But then people knew what they were after when they came here. They didn’t just drive by and think, ‘Oh! We should buy a gun’ or ‘Oh, let’s rent a porn flick for tonight.’ Although he couldn’t imagine coming here for either one. He wondered idly if there was a back door that said meth above it? Because he couldn’t be making a living off sales through the front doors.
He focused on Norton. He was standing at the base of the steps. Move to the side, you idiot, Mac thought. He was about to call out to the man, when Norton started speaking. Mac rolled his eyes.
“Lucas, it’s Pete Norton,” the sheriff said.
“Pete! They want to serve me papers and make me give up my boys!”
“No, man, this is just a notice to you that you’re going to have to go tell the judge why she shouldn’t do that,” Norton said. “It doesn’t do anything. Just makes an appointment. You’re going to need to get your attorney to help you out. I know you’ve got one.” There was amusement in his voice.
The man in the trailer laughed, too. “Yeah, I got a lawyer,” he said. “He’s beaten you a couple of times. Do you think he can beat my wife?”
Norton snorted. “Wouldn’t phrase it like that,” he advised. The two men laughed. Mac rolled his eyes. “But I know how you feel. Been there, still am there. A man wants his sons. But you can’t go shooting at my deputies, Lucas. That’s not right!”
“Sorry, man,” he said. “Sorry guys,” he said louder. “I’m on edge these days. The bitch is trying to take my boys away!”
Norton winced, but he didn’t say anything. “So, Lucas, you need to come out and take these papers and give them to your attorney. And no more threats!”
The door opened and a tall man with thinning hair and a scruffy goatee stepped out. Mid-30s, Mac thought, but they hadn’t been easy years. He had a shotgun in his right hand, dangling as if he’d forgotten he was carrying it. Mac tensed. The man had a hair-trigger temper. Why the hell didn’t the sheriff tell him to put the gun away? He was beginning to think he should have pulled the weapon out of his backpack.
But Jorgensen just nodded at the sheriff and accepted the papers. “I’ll talk to my attorney,” he said. “Can’t talk to her.”
“No,” the sheriff said. “Don’t go see your wife. She’s got a restraining order. We don’t want to lock you up, now, you hear?”
Jesus, Mac thought. Norton was a piece of work. Wife’s got a restraining order. Cops have arrested him more than once. Probably deals meth — and isn’t a combination? Guns, sex films and drugs? He shot at the deputies. And Norton’s talking to him like they were buddies?
Well, it was a known strategy to de-escalate a situation, Mac conceded. But this felt real, like Norton really did sympathize with the man, liked him even. He let nothing show on his face, and he glanced at Angie to see her reaction. She was shooting photos, and the camera blocked her emotions from showing on her face. Probably just as well.
The two men talked quietly for a bit, before Norton patted him on the shoulder and headed back toward the SUVs. “All done,” he said cheerfully to his deputies as he walked past them.
“You going to let him get away with shooting at us, Pete?” one deputy asked furiously. He kept his voice low so Jorgensen couldn’t hear, but it carried just fine to Mac.
“He’s upset because his wife is leaving him and taking his sons,” Norton said. “Seems like we can cut him some slack. Nobody got hurt.”
There was a bit of muttering, and Mac made a note to ask Rodriguez if this was common procedure. He knew the cops had a boys-will-be-boys attitude — if you were white — but this seemed off. And it sent the message that it was understandable to shoot at a deputy? He wouldn’t work in a department like that.
“All done here,” Norton said.
Angie got in the back seat without comment, and Mac took his spot in front.
“You seemed awfully confident he wouldn’t shoot you,” Mac said in a neutral voice.
The sheriff shrugged as he started the SUV and backed out of the gravel parking lot. “Lucas isn’t a bad guy, really,” he said. “Been on some wilderness training exercises with him, so he knows me. He’s just upset.”
“Wilderness training exercises?” Mac asked.
“Yeah, there’s a guy up here who runs them. Kind of like geocaching, but a bit more exciting,” Norton said. “You should try it. Given your background, you’d like it.”
“I would,” Mac agreed. “Can I get his name?”
“Craig Anderson down in Marysville is the contact person,” Norton said. “But they’re based out of Sedro-Woolley. Runs them most weekends, I think. You should talk to him about going on one. I’ll get you his number.”
“I’d like that,” Mac said, not admitting he not only had the number, he had talked to the man just days ago. He’d have to review his notes to see if he could get away with going out with a group.
“Tell him I sent you,” Norton added. “I’ll put in a good word.”
“Appreciate it,” Mac said. He changed the subject. “So, you used to believe that Sandy Hook was staged, denied that it happened. Have you changed your mind on that since you’ve had to deal with one up here?”
Norton was silent for a moment. “Hard to deny we’ve got a problem with school shootings when one happens in your own county,” he said slowly. “So, I’m not as vocal about Sandy Hook as I once was. But there was something about that one that just didn’t set right with me, with a bunch of us sheriffs, you know?”
“What didn’t set right?” Mac asked, ignoring the obvious answer. A whacked-out teenager with access to an AR-15 went into a school and killed a bunch of kids and teachers. He would never forget President Obama’s tears that day.
“First, it was too convenient. Liberals were trying to get gun control legislation passed, and then bam! There’s a tragedy that says we need gun control to protect our kids,” he said more energetically than his previous remarks. “Some folks believed it was done with actors,” he continued. “That it was all made up.”
“And then you had a school shooter here,” he said.
“Yeah,” Norton acknowledged. “And there was nothing faked about it. Kid stole a gun from his father and headed to the school to get revenge. I get he was angry because a girl refused to go out with him, but shooting seven people over it? And then he killed himself. Tragic. But it wasn’t the gun’s fault.”
“His father was charged and convicted with gun violations,” Mac observed, noting the man’s sympathy once again for a guy ‘wronged’ by a woman. Pete Norton was truly a piece of work, he thought again.
“Not by my department,” Norton responded. “City did that. I wouldn’t have.”
“Why not? He’s got weapons he shouldn’t have, out where his 15-year-old son can grab them. Didn’t purchase them legally, either,” Mac persisted.
“I don’t believe the gun laws regarding those purchases are legal to start with,” Norton said. “Not constitutional. People were furious about the deaths and wanted someone to blame. He took the blame.”
Some truth to that, Mac acknowledged. But then, he deserved the blame. “You know him?”
“Yeah, goes to my church,” Norton said. “Tragedy like that? Hit him hard. And then he’s harassed for it. People were making anonymous calls, leaving threats. And finally, those charges.” Norton shook his head.
“What about the victims’ families?” Mac asked. “Did they get help? Were they the ones who called for an investigation?”
“Probably,” Norton said as if it didn’t interest him. “City was responsible for the victims and their needs.”
“So that made you reconsider Sandy Hook?”
“Some,” he conceded. “Still think there was something hinky about how that went down. But yeah, I now know a kid can be so crazed by the events in his life that he resorts to violence. Hard to take. We need to do better by our kids.”
“There have been 30 school shootings in the last year,” Mac observed. “You think there is something hinky about all of them?”
The sheriff was silent as he pulled back into the lot behind the sheriff’s department. He parked, and then he turned to Mac. “I think the kids are being used by anti-gun enthusiasts to pass legislation regulating guns. And those laws are unconstitutional,” he said levelly. “And I don’t give a god-damn about what the state legislature says or what the courts say. The Constitution isn’t difficult to read.”
“You think disturbed teenage boys constitute a well-regulated militia?” Mac asked.
“Not the boys. But their parents? The ones who owned the guns? I believe every American is in the militia that guards our freedom and protects this country,” Norton said.
“Protects the country from invasion,” Mac said.
“Or from those within who would take our civil liberties,” Norton replied. “Quite frankly liberals worry me more than Russia ever did.”
Norton looked at his watch. “I’m going off the clock here, and I’m expected for dinner. You staying over?”
Mac nodded. “More tulips,” he said with a laugh. “Can I catch you tomorrow? I’m sure I’ll have more questions.”
“Sure,” Norton said. “You’re more knowledgeable than any reporter I talk to regularly. Say 10 a.m. for breakfast? Mr. T’s is good. Bit of a hole-in-the-wall, but good food.”
“See you then,” Mac said, as he got out and closed the door. Norton nodded and headed into the office.
“Well, that was interesting,” Angie said in a low voice.
Mac snorted. “You think? Let’s find a hotel. I feel like I need a shower after that.”
“And then dinner at some place that serves their well drinks strong,” she agreed, then flushed. “Sorry. Forgot you don’t drink.”
Mac smiled at her. “Means you’ve got a designated driver back to the hotel,” he said lightly. “I’m looking forward to hearing your take on the afternoon.”
She smiled, and looked toward the door Norton had gone through. “After supper but before those drinks? I’d like to find Jorgensen’s wife. And Norton’s ex. And I wonder who has dinner waiting for him tonight?”
“All interesting questions,” Mac agreed. His stomach growled. “Let’s find that hotel and some food. Your dad got another recommendation?”