TWENTY-SIX
The ramifications of the Tifton shooting trailed out over months.
Most immediately, Roberta Coil vacillated between gratitude and condemnation. She was pleased that a threat to her daughter and possibly herself had been eliminated, but angry that Lucas hadn’t called in a battalion of FBI agents once he’d detected the problem. Audrey Coil didn’t have much to say about that, and her mother kept her firmly, if only temporarily, away from anything that looked like a camera or a reporter.
—
THEN THERE WASthe usual bureaucratic chaos—a clusterfuck, in the unofficial nomenclature—involving the Tift County Sheriff’s Department, the FBI, and two separate investigators from the Marshals Service’s Office of Professional Responsibility (one each from Internal Affairs and Discipline Management) concerned by the fact that Lucas had been involved in three shootings in the space of six months—one of them being Lucas’s own wounding in a Los Angeles firefight.
Lucas was interviewed by the Marshals Service investigators the day after the shooting, although their conclusions weren’t released for more than a month. One of the men called Lucas to say that the investigation had concluded that the two fatal criminal shootings had been righteous. As for Lucas’s wounding, they recommended that he undergo retraining in “cover and concealment,” which wasn’t going to happen if Lucas could avoid it.
“Yeah, probably wouldn’t help,” one of the investigators told him. “What you did was stupid and there ain’t no fixing that.”
“Thank you,” Lucas said.
—
SENATOR ELMER HENDERSONcalled three times, the first time the day after the shooting. “I’ve got Porter here in the office with me. Well done, my boy.”
“I hope the Office of Professional Responsibility agrees with you.”
“They will. We’ve had a number of colleagues calling over there, emphasizing the need for fair treatment of hardworking, risk-taking marshals. They’ve effectively signaled back that they get the point. You might even get a medal.”
“I’d like a medal,” Lucas said. “I could wear it to parties.”
—
TWO DAYS AFTER DUNNwas killed, when Lucas was nearly finished with the bureaucracy, Rae called and asked, “I was right, wasn’t I?”
Lucas: “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb, Lucas. You wanted us out of the way. You didn’t want witnesses.”
“You’ve got an overactive imagination, is what I think,” Lucas said. “How’s Bob?”
“Bob’s just fine.”
“You find a case we can work?” Lucas asked.
“Jesus, Lucas. The Dunn thing? That was damned cold. Damned cold.”
“Okay... I don’t know what to tell you. Except... yeah, you were right.”
“Good. I wanted to hear you say it. And yeah, we’ve got a case. Did you hear about the Coast Guardsmen getting murdered down in Fort Lauderdale?”
“Something about it. Like a couple of months ago?”
“That’s the case. I’m going to email you the file. The FBI is stuck in a ditch, as usual, the locals all deny that it was in their jurisdiction...”
“Send me the file,” Lucas said. “Lauderdale in the winter. I can see that.”
—
AUDREY COIL WAS NEVERcharged with any crime, as two separate U.S. Attorney’s Offices concluded that nothing she’d done had constituted a crime. She hadn’t recommended the shooting of anyone, all she’d done was post some photos and neo-Nazi articles on the same page. The articles were protected by the constitutional provisions guarding freedom of speech and of the press, and there was nothing illegal about taking photos of people in public places and posting them.
There were mutterings in the press about fixing what appeared to be a hole in federal laws, but that quickly went away, when the press realized they’d be shooting themselves in the foot.
—
