Sheriff in a Small Town

By David Booker

Sheriff Marvin Morgan is the retired sheriff of a small town. When newly appointed reporter Rocky Stone investigates the closing of the jail he meets with a man who claims his father was wrongly sent to the electric chair. Rocky calls on Morgan and with Morgans help clears up the case and brings the real killer to justice. Since the killer happened to be Morgans replacement Morgan comes out of retirement and puts back on his star. Rocky takes on a couple of cold cases and with Morgans assistance and encouragement brings them to a solution. When Morgan requests Rocky become his deputy Rocky takes him on and things in the small town begin to change. Rocky discovers a group on militant protesters are hiding somewhere in town. They plan on violently protesting the Vietnam war at the Columbus National Convention. Rocky and Morgan must find and incarerate them before they can cause death and destruction. Things become hard for Sheriff Morgan as the outside world begins to intrude on his safe and secure little town. Think of the real world intruding on Mayberry and you'll get a good idea of what's inside. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Booker
• Release date: Feb 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224123872

David Booker

David Booker is an author who wiill try his hand at numerous styles. Short stories, mysteries, humor, horror, time travel and rants he enjoys a constant challenge. With a seven book series under the Time Is banner to A Glimpse of My Shorts and Another Glimpse he churns out books regularly. 

Book preview

SHERIFF IN A SMALL TOWN

This book is a work of Fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are either created by the author or fabricated. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental

Copyright © 2024 by David Booker

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book either in entirety or any portion thereof, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews without written permission in writing from its publisher.

For information or request address

David Booker

[e-mail]

timeiswaswillbe.wordpress.com

DEDICATED TO

Those who look at life and ask why

And to those who answer why not

Table of Contents

ROCKY REPORTER GETS HIS FIRST SCOOP

DID YOU HEAR THAT?

COLD CASES

A FLAME REKINDLED

INTERESTING

INCOMMING

A NEW DEPUTY

BLAME GAME

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE STEP BACK

MORE TROUBLE

A NEW DEPUTY IN TOWN

SILENT NIGHT

TUCKER

CHANGES

FALSE CHARGES

FESTIVITIES

ROCKY REPORTER GETS HIS FIRST SCOOP

The Editor in Chief of the Logan Sentinel leaned out of his office. Hey Rocky, get your tape recorder and camera and head out to the old jail on Newark Street. They’re closing it down and moving the dead. See what you can dig up on it from the files. Check with the folks who turn up, you might be able to get a personal angle from a few. He watched with approval as Rocky Stone, his newest reporter leapt from his desk banging his knee in the process. From a drawer he grabbed his recorder and a camera, checked there was a tape in the recorder and film in the camera then headed out. He pulled on his navy coat and his old Greek fisherman’s cap off the peg and placing it at a jaunty angle rushed out the door.

Nelson went back into his office and looked over the list of events for today and marked off who would cover what. Taking a pull at his pipe, he patted himself on the back for hiring Rocky at such short notice. A good kid fresh out of the army. Rocky never had said what he had done or where he had been. He seemed as if he wanted to put his time in the army behind him. There was something about him that Nelson liked and trusted. Rocky had been born and raised her in town and once his six years were up, he had come back home looking for work. Liking the open friendly face and friendly professional demeanor he had been accepted immediately. Nelson felt sure that with time Rocky would become his star reporter. He had energy, industry and was the personable sort who people felt comfortable talking to.

Stepping into the street Rocky breathed deeply of the crisp morning air. The jail wasn’t far and the day pleasant, he decided to walk. It was two blocks down Quincy Street, turn right onto Jarvis Avenue and another two blocks down, then left onto Haskins past an open expanse of brown grass and boulders. An imposing edifice built in the gothic style that still gave him the chills every time he drove past it. He approached the building with a sense of disquiet.

He walked up to the chain link fence that bordered the property. The fence had concertina wire on the top and was buried three feet down at the bottom. Through the fence, he saw another about three feet from this one. He brought out his camera and snapped a couple of pictures showing a group of people standing around as workmen dug down into the graves and pulled out the caskets. Some had to be wrapped in canvas first then laid in a sling to be raised. Once on the surface the remains or what remained of the remains were transferred to a new coffin, the name of the individual written on a card and the card tacked to the top of the casket. Finally, the casket would be loaded onto a flatbed for transport to the plot of land designated for reburial. During his time in the Army he had seen sights far worse than this but somehow this semi resurrection of bodies made him slightly nauseous. As usual he called on his sense of humor to relax him.

Rocky pulled the collar of his navy pea coat up and tapped the cop at the gate on the shoulder. Officer Woodward of the State Corrections Bureau turned around and frowned when he came face to face with a man in a Pea Coat, Upside down Greek Fisherman’s cap, eyes crossed, a cigarette in his ear and smoke coming out of his nose. He held out his press badge. Rocky, you have got to be the craziest reporter at the Sentinel. Rocky retrieved the cigarette and took a drag. I’ve got to cover the move, mind if I slide inside? Officer Woodward opened the gate and let him pass.

Rocky snapped a few pictures of the building and more long shots of the bodies raising from the pit. As he edged closer to the cemetery he turned around to take a shot of a blacked out window. Behind that darkened glass he determined that it probably was where the death chamber was. Part of his indoctrination to the paper had been to read back copies. Amongst the pages he’d read about the many cases that had ended in that forbidding room.

He stood and stared as images of hangings and electrocutions flashed through his mind. One in particular recurred over and over. A man, slight of build and with a shock of red hair is being led to the chair. A priest mumbles a prayer that is barely audible. If it is meant to comfort the condemned, its purpose is lost on the young man in the chair. In Rocky’s mind he could smell the burning flesh and hear the crackle of electricity. The young man’s body contorts in the chair as the current pours through him. He slumps and is carried away. He sees a young wife nearby, her eyes red with tears and a boy of four years old clinging to her skirt. His eyes are red also but there is firmness in his stance and purpose in his stare. The image has been burned into his memory to be carried with him the rest of his life.

A tap on Rocky’s shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He turned to look upon a young man with red hair, beard and mustache. He was tall and slightly built, his mouth seemed as if it was usually held in grim lines, but his smile was pleasant enough as he too looked up at the darkened pane. I saw you looking up there and wondered what held your interest so long.

Rocky shook the images from his mind. It’s the execution chamber, I was seeing it in my mind. I saw flashes of people going to their death. The man took a pull at his pipe and then looked from the window to the graveyard. I been there and saw it for myself. I’m here to watch them move my dad to his new home. He turned and walked to a grave that they were just starting to open. Rocky joined him. I’m a reporter for the Settler, mind talking with me a bit.

The red headed man looked at Rocky and seemed as though he was trying to take the measure of him. Guess so, I don’t know that anyone would want to hear what I got to say though. Rocky brought out his recorder and double checked the tape. You said no one would want to hear what you have to say, well I do. The man leaned against a post and his eyes took on a mile long stare. This is where my dad is buried. He had just turned twenty five and his birthday was spent on death row. Me and my mom were brought in to see him die in the chair. I can still hear my dad calling to me, Son, I swear I’m innocent don’t you ever doubt that. I never did. They said he killed a woman and buried her out in a field. The men had finished digging, the man peered down at the casket.

My dad and I used to go to that selfsame field and bring our dog to chase sticks. There was a clump of trees that hid a small grassy area. One day our dog chased the ball into it and started howling and scratching at a pile of freshly dug earth there. Dad didn’t like the way Russ was barking so he had me stand behind a big oak to wait while he and Russ checked it out. They scraped away together till they uncovered a woman. I went over to the tree that was on the edge of the small plot. I was peeking from around the tree and saw her when Dad rolled her over. Her head was in on the right as though she’d been hit with a bat or something. She couldn’t have been dead long because the blood was still fresh. It got onto Dad’s arm and hand. I saw the Sheriff’s car drive up and the deputy turned on his lights and pulled his gun on Dad. Dad got up slowly motioning me to stay put. Russ was growling at the deputy and the deputy shot him. Dad had his hands out in front of him and next thing I knew Dad was on the ground on his face and the deputy was cuffing him and half dragging him into the squad car. He pulled a handkerchief out of a back pocket and mopped his brow.

I ran home and had to wait until my mom got home. When she came in, I was still crying but eventually got out that dad had been taken to jail. He paused as he heard the chunk of metal on wood. The trial was so short it couldn’t even be called a trial. We couldn’t afford a lawyer and the one they gave dad wasn’t much good. Not his fault as they pushed it through so fast it was over before we knew it. The look on my dad’s face was one we’ll never forget. He was set to go to the chair on the 23rd of March, his birthday. The deputy came and got us to go see it. I sat in the same car, on the same side, looking out the same window dad had. They took us up to the second floor and we stood at the side behind a guardrail. Like I said, I knew my dad was innocent, He wouldn’t hurt anybody cept to protect us. No one ever listened. We’ve been trying for years to clear his name. I am still trying to clear it. I can’t say I’ve gotten any closer after all these years. He stood as the casket came out of the earth.

Rocky recognized that there wasn’t much wrong with the casket. It had to be one of the last to be laid in. The casket was labeled and placed on the end and edge of the flatbed. See you soon dad the man said as he touched the wood. Pulling a dark green Greek Fisherman’s hat out of a pocket he placed it on his head. He was walking away when he turned and hollered for Rocky. Hey mister, why don’t you come with me, mom and me will give you dinner. Price is right and you won’t find better. Rocky held up a hand indicating he’d be with him in a moment. He’d found his story and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Rocky finished off his roll of film and joined his new companion. As they passed Officer Woodward, they heard him laughing. Both turned at the sound. Sorry fellas but you two could pass as family! It was only then they realized the similarity in their coat and hat. Both were of similar height and weight. Rocky extended his hand. The names Rocky Stone, pleased to make your acquaintance. His new friend reached out and grasped Rocky’s hand in a firm grip, Mine’s Joe Steckler, nice to meet you."

They walked down Leeward Street for a few blocks chatting casually as if they were already old friends. At the corner of Leeward and Windward Joe led them up the steps onto the porch of a small home. Joe opened the front door shouting that he had company. From inside Rocky heard the clatter of heels over wood. Mrs. Steckler opened the screen door wide in a welcoming gesture. Joe led Rocky into a fairly spartan living room with an old couch and a couple of metal folding chairs in front of a wood table that looked as if it had been made out of wood crates. A Crosley radio stood on the top shelf of the bookcase playing Benny Goodman softly in the background. On a shelf was an ornately framed diploma. Joe had graduated from High School not long ago and from the look of the frame his mother was immensely proud of him.

Rocky was seated comfortably on the dilapidated couch and Joe sat on one of the chairs. Mrs. Steckler brought in coffee and cake and set them on the table. Looking at Rocky she gradually seemed to relax. Joe leaned back in his chair with his coffee cupped in his hands. Ma, I’ve been telling Rocky here about Dad and that we’ve been trying for years to clear his name. He thinks he might be able to help us. Rocky held up his hand. I said I’m willing to look into it and do some research. With the access I have I might be able to stir up something. I just don’t want you to pin all your hopes on me.

Mrs. Steckler seemed to grow smaller than her five foot three inches as she huddled miserably in her chair. Rocky rose and stood behind putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Squatting beside her chair he looked into her eyes. Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound harsh, but it might take a while to get what we need, we’ll get it though. I’ll work on this as much as possible and when we’re ready, really ready with absolute proof, we’ll break your story wide open. We might even be able to find the real murderer. Mrs. Steckler’s face turned pail as she laid a hand on his shoulder, leaning on it she raised herself and walked unsteadily into the kitchen to put the finishing touches to dinner.

"It might help to see what you’ve done so