“Ya know, Aloysius, the moron that drove that stake into the Martin Van Buren tree ought to be burned at the stake,” the captain said, his arms leaden, feeling that if one more burden fell onto his shoulders, the desk beneath would crash to the floor, the floor to the level below, and the building with it, as if imploded by a contractor’s seeded bomb.
“Ya can’t do nothin’ about these low-lifes, and ain’t no sense tryin’, Captain Culpepper,” Aloysius said, noting the curvy hips on Deputy Sarah Jane Hamilton. His thought, yeah, it was bull crap, driving a twelve-inch stake into a one hundred sixty year old oak tree, but it’d live. Wasn’t so sure about the captain, however.
“Got to put my best man on it,” Captain Culpepper said. “Get me Detective Gertler. He’ll find out who did this, and he’ll string ‘im up before a defense attorney gets at ‘im and he falls through the cracks of the judicial system.”
Aloysius laughed, but kept it to himself. The captain was what, six months from retirement after forty-five years on the force? Let him chase windmills, this oak tree criminal wasn’t getting caught. Aloysius had better things to do – with Deputy Sarah Jane.
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