He took the chair catty-corner to hers
as she replied, “Sure. You thought I
wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t know if this met your principles.
I know you’re pretty selective.”
“If you took a case,” she told him,
“it’s a fair bet I would too. You’re a good
gatekeeper.”
He laughed before saying, “All right,
enough, before we both overdo the compliments.”
“What’ve you got?” she asked.
He reached over to his desk and
removed a file, which he opened on his
lap. “John Rust. Pulled over by the VSP—
Trooper Tyler Brennan—a couple of days
ago in Putney for weaving, in what appears
to be a righteous stop. Blew way over the
legal limit at roadside, did the same on
the Datamaster at the barracks, and was
released on a citation, even though this is
his fourth DUI.”
“That’s unusual,” Sally observed.
“True,” Scott agreed, “but it’s largely
officer discretion, and I guess the two of
them hit it off. John’s a nice guy, he was
heading back to his home in Westminster—was
almost there, in fact. Maybe that
played a role.”
“He is in a world of hurt, though,” Sally
said. “It’s beyond officer discretion from
here on out. He’s gotta be looking at jail
time, and definitely a suspended license.
What’s his problem, that he keeps circling
the same hydrant?”
Scott held up a finger in emphasis.
“That is precisely why we’re meeting.
What doesn’t surface in this—” He tapped
the file. “—is that John had sole custody
of and responsibility for a handicapped
younger brother who died on the same
day as the DUI. According to John, Peter
Rust was diagnosed with some form of
hydrocephalus at birth and gradually
became a vegetable. When he died at
twenty-eight, he weighed sixty pounds.”
“And John took care of him all on his
own?” Sally asked. “How could he do that?
He independently wealthy?”
“Hardly. He works as a freelance web
designer. But you’re right in implying
Peter’s need for full-time care. I think John
came up with that job in large part so he
could stay at home and still make a living.
From what I gather, finances have sometimes
been tight. Nevertheless, I spoke
with Peter’s physician on the phone, and
he told me he never had a vegetative
patient so well cared for. He called John a
saint, and stressed that wasn’t a word he
used often.”
“But he drinks,” Sally suggested.
Jezek agreed. “He does. He was twelve
when Pete was born, eighteen when he
took over his care, his father
having walked out on his birthday, saying,
‘Welcome to adulthood. Good luck. You’ll
need it,’ or something similar. John’s mom
had already died of an overdose.”
Sally was shaking her head in sympathy.
“The implication being that John was
probably already doing most of the caregiving,
even before he turned eighteen.”
“A reasonable assumption,” Scott
agreed. “Can you see why I called you?”
“I can,” she said. “Did Rust phone
you from the barracks? Take a blood test?
Admit to driving under the influence?”
“He did not phone, to answer the first
question. I think because he was in shock.
He told me later that through it all, he was
in a daze, what with Pete’s death, and that
it was only toward the end that he began
thinking he wanted to fight what he’d first
seen as inevitable. In the past, whenever
he was busted, he had Pete’s care to think
about. This time, he said, he felt he had
nothing to live for.”
“But he changed his mind.”
Scott looked thoughtful. “Yeah. I’m not
sure what that’s about, exactly. He wouldn’t
tell me. He just said it was important that
he not be put behind bars for this.”
“You have anything you’d like me to
start with?” Sally asked him. “Or are you
letting me off the leash?”
“Well,” the lawyer said, “I know and
trust how you work, so you’re mostly
on your own.” He searched the file and
extracted a DVD. “This is a substantial
recording of John’s arrest and processing
that I’d appreciate your looking at. That’ll
most likely answer some other questions,
too. From what John told me, it seems the
trooper did everything right, but you never
know, and I would love to find something
to blunt the state’s attorney’s zeal.”
“The SA’s already talked to you about
this?” Sally asked, surprised.
“Not specifically,” Jezek said. “But it’s
an election year, he’s facing opposition for
the first time in a while, and he’s not the
most popular man around. Coming down
on drunk driving has become one of his
key talking points. I want to be as armed
as I can be, going in, and I know for a fact
that he and his staff are too swamped
to check out the contents of this—” He
waved the DVD. “—before we all have to
show up for the arraignment.”
Sally took the recording from him. “Got
it.” She rose to leave, adding, “You have
a problem with my talking to John, if the
need arises?”
Scott escorted her to the door, handing
her the file. “None. Be my guest.”
***
Investigations require a lot of sitting—in
cars, behind surveillance cameras, in court,
writing reports, and, as Sally was doing
now, studying DUI-processing footage.
This last was perhaps her least favorite.
The viewpoint was static—usually from
high in a room’s corner—as was the
subject matter, an arrested subject sitting
in a chair as the officer comes and goes
over a period of hours.
Felony interrogations demand
focus. They consist of two people verbally
parrying as one pursues the truth while the
other evades admitting it, and they entail a
reasonable amount of drama.
DUIs are mostly waiting, however.
There’s the occasional back-and-forth,
the conversation as the officer fills out the
relevant multipage form, maybe a fight or
a shouting match if the subject is uncooperative.
But otherwise, it boils down
to one person waiting out the hours until
they’re either taken to jail or released on a
citation.
It therefore made Sally sit up and take
notice when Trooper Brennan appeared in
the corner of the screen and informed Rust
that he had to leave for a domestic, being
the only cop in the barracks at this hour,
and that Rust would have to sit tight until
he returned to finish the booking process.
“I’ll be damned,” Sally said to herself,
and noted the time stamp at the bottom of
the image.
***
Several long hours later, she phoned Scott
Jezek.
“What d’ya got?” he asked.
“I think you’ll like it,” she reported.
“My butt grew numb watching that recording
you gave me, but it turns out Rust did
request a blood test to corroborate the
Datamaster findings at the barracks.”
“What?” Jezek responded, clearly
surprised. “I don’t have the results of that.
Where did he get it done?”
“He didn’t,” she said. “You know how,
when they’re going through the form, they
get to the part where it says, ‘Since you
are being released, if you wish an additional
blood test, to be paid for at your
expense, you will have to make your own
arrangements. Do you intend to obtain an
additional test, yes or no?’ Well, your client
said he would. It’s on tape. The trooper
even explains that because he’s being let
go after processing—as against being
detained—the responsibility for getting
the blood test is on him, and the cop won’t
supply transportation.”
Copyright 2020 by Archer Mayor. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This excerpt is reprinted by permission of the publisher, St. Martin’s Press, NY, NY
38 VERMONT MAGAZINE