Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

assist, sleep would not give them respite from their grief, and there were similarly bereaved spouses in Lompoc. Damn. The young boy who lost his sister. God, what a night.He again hoped that Cachuma wasn’t a microcosm of the state.

He sat heavily behind a desk with a computer. It took him no time at all to find the proper forms. He was shocked to realize he had killed nine perpetrators, all at close range. That doesn’t happen. Ever. Only in movies. He had killed in the military, but never in the line of duty as a police officer. He felt anguish. For the most part, they were kids. Teenagers. A bad sort, but some may have found their way out of the gang culture. Not many, but a few at least. A sense of melancholy overwhelmed him.

“Sir?”

He turned to see the woman bird hunter from the hotel.

“Yes, ma’am?”

She lifted a shotgun above the front desk so he could see it. “I came to return your shotgun.”

Well, that was a big whoops. As he approached the desk, she kept the shotgun high so he could see the ejection port open and the forestock locked back. She slapped three shells on the table. Smart way to bring a shotgun into a police station.

“Thought you might want this back,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “For returning this … and your help. I needed it.”

“Thank you. For your help … and especially the loan of your shotgun. I felt powerless sitting in that lobby with hoodlums pointing guns at me. You got us out of there and then you gave me this.” She jinked the shotgun. “Once I had this in my hands, I felt in control.” She used her fingers to roll the shells across the countertop. “Except, next time, bring me more ammunition.”

She smiled for the first time and instantly shed ten years.

“Let’s hope there’s no next time,” Evarts said, taking the shotgun from her.

She turned stern again. “Yeah, let’s hope and pray. You did good. Those were decent people you saved, and we’ll be forever thankful. So will our spouses, children, parents, and friends. You spared this community a lot of grief.”

Evarts, nonplussed, failed to respond before she departed.

He returned to the workstation, his melancholy eased. She was right. He hadn’t started the fight, so he wasn’t responsible for the consequences. His actions saved the lives of good people with extended family in proximity to a town that had already suffered an unprecedented disaster. He needed to clear his head because he had work to do. He reminded himself that he was the top law enforcement official for the entire county. He needed to get through this paperwork, organize the remaining forces here in Solvang, and check on the remainder of the county.

With an hour of frenzied typing, he had a skeletal record of the prior day’s events that he could flesh out in the coming days. He called a deputy sheriff supervisor and confirmed that statements were being taken from every witness in the hotel. He next phoned Captain Standish to discover that she had Lompoc firmly in hand. The bodies of the victims who had been standing on the bridge were found where the river met the sea. Unfortunately, several other bodies were discovered as well. When Evarts hung up, he wondered if he had lost an excellent subordinate to the town of Lompoc. Probably. He should be happy for her. He planned on remaining in this job for years, so she had only one promotion available within her own department. Taking a chief position in a small town made sense for her career. Besides, he liked having good relationships with the other chiefs in the county.

His call to Santa Maria didn’t go as well. The Santa Maria police returned home to discover a secondary invasion of street gangs from Southern California and the Bay Area. Santa Maria sat between the two metropolitan areas, and the respective street gangs competed for the illicit drug trade. Because they’d arrived so quickly, it meant the Santa Maria gangs had alerted their counterparts, who sent soldiers to protect their respective turfs while the locals marauded in Solvang and points west. Luckily, there had been no violence in Santa Maria. Yet. Just a show of colors. Evarts reallocated some sheriff resources to augment the Santa Maria Police, but saw no immediate need to make a personal appearance.

By noon, he had all his administrative tasks completed or in motion. He leaned back in the ergonomic office chair, feeling pleased with himself. Things were as organized and under control as possible, considering the circumstances. In the quiet moment, he realized he was hungry. Famished, actually. He thought back. The last time he had sat down to real food had been at the Red Viking Café. Since then, he had survived on energy bars and caffeine. The thought suddenly gave him pause. He had eaten a fraternal meal with two other law enforcement officials. Now, both were dead. Murdered by villainous youths, half their age. Police work could be dangerous, but once you reached the pinnacle of law enforcement, a severe injury would be a paper cut. The sobering thought sapped his self-satisfied disposition, but did not relieve his hunger. He got up to leave the station.

Outside, the interminable drizzle continued. Since town restaurants were several blocks away, he jumped in his borrowed Lompoc police cruiser. When he shifted to reverse, his damp-sensitive windshield wipers automatically started swishing back and forth like a metronome.

His phone rang.

“Evarts.”

“Trish.”

“Thank god. I was afraid it was someone alerting me to another crisis. I’m beginning to believe the adage that when it rains, it pours.”

“No.No new crisis … yet. We’re waiting for an audience, or I should say a command performance, with Paul Gleason. The LG called in a huff, demanding that we come right over, but all we’ve done is cool our heels.”

“If you’re bored, you called at the right time. I just left the Solvang station to get a