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We took time for a coffee and I gave Molly the recorder with Milly Perkins’ revised statement on it. “Whole different story this time, Molly. She told us what really happened and it’s sad.”
“Sounded like the truth,” said Billy. “The old girl is pretty upset about what happened, and it wasn’t her fault.”
“The only thing she could’ve done differently,” I said, “is called the office when Garnet got out of the car. It would’ve taken us over half an hour to get to her, but if we’d found him right away, he might’ve been alive.”
“A lot of maybes,” said Billy. “Still might have been the same outcome.”
“If we couldn’t find him either—yeah, it would have been the same. He would have died of exposure.”
“I’ll get it typed up,” said Molly.
“We’re headed to Great Falls on a tip. Wish us luck.”
She smiled. “Good luck, Sheriff. You too, Billy. Stay safe, both of you. I can’t run this office alone.”
Great Falls.
Driving south on the interstate, it took us over an hour and a half to get to Great Falls. During that time, Billy was able to come up with an address for Brittany Gibson. He punched the address into the GPS and I followed the directions through the city.
“I don’t know this city at all,” I said. “Only been here twice.”
“Been here lots of times but mostly to the bars. I don’t know it well.” Billy chuckled. “I’m a country boy.”
It turned out that Brittany Gibson lived in a basement apartment in a subdivision called New Great Falls. A community on the edge of the city.
I turned into the driveway when the GPS lady announced that we were at our destination. A white Chevy Tahoe was parked near the back of the house and Billy gave me a thumbs up.
“There’s the truck. We’ve got the fuckers.”
The entrance to the basement apartment was at the back of the house only a few feet from where the stolen Tahoe was parked.
“Don’t wander far from the door, Billy. Weapon ready. These fuckers are gonna run.”
“Copy.”
I pounded on the door and a girl with long, dark hair opened it a crack. Following police procedure, and not what I personally wanted to do, I held up my badge. “Miss Gibson?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We’re here for Burke Foster and Roger Purcell.”
“They’re not here.” She tried to close the door and I leaned into it and pushed it wide open. Brittany stumbled backwards and let out a little squeal. “You can’t come in here.”
“You’re under arrest for harboring fugitives.” Before she could run from me, I grabbed her left hand and then the other and cuffed both of them behind her back.
While I was busy doing that, Foster charged out of the bedroom where he’d been hiding, shouting for me to get away from Brittany and wielding a shotgun.
I pushed Brittany out of the way and raised my weapon, aiming at Foster’s chest. “Put the fucking shotgun down, Foster,” I yelled, my heart racing with adrenaline. “You make one wrong move, and I won't hesitate to use mine.”
I could see the veins on his neck bulging, his finger tightening on the trigger. I knew I had to do something fast before he squeezed it.
Bang.
Before he could get a shot off, I plugged one into his knee. Yelling and cursing like there was no tomorrow, Foster crashed to the floor in the middle of the living room clutching his left leg, blood gushing through his dirty jeans.
The sound of the shot combined with Burke’s yelling brought Roger running out of the bedroom. He was doing more yelling and hollering at me and Billy, and at the same time waving a Glock in the air. His face was flushed and Roger Purcell was one kid on the edge. His doting father wouldn’t have been proud of him at that particular moment.
While I was in the process of kicking the shotgun away from Foster who was rolling on the floor and groping for his gun, I yelled to Roger, “Put the gun down.”
