Chuck's mind clearly had wandered in a different direction. 'I had a
hard enough time swallowing a death sentence on a case I worked on, but
when it comes out of the court room of some ass like Hitchcock, I
almost hope it does get thrown out.'
After decades without a death penalty, the Oregon legislature had
approved one in 1988. The relatively gentle jurors of Oregon had
delivered capital sentences to only a handful of people, and most
people assumed that those defendants would die natural deaths in prison
before Oregon's courts would permit an execution to be carried out.
Despite the unlikelihood of an Oregon execution, handling murder cases
in what was now theoretically a death penalty state still bothered
Forbes and other people in law enforcement with mixed feelings about
the issue. Like me, Chuck could not definitively align himself with
either side of the debate. Unlike most knee-jerk opponents, he
recognized that an execution could bring a kind of closure to a
victim's family that a life sentence could not. But he continued to be
troubled by the role of vengeance and the inherent discrimination that
too often lay at the heart of the death penalty's implementation.
'Where is that case anyway?' I asked.
'Last I heard, Taylor hated prison so much he'd fired his attorneys and
waived his appeals, but the State Supreme Court was still sitting on
it. I almost hope they throw the sentence out. As long as the
conviction stands, it's still a win for us.'
Maybe Chuck had finally taken a position on the issue after all.
'Hey, enough of this. Why don't you head on home?' Chuck suggested.
'No, I'll stay here. I'm OK.'
'You've got less sense than a thirteen-year-old. Do I have to talk to
you like you talked to Kendra?' He counted the multitude of reasons I
should go home on his fingers. 'I probably won't even do the search
tonight. There was a shooting a couple hours ago up in north Portland,
so the night-shift crime lab team is probably tied up out there. The
car's in the impound lot, so it's not going anywhere. Go home. Vinnie
misses you.'
Vinnie is my French bulldog. He moved in with me a couple of years
ago, the day my divorce was finalized. He gets upset when I stay out
late.
Chuck wrinkled up his face and pulled out his ears, like a mean-looking
pug with bat ears. In other words, he looked like my Vinnie. 'I can
picture him right now. He's going, 'Mmm, these curtains taste good.
This carpet looks a lot better soaked with a huge puddle of French
bulldog piss.' ' For whatever reason, Chuck had decided that if Vinnie
could speak he'd sound like Buddy Hackett.
'You're right. I'm going home. And the search can wait until
tomorrow. Don't you work too late either,' I said.
'Aye-aye,' he said, waving his hand in a quick salute.
I stopped as I was walking toward the door. 'Will you be able to get
your car OK?'
'Yeah. I'll get a patrol officer to take me out there.'
I turned around again at the door. He was making copies of the
warrant. 'Hey, Chuck.'
'Huh?'
'You're really good at what you do.'
His face softened, and his eyes smiled at me. 'Thanks. Back atcha,
babe. Now go home. You're only this sweet when you're tired.'
I drove home smiling.
Five.
By the time I got home, it was almost midnight. Vinnie was waiting for
me at the door, very disappointed. In my head, I heard Chuck's Buddy
Hackett impersonation, scolding me for being out so late.
I threw off my coat, picked him up, made all sorts of embarrassing
cooing noises, and scratched him ferociously behind those big goofy
ears. When the snorts began, I knew he'd forgiven me.
Vinnie's basic needs are met when I'm gone. He has his own door in
back that goes out to the yard. An automatic feeder keeps him portly.
He's even capable of entertaining himself. I'm pretty sure he thinks
his rubber Gumby doll is his baby. But at the end of the day, he's a
momma's boy and needs me to talk to him.
Between work, keeping in touch with the few friends who are willing to
put up with me, and trying to burn off all the crap I eat, I have just
enough time left for my chunky little pal. I have no idea how other
people manage to be needed by whole other tiny little individual people
and still maintain their sanity.
I went into the kitchen and checked the level on Vinnie's feeder to be
