Free Harmless as Doves by P. L. Gaus Page B

prison.”
    “They’d do that?”
    “Eventually, yes. But it depends, now, on what happens in court.”
    “What should I do?”
    “For starters,” Cal said, “stop telling people you killed him.”
    “That’s all?”
    “That’s just for starters,” Cal said and turned to knock on the cell door.
    As Sergeant Niell opened the door from the outside, Cal added, “In the meantime, Crist, you need to listen to your lawyer.”
    “She’s a woman.”
    “She’s a very good lawyer, Crist. That’s all you should care about.”

12
    Wednesday, October 7
    1:45 P.M.
    BACK ON the first floor of the jail, Cal knocked on Bruce Robertson’s door and went inside to find the sheriff frustrated, clicking uselessly with his mouse, and mumbling as one document after another opened up on his monitor. The sheriff caught Cal smiling, and he shoved his mouse aside and barked, “I hate these stupid Internet servers!”
    Cal asked, “May I?” and Bruce rolled his chair back to let Cal lean over in front of the monitor. Cal clicked through all fourteen of the documents the sheriff had managed to open, closing each one in turn, and got Robertson’s computer back to the desktop presentation—a special little item that Ellie had rigged for the sheriff—lilies and lambs scattered over a field of robin’s-egg blue.
    “Cute, Bruce,” Cal said when he discovered the desktop theme. “Now, what were you looking for?”
    Robertson sighed, “New intake and discharge forms. Ellie said they’re supposed to
be on the
server.
”
    Still leaning over in front of Robertson’s computer, Cal clicked keys and the mouse, navigated to the department’s FTP site, and pulled up a folder labeled “New Forms.” This he dragged onto Robertson’s desktop, and when he opened it, he found a document labeled “Booking Sheet.” He highlighted the document, said, “It’s right here,” and opened it for the sheriff.
    Robertson rolled his eyes and leaned as far back in his swivel rocker as he could manage, as if to say he couldn’t sit far enough away from the machine.
    Cal tapped the screen and asked, “That’s what you’re looking for?”
    Robertson nodded and stared blankly at the monitor, hands clasped behind his head.
    Cal shrugged a smile, stood up, and changed the subject. “Bruce, Crist Burkholder doesn’t have the slightest idea how this is going to play out for him. Not the faintest idea how the courts work.”
    “He’s got a lawyer,” Robertson argued.
    “He’s Shetler Amish, Bruce,” Cal countered. “That’s Leon Shetler’s group, and they haven’t got any experience with the law.”
    “
That’s why he’s got a lawyer!”
Robertson sang, still frustrated by Ellie’s push for digital modernization. Still frustrated by the new computer on the corner of his desk. Half a dozen times he had considered just shoving it off the edge onto the floor, and claiming it slipped.
    Cal watched the sheriff churning unhappy thoughts and eventually said, “Ellie can help you with this, Bruce. She’s bored, just handling your usual business.”
    “Oh, she is?”
    “Frankly, yes. You should let her drag you into the twenty-first century. You’d be doing her a favor.”
    Robertson considered that angle, and Cal could tell from the sheriff’s expression that he liked the way Cal had phrased it—“Doing her a favor. “But Cal wasn’t willing to let the sheriff settle on that one rather belittling aspect of the characterization, so he added, “Ellie’s the most accomplished assistant you’ve ever had, Bruce. You’ve seriously underutilized her.”
    Robertson came forward on his chair, considered that, and decided he couldn’t find a satisfactory way to scowl about it. He studied the flat, serious stare on the pastor’s face, assessed that he was seeing forthright honesty rather than challenge, and he said, “Sure, Cal—computers. IT. Why not?”
    Cal tipped his head and said, “Now let me tell you about Crist