Descent into Madness

A Thomas Martindale Mystery

by Ron Lovell

Chapter 13

By what authority are you arresting these people?” shouted Madrid.

Kutler smiled. “Counselor, my authority comes from this badge.” He pointed to the tin star on his shirt. “I don’t need nothin’ else.”

“You need probable cause to detain them in this way. Have they committed a crime?”

“They’re as illegal as hell,” Kutler laughed. “I don’t need nothin’ else. You know and I know they are wetbacks.”

Madrid got red in the face, but he kept his composure. “I am Hispanic, sheriff. Does that make me, in your outdated terminology, a ‘wetback’?”

“Your folks mebbe were,” said Kutler, “but you cleaned up a bit and got a few college degrees and here you are, representing your people. I think that’s great. But you’ll have to wait to help these folks until they get taken to Salem and I turn them over to the Feds, and then they’ll take them to God knows where. You know what, counselor? You may never catch up to them.”

“So, you are acting as an agent of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, sheriff?” continued Madrid. “Are their names on a watch list? Are they wanted for committing crimes? How do you know they are not legal residents of Oregon?”

Madrid kept his voice steady, but I could tell that he was outraged at Kutler. I had felt that way many times while dealing with him over the years. More than once in the time I had known the sheriff, only his badge had kept me from taking a swing at him. I had usually been able to win my arguments with him easily, however, because of his lack of brain power.

“They had no IDs, and they couldn’t speak English. I always say that if these people come here, they should speak English. How do they expect to get along?”

“Do you ever go to Mexico, sheriff?”

“Yeah, me and some buddies go every year to fish in Baja. We have us a great old time.” Kutler smiled at the memory.

“I’ll bet you do, and I’ll bet you are treated well,” said Madrid.

“Yes, sir, we are treated good.”

“Do you speak Spanish, sheriff?”

“Well, hell no, why should I do that? If those people down there want my bid-ness, they’d sure as hell better be able to understand what I’m sayin’.” As he spoke, the two deputies with him nodded their heads in agreement.

“I see your point, sheriff,” said Madrid. “But my point is why should these two people be expected to speak English in this country if you don’t have the courtesy to speak Spanish when you go to their country?”

“Well . . . er . . . a . . . because we’re Amurika, the greatest country on earth, and people from these other pissant places had damn well better know how to talk to us when they come sneakin’ in here!”

“Damn right!” said one of his deputies.

“Damn right!” the other one chimed in.

Madrid continued to remain calm and did not react to Kutler’s jingoistic outburst. He pulled out his wallet and opened it, before he handed it to the sheriff.

“These credentials prove that I am an officer of the court,” he said. “Based on that standing, I am taking custody of these two people. At a time in the immediate future, I will present them before the properly convened authority to determine their immigration status.”

“Not in your wildest dreams, counselor,” said Kutler. “They ain’t leavin’ here with anyone but me.”

The deputies pulled Maria and Ronaldito closer to the police car.

“Is this an election year, sheriff?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Kutler in a mocking tone. “You gonna be my campaign manager?”

“I’m afraid I’m far too busy for that kind of time commitment, but thanks for asking,” answered Madrid. “What I was thinking of was how it would look when it comes out that you spend your time tracking down a poor woman and her cute little son in a remote area and then treating them roughly for no apparent reason. For starters, you have no proof that they have committed a crime. And why are you way out here, when all kinds of bad things might be happening elsewhere in your jurisdiction? People are speeding along the highways. Other people might be robbing houses to pay for their meth habit. Marijuana is being cultivated on acre after acre of land very close to where we are standing now. But here you are, rousting this poor woman and her little boy. The media would love it.”

Kutler frowned, no doubt remembering the toll a similar incident took on his career a number of years ago, when his part in blowing up a whale carcass on the beach in Newport became big news.

“What’ll you do with ’em?”

“I’ll take them to Salem or Portland where they can stay with people who will take care of them until I can determine their status,” said Madrid. “They are not criminals, sheriff. They are law-abiding people.”

“Cut ’em loose,” growled Kutler to his deputies.

The one named Dale looked confused, but eventually cut the plastic ties that were restraining the arms of Maria and Ronaldito. The two rubbed their wrists and walked over toward Madrid.

“Gracias, señor,” said Maria, who seemed on the verge of tears. She almost kneeled in front of Madrid, but he prevented her from doing that.

“Por nada,” said Madrid. He motioned for them to walk back to Treena Martin, who hugged both Maria and her son and led them to the car.

“You won this round, counselor,” said Kutler, grimly. “But I’m gonna be watchin’ you to see if you do what you say you’ll do with these people. I can go to the media too, ya know.”

“Indeed you can, Sheriff Kutler. I welcome your scrutiny. I would want you to go to the media if I screwed up this case. Contrary to what you might think, we attorneys are not infallible. We do make mistakes and need to be called down when we do.” Madrid stepped forward and held out his hand. “Can we shake on it, sheriff?”

Kutler contemplated the gesture for a few seconds, then turned around and walked toward his men. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said. “I’m not likin’ the smell so much.”

Kutler was repeating a pattern I had seen before. When challenged by someone in higher authority or of a higher intelligence level, he usually backed down. As with most small-minded people like him, he didn’t know his own limitations. And they were so great!

I had resisted the urge to say anything at all during the exchange between Kutler and Madrid. I was glad that Lorenzo had won so easily. I was also glad that Maria and Ronaldito would not have to spend time in jail, that we could rescue them from Delgado’s clutches.

We watched the sheriff and his men move to their cars. When they drove away, Treena Martin led the boy and his mother to the Jeep and gave each a bottle of water.

“Tom, let’s you and me and Ray take a quick look around this place,” said Madrid.

I led them around the back and in through the kitchen door.

“Jesus!” muttered Pearl. “What a horror show!”

We picked our way through the dark rooms and into the lobby, which was much brighter because of the tall windows. I filled them in on what I knew of the sanitarium and the kinds of diseases that were treated here.

“That was really barbaric to put syphilis sufferers in scalding water until they went into convulsions,” said Madrid.

“Show us that tub room,” said Pearl. “That, I gotta see.”

“Right through here,” I said, leading them to that part of the building.

Even in summer, the place felt damp and clammy. The unused slings hung over some of the tubs and swayed gently. The tubs were filthy with the grime of the ages built up on their insides. The odor from a combination of human sweat, urine, and feces mixed with sulfa from the springs was overpowering. We all put our hands over our noses and mouths.

“Jesus!” said Pearl. “How could anyone in his right mind agree to this kind of treatment?”

“I guess desperate people will do anything to get cured of something as bad as syphilis,” said Madrid.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Pearl. “I’m gettin’ sick.”

We moved quickly back out into the lobby, which had a source of fresh air because of all the broken windows.

“Where’s the loony bin?” asked Pearl, when he had recovered. “Where’d they keep the crazies?”

As I had done a few days before, I walked up to the second floor and to the entrance of the psychiatric unit. “I got this far, but as you can see, this section is . . .”

The heavy steel door that had stopped me before was wide open.

The three of us walked slowly though the doorway. Given what we had seen already, this section of the sanitarium was probably worse. The long hall was identical to those on the other floors; the difference was that the doors to these rooms were not open to let any light in.

The doors on each room were made of steel and the small windows in each had no glass in them. Instead, they were covered with thick bars. We fanned out along the hall, and each looked into a different room.

The door to the one I picked was locked. Through the small window, I could see another window in the outer wall, which was also covered with bars and frosted glass with wire mesh imbedded in it.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Pearl had walked to the end of the hall and was standing at the open door of the last room. Madrid and I walked over to him, and all three of us entered.

The sight was sickening.

A skeleton was sitting on the bed and leaning against the wall. As we got close to it, a bat flew out of its skull, causing us all to jump back.