The Home Front

The dimly lit figure raised its arm, holding an iron shaft, and Collin shot him twice. The blasts from the snub-barreled .38 deafened him.

He took three steps toward the man, who lay unconscious, eyes closed, air bubbling out of a hole in his chest. Collin yanked the crowbar free.

Panic froze his reflexes, his body fritzing in emotional static. Then he dropped the gun on a sofa, and went through motions like a zombie. He eventually grabbed his phone and dialed 911, talking while holding a sofa cushion to the man’s chest.

“Hello! It’s Collin Meacham, 202 Euclid Drive. No, listen, somebody just broke in and I shot him. I think he’s dying. Send an ambulance!”

Collin followed the dispatcher’s orders, staying on the phone in his underwear until a police car, a fire truck and an ambulance showed up within two minutes of each other. The cops had their guns drawn. Collin pushed his hands up and stood still, nodding his head toward the sofa where the gun and crowbar were perched.

The room filled with uniforms. The cops waved Collin into a corner and cuffed him, while the EMT’s knelt over the body and the firemen stood around. Collin wanted to scream but kept his voice muted.

An EMT pulled a medical mask off the intruder’s face and Collin jolted. “Hey! I think I know him.”

The older cop recited his rights to Collin, then asked. “What happened?”

Collin told about hearing the front door being broken open, coming downstairs in shorts and tee shirt, and seeing a man wearing a covid mask and waving an iron bar. “I told him to get out, but he took a step toward me and raised the bar. I was shit scared and shot him.”

“That’s the gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Registered to you?”

“Yeah.”

One of the EMTs looked up. “He’s gone, no breathing, no pulse.”

The cops glanced around the living room, furnished by Ikea and Pier 1. “Okay, Mr. Meacham, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to take you into custody while we sort this out. If this guy is a perp we’ll find out, and there’s a fair chance you’ll be able to claim the castle rule.”

“Pardon?”

“Connecticut has a castle rule. If you were defending your safety and home there may not be any serious charges. But we’re a long way from figuring that out.”

***

The interrogation room had a metal table bolted to the concrete floor, four metal chairs, neon lighting and a smudged two-way mirror. Two of the chairs were occupied.

“The guy was Ignacio Torres. You admit to shooting him?”

Collin Meacham nodded slowly. “I already told you I did, Sgt. Harkins. It was self-defense.”

“And you knew Torres?”

“Not really, but I’d seen Iggy around.”

“How?”

“We go—went—to some of the same AA meetings.”

“So you were both drunks?”

Collin winced. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, Sgt. Harkins. Ignacio was a recovering addict. Lots of cross-addicted folks go to both NA and AA meetings.”

“And you had a fight at a meeting?”

“No sir, we barely ever talked to each other.”

Harkins leaned forward. His breath smelled of burger and tooth decay. “The dispatch cops said your place had basic furniture. You divorced?”

“A year ago. She got the kids.”

“I got divorced too. It happens. The revolver is your gun?”

Collin shifted his buttocks back and forth on the metal seat. His face was blotched with red patches. “I don’t feel well.”

Hankins’ lips turned down. “I’m sorry about that. Please Mr. Meacham, just stay with me. If you’re thirsty I can get you a soda or water.”

Collin shook his head from side to side.

“You local?”

“St. Francis high school, right to work after that.”

“No kidding. My sister Mary Beth went there, about your age. You know her?”

“Yeah, we dated a couple times.”

“Your case for self-defense looks okay, but we need to iron out the details. I believe the .38 with the hollow points is yours?”

Collin rested his hands palm down on the table, his fingertips quavering. “You probably already know it’s registered to me. I was defending myself in my house.”

“We understand your situation, Mr. Meacham, most of us support home defense. Let’s just go back over what happened last night.”

Collin’s sigh was expressive. “For the umpteenth time, I was up a little late, and heard the door shatter from downstairs. I grabbed my gun, took off the trigger lock and went to check things out. The night lights were on and I could just see a masked guy in a hoodie holding something in his hand. I yelled at him to drop it, but he raised his arm and stepped toward me. I thought he was going to hit me, and I reflex shot him twice quick, one after another.

“He dropped to the floor. I called 911 and tried holding a towel against his chest to slow the bleeding. You guys got there in maybe five minutes, but he was already dead. I showed you where I’d put down the gun and you guys arrested me and have held me till this afternoon. Do I need a lawyer?”

“A good one will ask for twenty-five hundred up front, and you might not need one. Let’s just go through the facts and see if we can’t get you home again. What do you do for a living?”

“I install security systems for Binks.”

“About the gun. Those hollow points could blow a man’s arm just about off. Funny slugs for home defense.”

“I’m not a good shot, sergeant, I need to stop someone if I hit him anywhere. When he made a move on me, I just panicked and jerked off two shots. When can I go home?”

A smile seeped across Harkins’ face. “You’re going to have to spend what’s left of the day here, Mr. Meacham, but you might get released tomorrow. On the face of it, you have a decent self-defense plea under the castle rule.”

A uniformed officer took Collin to a cell. He couldn’t sleep, and spent that next night sitting on a metal bunk bed. The toilet had no seat, he had no belt or shoe laces. A breakfast of reconstituted eggs and cold, greasy toast was provided at 8:30 the next morning. He sat alone for several hours more, then was cuffed and escorted back into the interrogation room. Harkins was waiting.

“Can I go home now? I really need a shower.”

Harkins lips snuck out in that same ambiguous smile.

“For now. But I need you to come back in for follow up in two or three days. Enjoy the shower.”

***

Harkins called back the third day after the shooting.

“You may need to spend that twenty-five hundred now.”

“Hah?”

“For a lawyer.”

“Why, it was self defense.”

“So it appears. With or without a lawyer, I need to see you at two this afternoon.”

Collin returned to the station without the lawyer, and was escorted back into the interrogation room. Harkins started in by re-reciting Collin’s rights. He had a file folder in front of him that he kept closed.

“Funny thing, Collin. Mary Beth heard about you on the news. She said you were a slimy little sucker, and I trust her judgement, so I started doing some cross checking. A few hours before you offed Mr. Torres there was a break in at a local business. Door was jimmied with what we think was a crowbar just like Torres carried into your house.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Your manager was kind enough to provide us with your appointment schedule for the last year. Guess what? A month or so after you made sales calls several places were broken into and cash and equipment stolen.”

“So what, happens all the time.”

“It does. Our dear, dead friend Ignacio liked to facilitate his break ins using a crowbar, we’d caught him before. But he liked empty offices with cash and computers, not homes with armed owners. Why do you suppose he broke into your place?”

“Maybe he thought I had money.”

“Maybe. We’re starting to get reports back from pawn shops and it looks like Ignacio was indeed the break in artiste. He must have been psychic, seemed to know exactly where the petty cash lock boxes were kept. Something you would also have known from your security sales calls.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Harkins. I just quit talking.”

Harkins’ smile was beatific. “No need, Collin. Your credit checks show that you went from delinquent to good boy about a year ago. Found a new source of revenue, did you?

“I figure you two best buddies had a disagreement. We may never know whether you told Ignacio to break in so you could claim insurance, or if you invited him in and bust open your own door after you shot him. Doesn’t matter. I’m betting you and Ignacio used the same diner or parking lot every time to discuss splitting profits or the next job. Cell phone records will tell us where.”

Collin sat in silent, catatonic rigidity, his mouth twitching.

“But Collin, aside from being a creep with my sister, the clincher for me was your gun.”

Collin blurted out, “my gun?”

Harkins’ smile slithered out again. “I favor a wheel gun myself, and I took yours out of storage and dry fired it. Absolutely brutal trigger pull, must be twelve, fourteen pounds. No way you cracked off two shots on impulse, you’d have to clench your trigger finger like a death grip. After you get a lawyer you may need that drink.”