"Yeah, probably."
"I appreciate your telling me that now."
"This bread is special. You want to try it with some jam?" he said.
An hour later, however, Doc's spirits died with the appearance of the sheriff's cruiser in the front yard, its emergency lights flashing.
"Step out here, Mr. Holland," the sheriff said.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Are you hard of hearing?"
I walked out on the porch. Under the shadow of his hat the sheriff's face looked as hard and bloodless as a turnip.
"Where were you two hours ago?" he asked.
"In East Missoula. Talking with my son."
"Cleo Lonnigan says you were on her property, up the Jocko."
"She's delusional."
"You're under arrest for assault and battery. Put your hands on the banister. No, don't open your mouth, don't think about it, just do what I tell you," he said.
I leaned on the porch railing and felt his hands travel over my person.
"Who is he supposed to have assaulted?" Doc said behind me.
"Go back inside, Dr. Voss. If there was ever a double-header giant-size pain in the ass, it's you two. You better hope that man don't die," the sheriff said, and hooked up my wrists and turned me toward his cruiser.
"Which man? Who are you talking about?" I said.
"That homosexual carpenter you beat the shit out of with a piece of pipe, one with an iron bonnet on it. Why didn't you just run his head over with a tractor wheel while you was at it?"
"This is insane," I said.
"Tell that to Cleo Lonnigan. She wants your head on a post, Mr. Holland. You'd better be thankful I got to you first," he replied.
I TRIED to reason with him from the backseat of the cruiser as we headed toward the county jail. When we passed through East Missoula I craned my head to catch a glimpse of the salvage yard where I had left Lucas with Sue Lynn.
"Listen to me, Sheriff. I can't be in jail. Wyatt Dixon threatened both my son and Doc's daughter. That woman's lying. I couldn't have been up the Jocko. Stop and talk with Lucas."
"Shut up, Mr. Holland," the sheriff replied.
I kicked the wire-mesh screen. "You're a thickheaded old fool, sir. I'm an attorney. I don't beat up innocent people with metal objects. Use your judgment, for God's sake," I said.
"You hurt my vehicle, I'm gonna pull on a side road and take your bark off," he said.
In the holding cell I yelled down the corridor, demanded to use the phone, and shook the barred door against the lock. Finally a sleepy, overweight turnkey walked down the corridor and looked into my face.
"You want something?" he asked.
"To use the phone."
"It's out of order. We'll let you know when it's fixed," he said, and walked away.
At three in the morning the sheriff came down the corridor with a wood chair gripped in his hand. He set the chair in front of my cell and sat in it. He removed an apple wrapped in a paper bag from his coat pocket and began paring the skin away with a pocketknife.