Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.
(Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)
Episode 20
After closing the door to his room, Rich slipped off his shoes. I'm tired, he thought, but if I go to sleep now, I’ll be awake at three.
He had bought a couple of cheap private detective novels. They lay on the nightstand. He picked one up and started to read. The phone rang. Geez, Rich thought, the blonde just walked into the office and asked for a light. He picked up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Rich, this is Miss Winslow. I have bad news.”
Rich sat up. “What is it?”
“Hiram is dead,” Miss Winslow said. “Heart attack, at home.”
“Oh, no,” Rich said. “How’s Mrs. Holiday?”
“I don’t know,” Miss Winslow said, “but I have more bad news. The sheriff is on his way to arrest you.”
“You mean the sheriff himself or deputies?” Rich asked.
“The sheriff himself,” Miss Winslow said. “He’s coming with a couple of news reporters, a photographer, and a camera crew. I suggest you take a back road to the county jail and turn yourself in. That will take the wind out of the sheriff’s sails and the media.”
“How do you know this?” Rich asked.
“Hiram and I have eyes and ears everywhere,” Miss Winslow said. “Get going before they get there. As soon as you’re at the sheriff’s office, call me.”
“Got it,” Rich said and hung up.
Rich immediately looked out the window. No one had arrived yet. He rushed to the bathroom and opened the window. He climbed out and ran to a farm field only about fifteen yards away. He ran back to the window and climbed back into the bathroom, leaving the window open.
He went to the closet and opened the access lid to the crawl space. He arranged some clothing sloppily on the lid. Then he lowered himself into the crawl space and pulled the lid in place. In the dark, he waited.
He heard several automobiles pull in front of his room. A loud knock on the door was followed by, “Sheriff, open up. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
“Get a key.”
A minute passed. Rich heard the door open.
“Larsen, put your hands up. You're under arrest.”
“He’s not here.”
“His Jeep is here.”
“He slipped out the bathroom window.”
“He couldn’t have gone far.”
A minute passed.
“Look there. The grass has been beaten down. He took off into the field.”
“You four spread out. I’ll call the bloodhounds.”
Half an hour passed. From the crawl space, he heard the dogs being brought in. From the conversation, Rich was able to discern that the dogs had been given Rich’s scent. Then he heard the dogs taken around back to pick up the scent. The dog was given commands.
“Go on, boy. Go get ‘em,” was repeated several times.
“Dumb dogs stop at the field.”
“Maybe the chemicals they’ve been sprayin’ are messing up his sniffer.”
“That dog couldn’t smell a fart if his nose was three inches from an ass.”
“Sheriff Morris is fit to be tied. This was big for him. He really wanted to arrest Larsen personally. The media was all set up and ready to cover the whole thing.”
“Hey, look serious and busy. Morris just pulled into the driveway.”
A couple of minutes passed. Rich heard talking from the front of the motel. He crawled to a vent in the front of the crawl space.
“We have all the roads sealed up a mile in every direction. We have men walking the field to the north, east, and west. There’s no way he crossed the highway to go south.”
“Shouldn’t we cover the south?”
“Spreads us too thin. We put our men where the chances are greatest.”
Rich half-grinned and thought, Thanks for the info.
“Clemmons, you and Parker stay here and watch the motel. One of you in the front and one in the back. Don’t you dare go into the room. I don’t want ya taking a nap or watching TV. I don’t think he’ll be dumb enough to circle back, but let’s at least have a presence. It’s a good look. And who knows, he may come back.”
It became quiet. He heard several automobiles drive away. One final car door shut, and it was quiet. Rich waited for an hour. He crawled back to the lid. He slowly pushed it open and pulled himself back into the closet. He crept to the front window. He parted the curtain. A deputy sat in his cruiser smoking a cigarette.
He has to take a leak sometime, Rich thought. I hope he doesn’t come in here. Can I make it to the crawl space in time? Maybe I’ll just roll under the bed.
At about 12:45, Rich heard a car door open. He rushed to the window and eased back the curtain. The deputy walked away from the cruiser toward the end of the building. He rushed to the window in the bathroom.
“Parker,” the deputy whispered. “You wanna go get a coffee?”
“Don’t you think one of us should stay here?”
“Would you rather have a coffee here or at Rosey’s?”
“I haven’t eaten since five.”
“Hey, we’re supposed to have a lunch break after four hours. If nobody’s here, that ain’t our problem.”
“There’s no sense in sitting around here.”
“Let’s go and say we stayed.”
They chuckled. A minute passed. The engine of the cruiser started. Rich peered through the window and watched its red taillights drive away. They’re not looking for my Jeep, Rich thought.
He stuffed his clothing into his baggage. He opened the door and looked around. He tossed the baggage into the Jeep. He climbed into the Jeep. He took a deep breath.
“Well, here we go.”
He slowly drove out of the parking lot. He turned east. Going west would take him into town. A roadblock was east, a mile away. He knew of a farm lane that went south before reaching the roadblock. He shifted through the gears and reached forty-five miles per hour. He felt free and at ease. Nothing is quite as invigorating as those first moments of escape.
“Crap!” Rich saw the sign: Rosey’s Diner: Open 24 hours. “That’s where the deputies are.”
Turning around may attract attention, Rich thought. Just drive on by.
Two cruisers were parked out front. As Rich drove by, he glanced inside. Two deputies sat at the counter, not paying attention to the road. He sighed. Someone will be in big trouble, Rich thought.
He slowed the Jeep and looked for the farm lane. He saw it and turned onto it. The lights were turned off. Only the park light remained on. He drove slowly and cautiously to make the holes and ruts easier to maneuver. He reached a cross lane and turned left. Finally, he came upon a paved township road. That led to another road that navigated him beyond the perimeter of the roadblocks.
Forty-five minutes after leaving the motel, he was on Route 81 west. It was a highway he was familiar with. It was a route taken to visit family in Indiana. It was taken because, as long as Rich’s mother and father could remember, they never saw a State Highway Patrolman on it.
He wondered how long it would take before the two deputies returned to the motel and noticed the Jeep was missing. He also wondered if they would concoct a story to protect themselves. Something like: he was somewhere in the back, and when we came out front, the Jeep was gone. Rich thought Sheriff Morris would be reluctant to notify the State Highway Patrol. He and Briggs were cut from the same cloth. They were arrogant and incompetent.
“I’m lucky to have them,” Rich said, amusing himself.
Small communities, nothing more than a store and a couple of houses, sprang up in the night like large prehistoric monsters. They sat silent and lifeless. Their day had passed. Once busy gathering places are now as lifeless as a graveyard.
A roadside picnic area with one table and a well slowly came into view out of the night. He pulled over and slept for half an hour. He woke and began driving again.
I hope I have outdistanced any word about me, Rich thought. I wish I had a plan. Someplace secure to go to. The police are more likely to spot a moving Jeep than one parked among other cars. They’ll be looking for someone on the move. I have to be almost two hundred miles away. They’re still looking for me in the area.
The day began to brighten from behind. Eyes became gritty and heavy. I need a place to rest, he thought.
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