FFICER BARKER DROVE in the direction of Melvin’s apart ment, backed up by a county sheriff. Either he’d find him home and be able to question him, or he’d catch him coming home from chasing Christina. Barker knew the captain’s interests lay elsewhere, so if a proper investigation was to be conducted, he’d have to do it himself. And he needed to move quickly.
Mitch was coordinating the sweep of the area. So far they had located Christina’s shoe, some old military-issue night vision equipment, and spotted the black ski mask hung up in the tree. The perpetrator was nowhere to be found.
They’d decided that Christina’s story was strong enough to arrest Melvin if his eye was gashed, as she said it was. If no cuts were found, he planned on asking the District Attorney for a warrant.
He pulled up to the home. Everything was dark upstairs, but the basement apartment was well-lit and open. He strode up the front steps and knocked...waited...and knocked again with force. The sheriff stood in the driveway, watching the other door. A dim light flickered on inside. Barker could hear furniture being moved. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the frame; apparently the door was not used regularly. It opened a few inches and Melvin poked his face part way into the opening. “What do you need?” he squeaked.
“Are you Melvin Briggs?”
His reply was terse. “I am. What do you want?”
The lighting was poor. Barker couldn’t see what the man wore,
and only half of his face could be seen in the shadows. Pointing his light directly in Melvin’s face, Barker saw that his eye was visibly swollen. Confident he had the right man, the officer felt an adrenaline rush. How was he going to pull Melvin through the front door? He drew his revolver and aimed it directly at Melvin’s nose. “You’re under arrest for the attempted kidnapping of Christina Rodriguez,” he shouted. The sheriff in the driveway likewise drew his gun and pointed it in the direction of the closed door.
“Settle down, officer,” Melvin said calmly. “I’ll be out in a moment. I can’t get past this door, but I’ll come out the side by the driveway. Let’s see if we can clear up this misunderstanding.” He started to close the door.
“Hold it!” Barker wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. If he closed the door, they wouldn’t have a clue what he was doing. It didn’t appear possible to force the door open, and he didn’t have a warrant. Melvin opened the door and peered from the crack. “I’m not going to do anything. I just can’t get past the door.” Barker began to shake. He’d only drawn his revolver once before in his eight years on the force. Now he was facing a cold-blooded killer...Then Melvin struck a bargain. “Look, why don’t you put your cuffs on me through the door and I’ll walk out the back with my hands in the air.”
Barker thought through the dilemma, deciding he had to either drag him through the four-inch crack or let him come out on his own. “Put both arms out here,” Barker directed. “Is anyone else in the house?”
“No. I’m alone.”The sheriff was now standing on the porch, calling for back-up. They could hear the sirens approaching. Melvin worked both of his spindly wrists through the small opening. Barker, in turn, holstered his pistol, took the cuffs from his belt and cinched them down tightly. Stepping back again, Barker once more unsheathed his revolver. “I want you out the back door in less than 20 seconds, your hands in the air.”
“Settle down, I don’t want to get hurt.”Barker backed down the steps. He and the sheriff quickly moved around to a position protected by the car in the driveway. In less than ten seconds Melvin had opened the back door and was standing on the porch, his cuffed arms raised high. Three more units pulled up in front. In seconds, dozens of spotlights and shotguns were trained on the darkly clothed man. “Turn around and back down the steps.” Melvin did exactly as he was told. “Lie face down, hands above your head, legs spread apart.” Again, Melvin followed every order. As soon as he was prostrate, Barker and the sheriff rushed in, frisked him and pulled him to his feet, shoving him up against the brick wall of the house. “You have the right to remain silent....”
The tension was high; every officer on the scene was ready to shoot. “All I did was talk to her,” Melvin mewled. “Where is she? The last time I saw her she was riding her bike down the street.”
“She’s right where you left her, you jerk: In the woods, bleeding, scared to death.”
Melvin appeared shocked. “I didn’t touch her. She was acting funny after her dad threatened me. I didn’t even leave the place.”
“How’d you hurt your eye?”
“I...I ran into the corner of the wall just a few minutes before you knocked,” he stuttered in response.
Barker peppered him with questions as he was led to the patrol car. “Have you ever been in the military?”
“Yes, I’m retired army. What does that have to do with anything?”
Barker opened the back door to his car and pushed Melvin’s head down and into the vehicle. “You s.o.b.! You’ll get the death penalty for what you’ve done.”
Bingham ripped through the house like a tornado, demolishing everything in his path. No bag of drugs. He wandered to the bedroom, slipped something from his pocket, unwrapped the contents and dropped the small object behind the dresser. Leaning against the wall, he focused his light beam on the object. “Sheriff, come give me a hand moving this dresser!” he called into the other room. “I think we might have something here.”
The two of them slid the dresser away from the wall. On the floor lay a single bullet casing. The captain took a pen from his pocket, balanced the shell, and guided it into a small plastic bag. “Where’s the dog?” He hadn’t noticed the silence until then. “I want bank records, phone records, e-mail....anything else we can find,” he demanded. “And check the garage for the damn dog,” he told Olsen, too afraid to do it himself.
Bingham’s fear of dogs went way back. He often bragged of his stories of hand-to-hand combat in ’Nam, nerves steady and cold. He’d been wounded three times on his tour—but had never told anyone of the tiny Chihuahua that had bit his leg at the age of five.
After leaving the clothes bag in the Merc, Stacey, having donned his dark jacket, returned and watched the scene from behind a maple, two houses away. He didn’t have much time. He needed evidence, and the captain’s car held it. Clenching the silent dog whistle between his lips, he gave three short puffs. Sig obediently sat. Stacey crept along the darkened street to the vehicle, took the key from the pocket of his coveralls, and unlocked the driver’s door. When he cautiously swung open the door, the car’s interior lights came on. He closed it again; it seemed to illuminate the entire neighborhood.
Stacey decided to enter as quickly as possible. Peering over the side through the windows, he quickly opened the door and pressed the unlock button to the others. Then he crawled to the back door and slipped in, pulling the door far enough closed to turn off the interior lights. He glanced up to see Olsen walk from the kitchen to the garage. Instinctively he ducked.
Olsen stepped through the already open doorway and felt for the light. He wasn’t afraid of Sig; they were buddies. He’d been more than surprised to hear that the dog had bitten the captain. He noticed a large piece of red meat on the floor inside the door. On the other side of it was a ten-inch puddle of water. Odd, he thought. The only other things in the room were a few garden tools. He switched off the light and started back toward the kitchen. “The dog’s not there,” he announced.
Bingham let out a snort. “Did you search it?”“Not much to search. Nothing there but an empty bucket of water and a bloody piece of meat.”
“That’s it?” Bingham started for the garage.
“Well, no sir, it’s full of dog crap too,” he responded sarcastically.
Stacey had alternately maneuvered his large frame back and forth as he worked in the back seat, making sure he was out of sight of the officers inside the house. Using his knees, he pressed forward at the base of the back seat. The right side was easy, the left more difficult. He popped the other hook loose and raised it up. Then with a pocket knife, he cut a strip of fabric from the upholstery under the seat.
Olsen and the captain crossed from the house to the garage. Bingham flipped on the light and glanced around the room. Taking a rake down from the wall, he skewered the meat, intending to move it. White powder fell from within. “What’s that?” Olsen frowned.
“No idea.” The captain unfastened his keys from his belt and handed them to Olsen. “Go get an evidence bag from my car.”
“I’ve been kept awake by you people half the night. What’s going on?” Bingham strutted out from the garage to see who had spoken to Olsen.
“Who’re you?” Olsen asked.
“I live downstairs.” The captain recognized him from the television report. He wouldn’t have much to say.
“Here, I’ll get the bags myself.” He reached for the keys and started for the car. Stacey ducked down.
Christina lay in the ambulance. She had stopped crying and looked on as a paramedic tended to her rope-burned hand. “I’d like to take her in for a few x-rays—make sure there are no other injuries,” the paramedic told Kate.
Mitch approached the ambulance door. Melvin was in custody, he told them, “arrested for attempted kidnapping. His eye was swollen, just like you told us.”
Television reporters and camera crews had begun descending on the scene. One approached Mitch as the camera man got a shot of Christina on the gurney through the open door. Mitch quickly closed it. “No comment,” he answered when questioned whether they’d caught the murderer of the girls.
“Has the warrant of the Stacey home turned anything up?” the reporter followed up.
“No comment,” he said again as he walked away. She rushed to her car and checked her notes. Her cameraman started the car and pulled away.
Stacey hunkered down on the floorboard. I’m dead, he thought. The captain would surely kill him, given the opportunity. Bingham started around the back of the car. Stacey lifted his legs, prepared to kick the door open and catch him off guard so he could get away. But instead Bingham stopped at the trunk and put in his key. Stacey relaxed. The trunk popped open—as did the partially latched door at Stacey’s feet. On went the interior lights. Stacey reached out and pulled the door closed with the heel of his foot, which now protruded above the window. The captain pulled the trunk lid down to see the source of the flash, but saw only the dark interior of the car. He let the trunk lid back up, this time paying closer attention. Nothing changed. He fumbled through the boxes inside and closed the lid, then returned to the garage.
Stacey was once more left alone to reflect on the danger he was in. I don’t know if I can live on the other side of the law very long. His heart pounded as he watched everyone congregate in the garage. When he felt it was safe, he opened the door, slid out, and latched it shut. Just then a car pulled around the corner. Stace crept to the front of Bingham’s car and crouched in the shadow from the headlights of the oncoming vehicle. The car pulled up and stopped directly behind. A woman climbed out from the back seat. A man, leaving the headlights on, wrestled a camera from the front passenger’s side and stepped out. Camera lights brought Bingham back out of the garage. The reporter walked toward him, microphone in hand. “Captain Bingham, what has your search of Officer Stacey’s residence turned up?” Bingham wasn’t happy to see her on the scene, especially when his prize evidence was missing. He didn’t want the word out too soon that nothing had been recovered from the home.
“Off the record,” he grunted. The camera lights were turned off. “We found a casing that matched the caliber of weapon Derickson was shot with. Now you two need to get out of here.”
Stacey, listening to the exchange, didn’t know that his bad luck was about to get worse as he crouched only a few short yards from where the captain stood. He blew one long and three short blasts on his whistle. Sig began to bark. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked off in the direction of the sound. The captain started toward the front of his automobile. Stacey clenched his teeth and gave one short and one long blast, bringing Sig, in an aggressive stance, bolting from his hiding place and directly at the captain.
The cameraman flipped on the lights and his camera began to roll. Bingham drew his weapon, his long shadow stretching across the yard and up the neighboring house. If he missed, he wouldn’t get a second chance. Stacey leapt from the front of the car to take the man down. A shot was heard as Sig’s teeth sunk deep into Bingham’s arm while Stacey pulled the weapon from his grasp. Stacey then pulled away, slapped his leg to call off the dog, and the two of them disappeared into the darkness. Bingham lumbered to his feet. Olsen and the sheriff ran from the home to give pursuit, but they were no match for Stacey or his dog. Bingham called for backup.
Kate, Danny and Christina returned home from the hospital around two a.m. The x-rays had proven negative and the tenderness was subsiding in her shoulder. A nasty bump had formed on her head where she’d slammed against the treehouse and her hip was scraped and bruised. Danny wanted to hear every detail. He could hardly believe Christina had jumped off the roof. Kate kissed her and tucked her in bed. It only took her a minute to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be a big day. Officer Mitchell wanted to interview her again.
Don’s bus droned on through the night. Boise lay only another hour away. He hoped he could reach his father in time. He felt terrible about the way he and Cecily had parted. How could he possibly make things right between them? And now she’d seen him rear his ugly temper, which probably would scare her away for good. He pondered how good she was, musing, Christina and Cecily are a perfect fit, too. Don took a moment to ponder what that thought implied. Then he leaned back against the headrest and did his best to sleep.
Stacey and Sig scrambled over fences and skulked through back yards. Doubling back to the car, Stacey got in, let Sig in the back, and drove away. By the time backup arrived, he was on his way to Provo to find an open grocery store. Sig hadn’t had anything to eat all day.
Though he didn’t look like the Officer Stacey who was being hunted by Captain Bingham, the bib overalls and straw hat drew more attention to him than would street clothes. He needed to get back to his house and gather a few more belongings. He also needed to charge his radio battery so he would know what was going on.
Stacey reached in his pocket and took out the roll of bills his grandma had given him. Removing the rubber band, he counted out four one hundred dollar bills wrapped in a dollar bill. Bless her heart!
Parking the car, Stacey gave Sig the signal to lie on the floor in back. He didn’t want to chance someone recognizing the two of them together. Ten cans of dog food and a few staples for himself came to more than twenty-five dollars. He started the car and pulled onto State Street, then made a right-hand turn toward the cemetery. Two blocks later, flashing lights appeared in his rearview mirror.
He drove slowly on, knowing he hadn’t done anything illegal. They must be going somewhere else, he thought at first. But when the car drew up behind him, Stacey pulled over and shut off the motor. The officer cautiously stepped from his car and came forward. Stacey ordered Sig to stay down, hoping the officer wouldn’t see him.
“Good morning,” the officer said. He didn’t appear to be anyoneStacey knew.
“Somethin’ wrong, officer?” he said in his best attempt at a coun
try drawl.
“Did you know your tail lights are out?”
“No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Can I see your registration and driver’s license?”
“Let me see if I can find them.” Stacey fumbled through the
glove box and produced the registration, grateful it was in the name
of his aunt, who kept the paperwork in order for his aging grandmother.
“Driver’s license, too,” the officer asked as he began to examine
the papers.
“Sir, I don’t believe I got it with me. I think I left it on the dresser
when I put on my pants.” He groped through his pockets. “You see,
when I put on my pants.” He groped through his pockets. “You see,
some-odd years old and we rarely leave Fillmore with this car. She
wasn’t feeling so good, so I came down to the store to get her some
medicine. Here, let me show you.” He began to fumble through the
bag.
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He handed back the paperwork. “Just see if you can get those lights fixed for her.” “Sure thing, officer.”
Stacey knew what the officer was thinking. A good percentage of
the people driving at night are either drunk or up to no good. The
dusty old car made his story sound authentic, but the lights would
be the first thing he’d fix. To his knowledge, a warrant for his arrest
hadn’t yet been issued. From the news report, he’d be charged with
Deek’s murder, as well as the assault of Captain Bingham. Stacey
couldn’t afford to show his face until he accumulated enough information to put Bingham away.
He waited for the officer to pull away, then opened a can of dog
food with his knife. Sig patiently waited. When finished, they headed
off en route to Mapleton.
Stacey parked on a side street and they walked to his parents’
home in the upper-class part of town. Still carrying a key, he slipped
into the room over the garage to catch a few hours’ sleep, entering
through the garage so as not to disturb anyone. He wouldn’t be safe
staying there more than the night, so he’d be sure to be out before
dawn.