CHAPTER SEVEN
Frances Hudson started his career as a police officer at age twenty-three, and worked his way through the department to where he now holds the title of 'Chief-of-Police' in Saint Cloud. It’s a small police department, with only two detectives and ten officers. At his present age of sixty-four, retiring next year has been very much on his mind. Through the last forty-one years of his law enforcement profession, he has seen many things; mostly routine, some odd, some things even a tad funny, but never a single murder. That would soon change.
Chief Hudson stood five feet eight inches and weighed one hundred sixty-five pounds on average. Sporting a thin white goatee, sideburns and a full head of long white hair--which he slicked back with a dab of petroleum jelly--gave him the look of a kindly old grandfather. Square-jawed with a high forehead just added to his wholesome first-rate looks, that is, for a gentleman of his age. Easy going, big hearted and uncomplicated made him the most respected and likeable lawman in town, always ready to help anyone in true need.
Ethel, who went by her middle name of Lynn, his high school sweetheart and cherished wife of only twelve years died abruptly; she was returning from a shopping trip in Millersburg, and was involved in a three car mishap on highway 56. The highway patrol report would state that she was fallowing a pickup truck eastbound on the highway, when a westbound car crossed the center-line. The pickup truck driver swerved off the roadway into a ploughed-over field to keep from hitting the car head-on. Lynn Hudson also swerved off the roadway to avoid the car that was now in the wrong lane coming toward her. The pickup driver came to a halt about twenty yards from the roadway, but Lynn’s car struck a telephone pole; she lived for four days before succumbing to her fatal injuries. The report also stated the elderly male driver who crossed the center-line had suffered a heart attack; even though he never struck either vehicle, he ended up in the field, and died waiting for help to arrive.
Devastated, Frances never fully recovered from the loss of his beautiful wife; he would remain a widower for the rest of his days, dedicating himself to his law enforcement career, and his love of helping the underprivileged youth through the local chapter of the 4-H club, and Troop 27 of the Boy Scouts.
Then there was his younger half-brother Johnny, who always seemed to bring shame upon the Hudson family name; the black-sheep as it were.
Many felt a little sorry for Chief Hudson, due to the dark shadow his younger half-brother cast over the town of Saint Cloud. Frances tried his best to appease the town folks when it came to Johnny, but to no avail; he was just plain sinful and they all knew it.
Frances was the only child of Andrew and Dorothy Hudson. After nineteen years of marriage, his wife died from throat cancer, Andrew remarried a much younger woman by the name of Gretchen Lamont and they sired their only son, Johnny. Not long after Johnny’s twentieth birthday, both Andrew and Gretchen died in a suspicious house fire late one Sunday night in Millersburg.
The fire and police investigations could not rule out fowl play, but with no concrete evidence, it was finally ruled an accident. Many rumors swirled about town how it could have been an accident; both Gretchen and Andrew were heavy smokers, but some laid blame at Johnny’s doorstep.
Twice arrested for petty theft, vandalism and some other small crimes; he was no stranger when it came to breaking the laws of the land. Most folks who knew Andrew and Johnny, had heard the stories of them brawling when one or both had been drinking somewhat. No lost love between this father and son. Johnny openly criticized both his parents, for no matter what happened, his mother always took her husband’s side, or so that’s how Johnny always saw it to be.
Now, at age forty-four, Johnny over the years had gotten worse; he was a basic low-down, no-good, rotten scoundrel; liar, conman, thief, roughneck, and drunken evildoer. The Christians called him a disciple of the devil; but not to his face of course, as many were afraid of him and with good cause. Johnny, a large brute of a man; stood over six feet and weighed two hundred and fifteen pounds. His stone-cold stoic stare could make even the most confident of men look away after a few moments. Wickedness just seemed to ooze from his leathery sunburnt skin. Johnny’s grey-blue eyes, shoulder length oily dark hair and patchy matted beard, went perfectly with his unwashed patched-up clothes and faded torn black Stetson hat.
Johnny's main employ was rumored to be owner and operator of two taverns; one in Saint Cloud and the other in Millersburg. They attracted mainly the lower dregs of society because of the basic atmosphere of these sleazy joints; cheap booze, ladies of ill repute, gambling, back-door dealings and fist-fights galore. Many-a-townsfolk were waitin’ and even prayin’ for the day he would be jailed and get his fair comeuppance as it were; for surely god almighty would punish such an evil man.