Imperfect Escape

by Gregg E. Brickman

  The previous evening, Ray had updated her on the events of the day. The DEA had whisked Silken away to a place unknown, and for his protection, the county sheriff had transported Krantz to the lockup in Blount County, where he would be anonymous.

  Two dead trees chopped from her world, but Ray had said there was more. The arson and murders at Vast's lab still lay on his desk as an open case.

  She focused on the day to come with pleasant anticipation. Her assignment was the ED Trauma Unit.

  She checked her mirrors and the road ahead for the Tennessee Highway Patrol, then increased her speed. A few minutes later, she parked the MINI in the employees' parking lot nearest the ED and entered the hospital.

  The staff lounge was empty except for Ricky Tondo, who was busy making a fresh pot of bad coffee.

  "Hey, Ricky. One of these days I'm going to bring in a bag of real coffee."

  "You'll put everyone in shock. Then who will staff this hellhole?" Ricky frowned.

  "My, my, aren't we negative today." She put her purse in her locker and removed the tools of the trade—stethoscope, bandage scissors, hemostat, pens, and her favorite calipers—placing them in the various pockets of her cargo pants. "Where are you assigned today? Do you know?"

  "Trauma."

  "Cool. Me, too. At least the time flies there."

  "True." He replaced his frown with a scowl.

  "Why the grumpy mood? Are you going to be like that all day? If you are, I'm going home. I feel a headache coming on." Sophia smiled to soften her words.

  "Nah, I'll cheer up. Jonathan was on a roll this morning before I left for work. Not even a kiss goodbye. I'm sure it'll be fine when I get home." He removed the pot from the coffee maker, interrupting the flow of coffee, and poured two cups, handing one to Sophia. He sat at the table and motioned for her to do the same. "Which room do you want today?"

  "How about I be primary on the first admission."

  "Works."

  Twenty minutes later they stood under the trauma entrance canopy watching an ambulance maneuver into position. The back door opened. Two deputy sheriffs emerged, followed by two paramedics handling a gurney containing Charles Flocker, a.k.a. Bubba.

  Sophia moved to the head of the stretcher. "Mr. Flocker. We meet again."

  "You know, sweet-ums, I was hopin' I'd have you today."

  Sophia rolled her eyes. "You can tell me why after we get you inside and settled."

  "I might could do that."

  Sophia looked at the huge, female medic. "What's the story, Pepper?"

  "Mr. Flocker got himself into a knife fight in the jail. The assailant stabbed him three times on his abdomen, another on his left arm, and another on his left leg. None of them appear critical." Pepper went on to recite Flocker's vital signs and other data.

  "Let's put him in room one."

  They rolled the stretcher into the room, parked it beside the hospital's gurney, adjusted the respective heights, and assisted the patient to move. Sophia and Ricky spent the next several minutes examining Flocker. The bleeding in the arm and leg lacerations had stopped. The same with two belly wounds. The third seeped bright red.

  Dr. Gold came into the room, listened to their report, and examined the patient. After he'd probed the most severe abdominal wound, he packed it with gauze to staunch the bleeding. "I'll call the surgeon to be on standby, but I think we can handle this without the OR. Meanwhile, Mr. Flocker, you'll need a CT scan to see if there is internal damage. Sophia, cover all the wounds and start an IV of normal saline."

  "Did that son of a bitch kill me, Doc?" Flocker's voice shook.

  "No, but I'll need to spend some time sewing you up. One of the puncture wounds on your abdomen is deep, but I don't think it penetrated beyond the adipose tissue."

  "Huh?" Flocker knitted his brow.

  "The abdominal fat," Sophia said.

  Flocker laughed. "Saved by my belly. No shit."

  Sophia called for the CT scan, started the IV, and covered the wounds, then she pulled up a stool. "Now, Bubba, why were you glad to see me? One nurse is the same as another."

  "Not really. You saved my life on a morning. I want to thank you." His grin was sheepish.

  "You're welcome. Right time, right place." She looked him in the eye. "What else?"

  "What else?"

  "I can tell there is more." Sophia leaned closer so she would be able to hear Flocker's response but the deputy outside the door wouldn't.

  "When Vast's lab went up, I saw—"

  She looked up when Paul, a tech from the main ED, entered.

  "Bubba," the tech said. "I haven't seen you in a spell."

  "Nah, I've been busy."

  "In jail, I hear."

  "Yup."

  Sophia looked from man to man. "You know each other?"

  "Ah—" Flocker said.

  "Sure. You didn't know Bubba used to work here? Fact is, he was in the same paramedic class as me."

  A piece fell into place for Sophia. She kept her face neutral.

  "Anyway," Paul said, "I wanted to say hello." He left.

  "Now, where were we?" Sophia hoped Flocker would continue the conversation. "What did you see when Vast's lab exploded?"

  Flocker exhaled in a rush, then surveyed the room, stopping when he was eye to eye with Sophia. "I misspoke. I didn't see nothing." He paused. "I know De-tec-tive Stone is your main squeeze. I want you to give him a message."

  "Why? Just have the jail call him." She rolled the stool a few inches away from his stretcher.

  "No, you see, if I stay there in the jail, I'm a dead man. Silken's crew is after my fat ass." Again, Flocker's gaze shifted about the room, stopping, this time, on the deputy outside the door. "They'll put me in sick bay for a few days. I'll be safe there, but then it'll be back to the cell. Then the clock be's tickin' on my days."

  "So, let me get this right. You want to talk to Ray about making a deal so you don't have to go into the general population."

  "Right. I knew you were smart, sweet'ums." Flocker grinned.

  "I'll give him a call." Sophia thought, boy would she. She set up for suturing, notified the physician, and assisted.

  Two hours later, transport arrived to move Flocker back to sick bay in the jail.

  Sophia called Ray. When he answered, she said, "Flocker just left the ED."

  "No shit? Why was he there?"

  She gave him the information. "I learned two things. First, he was an ED tech. He's one of the guys who finished paramedic school and ended up working in the ED because he couldn't get a position with Fire Rescue."

  "I didn't know." Ray's bass voice slid across the airwaves.

  "He had the knowledge to mess with his own IV. In fact, he'd know which drug to use. How much. How to get the timing right to look like an attempt on his life." She spoke rapid fire while trying to contain her excitement.

  "Interesting. There is more, I can tell."

  "Oh yeah. He said, 'When Vast's lab blew up, I saw—'"

  "Saw what?"

  "I don't know, we were interrupted. When I asked him what he saw, he said he misspoke. But it means he was there at the time, not riding over after the explosion?"

  Chapter 39

  Ray

  Ray said goodbye to Sophia and disconnected. He remained at his desk, pondering what he'd heard. Flocker had fed him a load of crap, and done so with smoothness and expertise. Now, the task was to corner the fat man and drag a confession from his lying lips.

  Ray grabbed the keys to his dented, unmarked Taurus, which the chief had acquired from a neighboring town. He stuck his head in Mullins' office, gave him a quick update, and headed out. He planned to interview Flocker again at the jail.

  While on I-40, halfway down the hill to Crestville, his phone buzzed. The caller was Erik Shim.

  "Shim, I am headed your way. I want to talk to Flocker."

  "That's a problem, bud, and the reason I'm calling." Shim's slight lisp sounded pronounced, as it often did when he was stress
ed.

  "Tell me."

  "Flocker is brighter than we gave him credit for. About ten minutes ago, he overpowered the deputies doing the transport from the jail, grabbed one of their guns, forced them to uncuff him, then jumped out the back of the van. A Ford F-250 had been following—casual-like. He jumped into the passenger's seat, and the truck barrel-assed down Broad Street."

  "Why am I not surprised?" Ray said.

  "I don't know. Why are you not surprised?"

  "He slipped and told Sophia, who was his nurse today at the ED, he saw Vast's lab blow. I'm thinking he blew it, and knows he's my perp for the murders." Ray paused. "I'll turn around and go back up the mountain." He exited I-40 and pulled to the side of the road.

  "You need to know Flocker set up the fight and the knifing," Shim said.

  "Extreme, but I figured. The truck, by the way, sounds like Flocker's. I saw it parked on his farm."

  "Makes you wonder if his invalid mother was driving it," Shim said.

  "The one who needs Flocker for everything?"

  "Dear, sweet Mama." Shim cleared his throat. "The deputy driving the van pursued the Ford. The other deputy called it in, then ran the block to the department, hopped in his patrol vehicle, and gave chase. The van driver followed the truck east until it reached the other side of the highway, but he couldn't keep up. By the time dispatch sent another deputy to help look for the Ford, it was long gone."

  "It's a big county east of Crestville." Ray waited for a car to pass, then made a U-turn, crossed the bridge spanning the Interstate, and drove east on US-70N. "Do you suppose he's stupid enough to go home?"

  Shim laughed. "I'd bet he thinks we're stupid enough not to check, at least not right away. Besides, if he has a stash of cash, it'll be at the farm. He'll need it."

  "I've turned around and am heading up 70N now."

  "See to it someone doesn't force you off the road again." Shim laughed. "I'll send a couple of deputies out to the park near Dripping Springs Drive to meet you. I'm leaving here now. I'll get there as fast as I can."

  "You're thinking we'll have trouble waiting for us at Flocker's house?"

  "I am."

  Ray disconnected. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into Bluff Overlook Park where he and Sophia hiked the day the bloody hand fell from a tree and slid down her back. Johnson, whom Ray called during his drive, waited in the parking area. Ten minutes later, three sheriff's deputies and Detective Shim arrived, followed by Mullins in his unmarked.

  When the group assembled, Ray said, "Shim thinks there is the possibility of violence—if, in fact, Flocker is at his house. The plan is to approach and surround the house. I'll knock on the door, and, with luck, talk to the woman and find out where her son is hiding." He surveyed the group, discovering he, Shim, and Mullins were the only ones not wearing protective vests.

  Two minutes later, they all wore vests and had fitted earpieces and positioned microphones. After removing the AR-15 assault rifles from the trunks, Ray and Mullins climbed into Johnson's Cruiser.

  Shim joined one of the deputies. The other two deputies shared a car.

  The ride to the house Flocker shared with his mother took ten minutes.

  Ray didn't see Flocker's Ford. What appeared to be fresh tire tracks led to the double doors of the barn. Extra markings suggested someone drove the truck around the yard, stopping in front of the house, perhaps, and heading out to the main road.

  Johnson parked several yards from the house's front door.

  Both deputies positioned their cruisers to block the driveway and prevent an escape run.

  Shim and one deputy checked the interior of the barn. After finding the F-250, they walked around to the back of the small, frame house to guard the only other exit.

  Johnson, Mullins, and the other two deputies took protected positions behind the vehicles.

  Ray approached the front door, stood to one side, and rapped. "Open up. Police."

  There was no reply, but he smelled stew. He whispered into his mic, "I think someone is here. I smell food."

  "A shadow moved past the window. Someone is moving around inside," Johnson said.

  On either side of him, the crash of breaking glass shattered the calm. At first, Ray thought someone on his team was trigger happy, but he was wrong. Rifle barrels emerged from the living room and front bedroom windows.

  A scratchy, screaming female voice said, "Stay away from my son. Get off my property."

  A shot rang out, and Ray dropped to the deck and rolled off the porch. He screamed in pain as his injured leg hit the first step, but he had to continue the fight.

  "Shim," Ray said, "What's the chance of going in?"

  "Can't get close enough without getting shot." Shim's voice was loud in Ray's ear.

  Ray signaled the men out front to begin shooting. "Keep 'em busy, but don't hit me."

  Johnson laughed, then blasted out the top window pane in the bedroom. Mullins took out the one in the living room and the glass in the front door, impressing Ray with his shooting.

  "Flocker, you are out-gunned and out-manned," Ray said. "Give it up."

  "Go to hell," Flocker yelled, confirming his presence.

  Both people inside fired again, but they had hunting rifles, not assault weapons. A volley of shots answered, punching holes in the house's siding and splintering the wood in the door.

  "Hold up on the count of three," Ray said as he pulled two grenades from his pocket.

  Another round of shots from the assault weapons hit the house, most of them going high.

  "One. Two. Three." Ray stood and tossed the first grenade, which sailed through the broken pane in the living room, then hit the ground. The flashbang detonated in the house, illuminating the interior as if hit by lightning. "Resume fire."

  Sporadic shots hit the house.

  "Hold your fire on three." Ray counted, scrambled to his feet, and pitched the tear gas grenade through the same window.

  The old lady screamed, then coughed.

  "Mama, are you hurt?" Flocker said, choking out the words.

  "No," Mrs. Flocker said, then continued hacking and rasping.

  "Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up," Ray said.

  The barrels withdrew into the house. A moment later, Flocker staggered through the remnants of the front door with his mother clinging to his arm. Both were red faced and coughing.

  Chapter 40

  Ray

  Deputies transported Flocker and his mother to the jail in Crestville. By the time Ray, Mullins, and Shim collected their own vehicles and drove down the mountain, the prisoners were locked in separate interrogation rooms.

  Shim headed upstairs to check on Bubba Flocker—who was, in theory, fanning his temper in the interrogation room in the detective unit. Mullins elected to accompany Ray to interview the mother—who they found in a similar room in the women's section of the jail.

  The shriveled old woman sat shivering in the too-warm room. She stared at them, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.

  "Give me a minute." Ray stepped out, returning a moment later with a tattered blanket, which he laid over Mrs. Flocker's shoulders. "Mrs. Flocker, I need to read you your rights." When he finished, he said, "Do you understand?"

  "I do."

  "Knowing and understanding your rights as I have read them to you, are you willing to speak with me now without an attorney present?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Tell me what happened today?"

  "Charles's friend called me from the hospital and said deputies were comin' to move my son back to the jail. He wanted me to come to the hospital in his truck. He told me to follow the van real close."

  "Did you?" Mullins said.

  "I sure did."

  "Then what happened?" Ray said.

  "The back doors of the van opened, and my Charles jumped out. He climbed in the truck, and I speeded off."

  "Are you aware what you did was illegal?" Ray said, keeping his vo
ice gentle.

  "I suppose. He's my son. He said he'd get killed in jail. Can't expect me to let you'uns kill my son."

  "Do you know what your son planned to do after he escaped?"

  "He said he was goin' to run. Wanted to take me along real bad, but I'm too sick. I told him I'd make him a meal first. I thought it would be the last one I ever made for him." She used a corner of the blanket to wipe her tears. "I'm thinkin' I was right."

  "What happened at the house when we arrived?"

  Mrs. Flocker sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't have no choice when he handed me the gun and told me to shoot. I fired over you'uns heads on purpose. Sweet Jesus, I'm not a bad person."

  Ray continued questioning her about the incident at the house. When he was satisfied, he moved on. "Do you know who forced me off the road last week?"

  "I think it was the man Charles made to stay with me in the house. He was from Knoxville. Told me hisself, he was a cop there but got hisself fired. The man went out one morning and came back in a white SUV. Then, that same day, Charles called and told me, 'Tell him to do his job now.'"

  "Mrs. Flocker," Mullins said, "You’ve been very forthcoming. Why is that?"

  "My Charles told me when we was riding into the jail to tell the truth. He don’t want me gettin' more upset."

  "I need you to sign a search waiver allowing us to search the house and property again." Ray handed her a sheet of paper to sign, which she did.

  ***

  The upstairs tan-painted room was devoid of adornments and contained a table and four chairs. The deputies had cuffed Flocker's hands to a bolted-down chair and positioned him facing the camera on the wall.

  Ray, Mullins, and Shim peered in through the one-way window in the door.

  "What did the old woman say?" Shim said.

  Ray updated Shim on the interview. "Flocker has a friend in the emergency room who was happy to do him a favor and call her. She and Flocker went to the farm. He was going to take off for parts unknown after a meal." Ray laughed. "Fat stomachs are dangerous." Something Sophia would say, he thought.