Star-Spangled Rejects

by J. T. Livingston

  Jimmy struggled to get to his knees, and he was gasping for air. He didn’t know which hurt more now—his torn shoulder, or his bashed-in temple. He could already feel his right eye beginning to swell shut. Somehow, he managed to push his weight against the wall and come to a standing position. He shook his head and stared at Kent. “You really killed her, didn’t you? You killed that old woman?”

  Jimmy only had a towel wrapped around his waist, but held it closed with one hand and moved closer to Jimmy. He was almost as tall as Jimmy so they were virtually eye-to-eye. He had a good twenty pounds on Jimmy and easily grabbed him around the throat with his free hand. “I did, Crennan—and, trust me, that should have you very, very worried.” He released his hold on Jimmy and walked back toward the bathroom. “Get back in bed—unless you’re prepared to die right now.”

  Ernest Blankenship couldn’t explain why he was so restless and uneasy. He looked at his calendar and recognized the date immediately—the anniversary of Elizabeth’s death. He looked up at the clock on his office wall for the fifth time in ten minutes. It was only 1:15 and the dealership seemed quieter than usual, almost eerily quiet. Business was slow—even for a Tuesday—but, it was more than that.

  He had not slept well and had awakened at 2:00 in the morning. He had returned to his matrimonial bed the night before—having lost the conviction he had found in his earlier confrontation with Rae. He had gotten out of bed, and moved quietly from the room—trying not to awaken his wife, who snored softly and slept with a night mask over her eyes. They had talked about divorce, but she had eventually convinced him that he had not made a mistake in marrying her. He had reluctantly given in to her sultry advances, once again, and—once again—was disappointed in himself. He knew he needed to end the marriage before it was too late; it might very well already be too late for his son—the marriage had already caused so much turmoil between father and son. Ernest feared it could be too late to undo the damage.

  He had opened the door to Kirk’s room before he headed downstairs. The room was dark, but Ernest saw a dark silhouette of what he assumed to be his son, lying on his side, with his back to the door—the sheets pulled up high toward his head. That’s what Ernest thought he saw.

  Once he was downstairs, he fixed himself a cup of hot chocolate and took it into his study. He ran his hands over the books on the shelves and stopped when he came to a thick photo album, with a wide brown-velvet covering. He smiled and carried the album to his desk. The photos within the album brought him a sense of peace and tranquility that he had not felt for a long, long time. There were pictures of him and Elizabeth at the justice of the peace, working in their small yard together, playing with one of their many pets, sitting side-by-side in her hospital room the morning she gave birth to their only child, trips to Disney World and Six Flags, boating trips, and so, so many pictures of their time together at their lake house.

  Ernest shook his head as he sat at his office desk and thought about all the pictures he had looked through earlier that morning. The ones of the lake house especially haunted his memories. He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead onto his clasped hands. “Such good times, Elizabeth,” he sighed. “We were all so happy then. Kirk was so happy then…”

  When he finally opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do—what he needed to do. He punched in his secretary’s extension and told her to clear his schedule for the rest of the day. He gathered his heavy coat and hat, walked to his car, and headed in the direction of Cave Spring. Maybe the lake house would bring him the peace that he so desperately needed in his life—especially today—the anniversary of his first wife’s death.

  CHAPTER 35

  David Breaks

  A lot of times—in a lot of situations—one good break might present itself and prove to be crucial to an ongoing investigation; rarely, however, do two breaks fall, simultaneously, into a cop’s lap.

  Officer Thomas O’Brady received such a break on Tuesday afternoon, February 9, 2016. He had brought David Mizen and Michael Bozeman in for questioning earlier that morning. The two had been kept separated upon their arrival at the station; Thomas continued his interview with David, and a detective working the case interviewed Michael.

  Thomas had picked up quickly on the propagation that David was the weaker of the two friends.

  If one of them was going to break, Thomas felt that it would be David. He had asked the detective in charge of Norman Weissman’s murder investigation if he could be allowed to interview David again; the detective had agreed.

  From 11:00 to 11:30, David had remained stoically quiet, refusing to answer any more of Officer O’Brady’s questions.

  From 11:30 to 12:00, David accepted a sandwich and soda from Officer O’Brady. He ate in silence while O’Brady continued to ask him questions.

  From 12:00 to 12:30, Officer O’Brady showed David pictures of Norman Weissman, lying in a pool of blood with his skull cracked open. He showed him pictures of Stella Seiber and Jimmy Crennan, both supposedly missing. By 12:30, David acknowledged that he did know Jimmy, but did not know anything about his whereabouts.

  From 12:30 to 1:00, Thomas presented a picture of the shoe he had found on the side of the road. He stretched the truth and told David that they had a witness that could put Kirk’s SUV at the scene of Stella’s disappearance. He told him the witness had identified a younger man—possibly a teenager—he had seen punch Stella and drag her into the vehicle. Thomas had watched the young man’s face intently and did not miss the grimace when he mentioned that someone had seen a young man punch the old woman. The last picture he showed David was the imprint of a man’s shoe, found at the scene where Stella disappeared. Thomas turned the picture around and around and looked at it with great interest. He looked down at David’s shoes. “What do you think we’ll find, David, if we compare your shoe print with the one found at the scene?” His questions were primarily generated by sheer instinct at this point.

  By 1:30, Thomas had called David’s parents into the police station and explained about his interview with David, and the possible outcome of that interview. They immediately contacted their lawyer and instructed their son not to say another word. They left the room to make arrangements for David’s release and Thomas moved in with what he hoped would be the deciding factor for David. “You can become a state witness against your friends, David.” He was interrupted by a knock on the door and given a report of the blood found in Mike’s truck. He looked at David and said, “This might be what they refer to as the nail in your coffin, David. It’s the preliminary report on the dark stains found in Michael’s truck.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It was not animal blood, David—it was human blood.”

  David looked up; his face was a frantic canvas, mixed with fear, shock, and disbelief. He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that blood, Officer. Honest, I don’t. All I know is what Mike said when he first got to school—that I wouldn’t believe what went down last night.”

  “I think you know more than you’re telling me, David. You get one chance today to help yourself. I can tell you what I suspect—that you and your friends are involved with the disappearance of two people: Stella Sieber and Jimmy Crennan. I can only demise that since Stella lied about Gordon Whiting being the killer of Norman Weissman, that she knows who really killed Norman. My guess is that you might, also, know something about that killing that you’re not telling me.”

  “What do you mean—one chance to help myself?” David was steadily wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. His ashen expression indicated that he might faint at any given moment.

  Officer O’Brady had been correct—David was the weaker of the two friends. He stood up and gathered up the papers in his file. He looked down at David and said, “Tell me the truth—about everything—and be a witness for the state, against your friends—and, you will get a much lighter sentence than the one that awaits Kirk and Michael. We might not have enough concrete evidence today to arrest you right now, but
you can rest assured that we will be watching your every move until we find out everything we need to know. Your every move, David.” When it appeared that David wasn’t going to volunteer any information, Thomas turned to leave the room. “I’ll have your parents come back inside.”

  The officer was half way out the door when David jumped up and yelled. “No—wait! I…I want to help. I’ll tell you everything I know…”

  By 2:00, the detective had informed Michael that his friend had turned state witness against him—that David had told them everything. Michael had giggled, called the detective a liar, and then grown extremely quiet when it dawned on him that the cop wasn’t playing him—that David really had spilled the beans. He began screaming that it wasn’t him who killed the old lady at the lake house—it was Kirk Blankenship.

  By 3:00, the detective had a warrant to search the home and business of Kirk and Rae Blankenship, to include the lake house in Cave Spring, Georgia.

  Jason and Cheryl had spent the last few hours sitting in her kitchen, mentally willing her cell phone to ring again. Cheryl had immediately called the police station and asked to speak to Officer O’Brady, but was told he was unavailable to come to the phone. She spoke to another police officer and told him about the phone call from her son. The officer assured her that he would pass the information along to Officer O’Brady. He, also, told her to consider the fact that the call could have been a prank call.

  Cheryl stood at the kitchen window and stared outside. It was another bitterly cold day and she shivered when she looked at the coat hooks at the back door and saw Jimmy’s heavy, cold-weather jacket hanging there. Only his light-weight jacket was missing; wherever he was, he must be so cold.

  Jason came to stand behind her and rested his chin on top of her head, while he wrapped his arms around her.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “It wasn’t a prank call, Jason. I know my son’s voice. It was Jimmy—I’m sure of it. Why won’t the police take this seriously—and, why hasn’t Officer O’Brady called me back?”

  “He’s a good cop, Cheryl, and I’m sure there’s a good reason why we haven’t heard back from him yet.”

  She turned to face him. “Do you think it was just my imagination? Do you think I just wanted it to be Jimmy’s voice so badly that I convinced myself it was him? And what about the lake house? What did that mean? We’ve never been to any lake house.”

  “But, that’s what he said, right—that he was at the lake house?” Jason knew it was better to keep her talking than to let her imagination continue to run askew.

  “Yeah—he said he was at the lake house—and, then, it sounded like he dropped the phone, maybe, and the call ended.” She shook her head and exhaled. “What if whoever took him found him talking on the phone, Jason? What if they…” She couldn’t finish that supposition.

  Her cell phone rang and Cheryl jumped in Jason’s arms. She pushed him away and rushed to the kitchen table where the phone lay. “Hello! Jimmy? Is that you, Jimmy?”

  “It’s Officer O’Brady, Ms. Crennan. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get back to you, but we’ve had a major breakthrough today. We interviewed two young men who know exactly where Jimmy is. I’m on my way there now, hopefully, to bring this ordeal to an end. I need you to sit tight, for a little while longer. Can you do that for me, Ms. Crennan?”

  “You’re going to the lake house, aren’t you?” Cheryl’s voice was beginning to crack.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s where Jimmy said he was at; he said he was at the lake house, and then he dropped the phone and the call went dead. I called the department, Officer O’Brady—I think the man who took the call thought the call I received was a prank call, so I wasn’t sure if he would deliver the message to you or not.”

  “Oh, he delivered it alright,” Thomas answered back. “He delivered it at the perfect moment, too. One of the young men had already confessed to me what he knew. By the time I saw your message and it was presented to the second young man, he told us everything we needed to know. I can tell you that as of 6:00 this morning, your son was very much alive, and if the call came in—what, around 10:30—then that gives us even more hope that we’ll get there in time.”

  “But where is this lake house?” Cheryl wanted to know. “Can I meet you there?”

  “No, you cannot, Ms. Crennan. I need you to stay at home, close to your phone. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. I’m heading out ahead of our back-up team—but, if Jimmy is hurt, then we’ll get him to a hospital and let you know where. If he’s okay, then I’ll need him to go to the police station with me. Again, I’ll call and let you know the second I know what’s going on—you can meet us there, at the police station.”

  “But…” Cheryl was desperate to help—to do something besides sit at home and wait for the phone to ring.

  Thomas was firm in his reply. “The sooner you allow us to do our job, Ms. Crennan, the sooner we can bring your son home to you. If you try to find the lake house, your life could be in jeopardy, or you could be putting your son’s life in further jeopardy, so please…stay home. I promise that I will call you the minute we find Jimmy.”

  “Okay…okay. Thank you, Officer. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Are you alone, Ms. Crennan?”

  “No,” Cheryl shook her head and smiled when Jason wrapped his arms around her again. “No, I’m not alone…”

  Kirk opened the door to the master bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand was on and provided enough light needed for the dismal, cloudy day outside. It was almost 2:30, but the heavy clouds made it seem closer to 4:30. He placed a bottle of water and some aspirin on the night stand. He almost grimaced when Jimmy turned to look at him, through his swollen, half-closed eye. “Take the aspirin, Crennan. I don’t need you dying on me—not yet, at least.” He slammed the bedroom door on his way out.

  He walked back over to the sofa where he had left his cell phone and tried to call Michael and David—again. He had been calling and texting them all day, and neither of them had responded to his texts and messages. He knew they were both in school, but, he also knew that they both checked their phones repeatedly throughout the day. He had the strangest sensation, and suspicion, that something was wrong—something was very wrong. He had decided to ride into town and check on them both, personally, if he had not heard from them by 4:30. They would regret it if he had to do that.

  He paced the room for several more minutes before deciding to step outside to get some fresh air. The cold, damp air felt good against his clammy skin. It made him feel awake; it made him feel alive. He walked, once again, to the end of the dock and looked into the dark, murky water. Was it his imagination, or did he see the old woman staring up at him—mocking him, even in death?

  “You’re dead, old woman!” he screamed into the water. “You’re dead! You can’t come back for more money, and you won’t ever be able to tell anyone the truth about what happened that night. You’re dead!” His loud voice reverberated around the dock. Something splashed in the water beneath the dock, and Kirk nearly jumped out of his skin.

  He turned away from the water—suddenly fearful that he really would see the old woman’s reflection—and began walking back to the lake house. He stopped when he heard what sounded like tires on gravel, further up the driveway. “Well, it’s about time!” he shouted. He was sure that it would be David, arriving early for his shift.

  When he reached the driveway, he began running full-force toward the sound of the approaching vehicle. He intended to give David a piece of his mind for avoiding his phone calls all day. He was approaching a bend in the driveway when he came to a complete halt. He shook his head in denial. “No—no—no…”

  The car screeched to an abrupt stop as it came around the bend, breaking hard to avoid any contact with the young man that stood in the middle of the driveway.

  The driver rolled down his window and leaned
his head out. “Kirk! What are you doing here?”

  Kirk shook his head and started backing away slowly. “What are you doing here, Dad?”

  CHAPTER 36

  Charles Meets His Past

  Bertie sat beside one of her favorite truckers and listened to his traveling tales. Two other truckers sat across from them, and laughed at Bertie’s shocked expression when they explained to her what it meant for a trucker to stop at a “pickle park.”

  She punched the trucker everyone called Tramp hard against the shoulder. “Get out of here!” she shook her head in disbelief. “That’s what a pickle park is? Well, I’ll be damned!”

  She could hear Max’s critical murmur, all the way from inside the kitchen where he stood looking out at her and shaking his head. “You were doing so good, Bertie,” his voice echoed inside her head. She turned to look back at him and shrugged. “Sorry!” she winked at him and returned her attention to the truckers.

  “So, Bertie, you really had no idea what that trucker meant when he told you he needed to head on out, so that he could find a pickle park before it got too dark out?” Tramp shook his head and laughed out loud.

  Bertie punched him again. “Are you kidding? I figured a pickle park was just what the name says—a dang ‘ole pickle park, where they probably sold gourmet pickles!”

  The three truckers all laughed good-naturedly at their favorite waitress’s naivety. They thought everyone knew the slang term that truckers used to refer to rest areas that truckers stopped at to meet up with other, same-gender, truckers.