The Passenger

by Jacqueline Druga

  “No, actually, I don’t. I don’t believe anyone was in that car with him. One, he was given a hallucinogenic and he was heavily under the influence. And two, that crash was brutal. The chances of a second person not only lucky enough to walk away, but walk away and steal a guitar …” he shook his head. “No. It’s near impossible.”

  Russ took back the picture and folded it. “I feel so strongly this is a lead.”

  “Then follow it. But I don’t think it was a passenger.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Russ stood. “I’ll let you get back to work. I’m headed to the church.”

  “For your coffee?”

  “Think I’ll check out services.”

  Doctor Jenner laughed. “You? Russ, come on. Why the suspicion all of the sudden?”

  “It’s not suspicion, it’s the need to know the truth. You don’t think … you don’t think he’s faking this all do you?”

  “Chip? The amnesia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you think he is?”

  “Because that kid picked up a guitar, played and sang a difficult song, without effort, like he played it a hundred times.”

  “He probably did,” Doctor Jenner said.

  “How does someone with amnesia not remember their name, yet remembers someone in the car with them, and how to play guitar?”

  “Amnesia doesn’t work that way,” Jenner explained. “The brain is complicated. Amnesia affects memory, right? There are two types of memory. Declarative and procedural. Declarative is something you force yourself to remember, like studying for a test. Procedural is stuff we learn in life and it becomes a habit or something we do without thought. Walking, talking, eating, riding a bike. He may have gardened and played his guitar all his life. That’s procedural.”

  “And you don’t think he’s faking?” Russ asked.

  “I can’t believe you do. You can’t fake that accident or the brain swelling. If he’s faking, he’s a heck of an actor. What’s the gain, why fake?”

  “Maybe he’s a criminal or running and hiding. Maybe he wants to gain our trust and get all he can from us and take off.”

  Doctor Jenner’s mouth opened dramatically. “Wow. Once bitten twice shy is an understatement with you. I know you watched it happen. I know you watched good people in this town get misled then ripped off. “

  “Yes, I did, and it all seems too familiar,” Russ said.

  “It’s not the case here, Russ. It’s not a repeat of the Baker kid.”

  “When we met him he was angry, confrontational, combative and arrogant. Now he’s … look at him. I just … I have a hard time believing someone you know can just move in with a pastor, work at a church and …” Russ snapped his finger. “Flip the personality switch. Can someone with amnesia have a polar opposite of a personality change?”

  “Yes. Yes, they can. Especially if they don’t remember who they were, they’ll adapt to their surroundings.”

  “And when he remembers who he is?” Russ asked.

  Doctor Jenner shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he’ll like who he became.”

  Russ felt somewhat satisfied with that response. It was his job to be suspicious. He supposed that was part of his personality. He thanked Doctor Jenner, then went on his way.

  He was late. Not that he really went into the church farther than the vestibule when he stopped at the mingle for coffee. Seeing how he was in uniform and expecting people might worry he was there on official police business, he took a seat in the back, last row.

  Pastor Rick was before the congregation in his contemporary service, relaxed attire. He held the microphone, paced and was animated when he spoke.

  Russ felt it was ironic the pastor spoke of ‘trust’ when Russ was there because he was suspicious.

  “It’s a hard thing to do,” Pastor Rick said. “Hey, I’m guilty of it, we all are. Giving it to God is easier said than done. Here God, here are my troubles … oh, wait, they aren’t getting resolved, let me have it back. It’s like having a thousand dollars and you need someone to hold it. It’s hard to trust who you give it to. That’s why you need to trust. Sometimes we are so into our instincts and what we believe should happen or could happen, it’s difficult to envision God knows what will happen when it is totally different than what we thought our path could be. Speaking of paths, I want to bring someone up here today to play and sing a song for you. This young man miraculously survived an accident. His story is pretty remarkable. He’s not expecting this, but when I heard him the other day, especially this song, I knew you had to hear it, too. Chip … let Haley run the board and come on down here.”

  Russ turned, like everyone else to the back of the church. Chip was in the proverbial spotlight. Slightly reluctant and somewhat bashful, Chip relented and made his way from the sound board.

  Russ watched him walk toward the front as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He was on duty and he had to take it.

  The caller ID on the phone read ‘Correction Facility’ and immediately, Russ jumped up and walked from the church to take the call.

  He answered it.

  “You are receiving a call from an inmate at the Wyandotte County Correctional Facility, this call may be monitored and recorded.”

  “Hello?” Russ answered, stepping outside the church. “This is Chief McKibben.”

  “Officer, McKibben, thanks for filling up my calling card,” the male voice said. “I’ve been out of funds for two weeks. Figured I’d call you back.”

  “And this is?”

  “Wow, how many guys’ jail cards do you fill up?” he snickered. “This is Harold Whitmore.”

  “Harold, thank you for calling me back. I met your grandmother.”

  “How?”

  “Same reason a Nebraska police officer is calling you. Your chevy was involved in an accident.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Harold said. “I’ve been in here rolling through the processing system for two weeks. The chevy? The Impala?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “I haven’t had that car in a couple months. I … I owed some dude some money and he took the car as a tradeoff.”

  “Why didn’t you change the plates?” he asked.

  “Didn’t get to it,” Harold said.

  “Who did you give it to?” Russ pulled out a little notebook.

  “A guy named Teeter.”

  “Do you know his whole name?”

  “No. Just … Teeter.”

  “I see. Can you tell me what he looked like?” Russ asked, glancing back at the church.

  “Tall. Like maybe six foot. Skinny, shaved head, he has a bunch of tattoos. A lot on his neck.”

  “Thank you and where …” Russ heard the line disconnect and he grunted in frustration. He replaced the phone in his pocket. The tattoo, shaved head guy wasn’t Chip. Chip could have stolen it and, considering the shady tradeoff of Harold’s car, he doubted the theft would have been reported.

  The car mystery had to be put to rest, for the moment it was a dead end.

  Russ wasn’t giving up. He still had the guitar. He was close and he truly felt in his gut the mystery of Chip Doe would be solved sooner than later.

  EIGHTEEN

  Standing outside the driver’s door of Grant’s truck, Cate handed him the thin, stainless steel thermos. “Coffee. Don’t pour while you’re driving.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And …” She held up a small cooler. “Snacks for the hotel and the road. There is a sandwich in there.”

  Grant took them both placing them inside his truck. “Cate, listen, thank you. Thank you for supporting this.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because it’s crazy.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I think you need this as much as you need to find Jonas.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Cate folded her arms.

 
; “I’m going to check into the hotel. The same one Jonas stayed at. He had checked in earlier in the day, we know that. Maybe they moved his room. We’ve had that happen to us. Then I’m going to the Rat-Tat-Tat to talk to the bartender. Chelsey is her name. She was working that night.”

  “You called ahead to see when she’s working?”

  Grant nodded. “I did. She’ll be there this afternoon. Then I’ll just drive around, hit every town, put up those flyers I made. I have to do something Cate, I just can’t sit around and wait.”

  “I know. I am very proud of you.”

  Grant leaned into her and kissed her, then embraced Cate. “Thank you. I will call you and give updates.”

  “Thank you.”

  Grant stepped back and got in the truck. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She closed the door and moved out of the way.

  Cate stood watching as Grant pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. He extended his arm out the window and waved as he drove off.

  She closed her eyes and said a prayer that one way or another, Grant would find what he needed.

  ◆◆◆

  It was the most recent picture Grant could find of Jonas and had taken it from his social media. He was holding his guitar, a partial smile on his face. It was hard to find a picture of Jonas smiling because for the last several years he was so unhappy, he rarely smiled.

  Grant felt like he had failed. Failed at getting close to Jonas, getting to know him on a different level. He was a staunch believer in being the parent and not the friend, so much so that when Jonas got older, Grant lost his chance to have that closeness, that happy medium between friend and parent.

  Jonas gravitated more toward Cate. Although there were times in his adult life she mothered Jonas like he was an eleven year old boy again.

  Now, when he looked down at the flyers, the word ‘Missing’ big and bold above his son’s picture, Grant feared he would never get a chance again with his son.

  He wasn’t a bad father. Rarely raised his voice, provided for his family, was there if his kids needed him. He just didn’t know if he did enough, maybe if he had done more.

  It was surreal for Grant, hanging that first flyer at the rest stop. He made notes of towns he passed, tiny places he’d go back and check.

  He had printed up hundreds of flyers and he’d hang them all. He’d make more if he had to. Someone somewhere had to have seen Jonas or know what happened to him.

  Grant arrived at the hotel and checked in. It took him a little longer because he stopped several times on the way. The manager was there, and she took time to talk to him.

  The police had spoken to her and she told Grant the same thing she told them. He never checked out and she had even looked on the security cameras.

  Jonas had not returned that night.

  His belongings were left in the room. An overnight bag, toothbrush, fifth of whiskey and a bag of chips. The hotel had them gathered in one clear plastic bag and it was placed in lost and found.

  It felt like a slam to his chest when she handed it to him.

  He was on his way to his next search location and took the clear bag out to the truck. His son’s things were not garbage. That was the way Grant saw it even though he knew the hotel didn’t mean anything by putting his items in a plastic bag. It was their procedure.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, Grant removed Jonas’ things. The second he touched, smelled the overnight bag, Grant was swept up in a wave of sadness which struck him deep in his soul. Was this it? Was this all he had left of his child?

  He placed the bag on the floor by the passenger seat, then grabbed the steering wheel.

  He held tight, gripping hard as his forehead rested against the wheel.

  It took everything he had not to break down.

  Get it together, get it together, he told himself, you have a plan.

  After a few moments, Grant started the engine. It was time to go to that bar.

  ◆◆◆

  Denied.

  The county judge denied Russ.

  Guitar World wanted a search warrant to give up the surveillance video and information about the individual selling the guitar. Stating they were protecting the rights of the individual. The judge agreed. He saw no reason or connection between that guitar and Chip Doe.

  He told Russ, “Exhaust all other means first and I will reconsider.”

  Russ knew he hadn’t exhausted all means, there was still one.

  Fingerprints.

  If Chip had a record, and Russ was pretty sure he did, then his identity would come up.

  He returned from the county courthouse frustrated and planned on talking to Chip.

  But first he wanted to talk to Marge and Old Joe.

  Russ headed over to Baker’s Market. It was the lunch rush, and on a Wednesday which was Marge’s Meatball Sub special.

  Marge was in the café, not only overseeing the cooking and clerks, but she was hands on. Old Joe sat at a small table, reading a magazine, probably on his third latte. He was done with working, he claimed he was retired but was always at the market.

  Like he had a radar on him, Old Joe looked up when Russ walked by and to the counter.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked. “Getting a meatball special?”

  “They do smell awfully good. Maybe when I leave,” Russ said. “I just wanted to talk to Marge and you know what, you’re here, maybe you can join us?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I need your opinion on something.”

  “Good luck pulling her away.”

  “It won’t take long.” Russ didn’t foresee Marge giving him grief about taking a break for a minute or two.

  Then again, Russ never asked her to step away from the floor on Meatball Wednesday.

  Marge complied reluctantly. Joe joined Russ and Marge in the little back office and Russ barely got the word, “Fingerprints” out before Marge lit up.

  “No,” Marge said. “Absolutely not. No.”

  “Can I ask why?” Russ questioned. “I mean, come on, Marge this is a way to find out who he is.”

  “By proving he’s some sort of criminal?” Marge snipped. “The fingerprints could be a dead end.”

  “Then I need to try.” Russ waved a finger. “I don’t need to ask for your permission. He’ll do it if I say something to him.”

  “Then don’t say anything. When he got out of the hospital, he said to you and me he was giving himself a time limit. He wanted a month to let his memory come back. Give him that time. What is the big deal, Russ? Huh? Why do you want his memory back?”

  “Because he doesn’t,” Russ said. “If he has amnesia …”

  “If? If?” Marge argued.

  “Okay. Bad word choice,” Russ defended. “But he doesn’t want it back. Want to know why? Because he knows, deep down inside he’s trouble and he doesn’t want to remember that person.”

  “And is that so bad?” Marge asked. “Is it so bad he wants to move forward?”

  “You can’t move forward,” Russ said. “Without looking at the truth.” Russ heard the soft chuckle come from Old Joe. “What Joe?”

  “What’s so funny is, he remembered what his passenger said,” Joe replied. “And if I’m not mistaken, it was those words. Strange. Eerie. I got chills.”

  Russ just shook his head. “Just stop with that.”

  “Hey!” Marge blasted. “Don’t you scoff at my husband. You’re searching Russ. Are you so bored in this town you have to run to Fremont to dig up something?”

  “What are you talking about, Marge?” Russ asked.

  “Oh, Doc Jenner told us how you are chasing a guitar in Fremont. Trying to get surveillance footage, find out who sold the guitar to the store.”

  “Yes.” Russ nodded. “I think it’s Chip’s and I think whoever pawned it might be the passenger.”

  Old Joe spoke up. “Could you not chase that one?”

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?” J
oe asked. “I mean, I don’t think it has anything to do with you thinking the guitar was stolen. The passenger doesn’t matter to you, but he does to Chip. Instead of being stalled, Chip’s moving forward, memory or not. He believes he knows who the passenger was. Let it go. Let his belief do the wonders.”

  “Okay,” Russ held out his hand. “You can believe in that stuff, but I don’t have to—”

  “Stuff?” Marge cut him off. “You stop right there Russ McKibben, one more word scoffing at beliefs and I will ban you from my market, law or not. This is so like you. We should have known.”

  “What are you talking about?” Russ asked.

  “You.” Marge waved her hand around. “All good hearted at first. All good intentions. Trying to help, getting the pastor to take him in. Oh, yeah, that’s you. For about a week, then your mind goes, and you get suspicious or doubtful. You’re doing it again, turning your back, believing the bad and finding the negative, just like you did with our boy.”

  “He is not your boy!” Russ blasted.

  “No! He’s not,” Marge said emotionally, then calmed. “No. He’s not. Because I will not let you, me, or anyone else in this town give up on him. Like we all did … with my boy.” Saying no more, Marge turned and left the office.

  They stood in silence, then Joe cleared his throat and stood. He paused by the door. “Did you ever … ever lose your glasses?”

  “Huh?” Russ asked, confused.

  “You know, lose your glasses. You look and you look, then suddenly you realize they’re on your nose or right there by your coffee. How did you miss them, right? Same can be said about answers, Chief. Sometimes you aren’t gonna see the answer if you look too hard, you gotta just ... sit back and let the answers come to you. Have a good day, Chief.”

  It was a courtesy that Russ went to Marge and Old Joe, he didn’t need to. He did so because they, like the pastor, had taken Chip under their wing. It was a strong wing, and they were protecting him. Perhaps Russ did need to follow Old Joe’s advice and step back.

  It was something else to think about.

  ◆◆◆

  The Rat-Tat-Tat Bar and Grill was not what Grant expected, then again, he didn’t know what to expect. A large, log cabin looking place with a front porch as wide as the building. It was set off the main roadways so far, Grant wondered how they got any business.