Dr. Colson seemed to be a step ahead of him. “I don’t suppose it would be very heroic to save a child molester.”
Michael stood up, ready to end the conversation. “Whenever you feel Mr. Jackson’s mental condition improves enough to allow it, I want to talk to him.” He handed the doctor one of the sheriff’s old campaign cards with the office number scribbled on the back.
“I will let you know when or if he’s agreeable to such a conversation. The man hasn’t committed a crime. At least none we are aware of.” The doctor glanced at the card, then placed it in the open book he still held as if to mark his place. He closed the book and smiled up at Michael. “But you can rest assured if I find out the poor man’s demons pose a threat to others, you’ll be the first to know.” Dr. Colson laid the book on the table by the bed.
Michael didn’t look at the book even though he had the feeling the doctor would leave it there for the housekeeping staff. With his card still inside. “If any relatives show up before you release Mr. Jackson, they can claim his car with the proper paperwork.”
“I’ll pass along that information.” Dr. Colson held his hand out toward Michael. “It’s been a pleasure, Deputy Keane. I appreciate your willingness to help me understand our Mr. Jackson. And his demons. I’ve always been interested in the criminal mind. Not that Mr. Jackson necessarily fits that profile.”
Michael wasn’t going to go down that trail again. “Let us know when you release him.”
“Why? I doubt he’d make another attempt from the same bridge.” A puzzled frown wrinkled the doctor’s forehead.
“Probably not, but we can send out an extra patrol just in case.”
“You must not be very busy down in Hidden Springs.”
“It’s a small town.”
“A nice, peaceful job for you, I suppose.” The doctor followed Michael out of the room.
“I like it.”
“A satisfied man, happy in his work. A rare thing these days.”
Michael was glad the doctor didn’t follow him down the hall to the stairs. He didn’t know which he was happiest to escape when he went out the front doors—Dr. Colson or the hospital odor. Either way, he took a deep breath and left the ghosts of the hospital behind.
7
The Channel 22 news crew was long gone when Michael pulled off beside the metal sign at the end of the bridge. The state put up the marker years ago detailing the history of the Eagle River Bridge, date of construction, the politicians who took credit for the project, the engineering design. Nothing very interesting except that it was one of only two bridges in the United States with a curve. Most people stopped reading before they found that out.
Michael didn’t even glance at the sign today before he walked out on the bridge. The road, once the only route to Eagleton, had been drained of most of its traffic by the interstate just west of town. The interstate added a few miles to the trip to Eagleton but guaranteed you wouldn’t get caught behind Farmer Brown poking along, checking out the cows in his neighbors’ fields.
Michael traveled the old road whenever he had the extra time. Sheriff Potter said it didn’t hurt to let the citizens see a sheriff’s car around their way on occasion. It helped get the vote out at election time, and the sheriff, working on his fifth term, was an expert at getting the vote out.
Heat from the afternoon sun rose in waves off the blacktop, and the railing was warm to the touch as Michael leaned against it and looked down at the river. The water was settling into a nice green color that made Michael imagine monster fish lurking in its depth. Funny how yesterday’s muddy water had caused the jumper to hesitate, maybe saved his life.
A beat-up Chevy pickup rumbled down the hill and stopped beside Michael. The right front fender had been crunched in some accident so long ago that the creases in the dent were rusting through and some twigs rested in the empty headlight socket as if a bird had briefly considered a nest on wheels. Orbrey Perkins had given up night driving years ago, so the lack of a headlight was no problem.
Orbrey braked to a stop beside Michael and leaned across the seat toward the passenger side window. “Is this where the guy tried to jump?”
“He was considering it strongly.” Michael stepped away from the rail and over to Orbrey’s truck.
“You find out what his problem was?” Perkins, well into his seventies, had long ago given up worrying about the time. He was fond of saying if God hadn’t wanted him to talk, he wouldn’t have given him a mouth. A fair number of folks in Hidden Springs figured God gave them legs to turn and go the other way when they saw Orbrey coming toward them on the street, because even a simple hello had a way of stretching into ten minutes or more.
Michael didn’t figure he had to worry about that today. Another car would come along to nudge Orbrey on up the road. Michael rested his arms on the open window. “Nope. Could be he was just depressed.”
“For the life of me, there’s some things I can’t understand. To take a flying leap off here no matter what the reason.” Orbrey shook his head. “It don’t make no sense.”
Michael didn’t say anything, but Orbrey didn’t need much encouragement to keep a conversation going. “I’ve known four folks to pitch themselves off here. Five if you count Jerry Cox, who changed his mind halfway down. Could be all the others might have changed their minds halfway down too, but he was the only one to live to say so. That was a story now. Must have been nigh on thirty-five years ago now. Me and the wife were already living on our farm out here then. I heard tell Jerry died down in Tennessee a couple of years back. Heart attack.”
Sweat was soaking through the back of Michael’s shirt. He didn’t mind talking to Orbrey, but there were better places than the middle of a highway bridge in the July sun. “You know, Hank Leland was talking about writing up a story about the jumpers. You ought to go see him. I’ll bet you could help him out a lot.”
“That would be a story, wouldn’t it?” Orbrey reached down into the clutter on his seat and pulled out a plastic-wrapped peppermint. He looked at it a minute as if he knew it was his last one before offering it wordlessly to Michael. When Michael shook his head, Orbrey looked relieved and slowly unwrapped it. “You know I just might go hunt Leland up tomorrow. I could tell him some things. If he will ever slow down enough to listen. The man’s always in a rush about some kind of deadline or something.”
“He’ll want to hear these stories. You tell him I told you to come by.” Michael kept his smile to himself as he thought about Hank stuck listening to Orbrey. Maybe that would keep the editor out of everybody else’s hair for a few hours.
“I’ll do it. Reckon Leland might take my picture?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Orbrey popped the mint in his mouth and got a good suck going. He pushed it over into his cheek to keep talking. “Leland takes a fine picture. You got to give him that. Them in today’s paper ought to win a prize somewheres.”
“You ever see the guy around before?”
“You mean in the last week or two?”
“Ever.” Michael swatted at a sweat bee on his neck. “I mean, none of those folks that jumped before, none of them were strangers, were they? He had to know about the bridge somehow.”
“I see what you mean.” Orbrey rolled the mint around in his mouth as he considered his answer. “You know, his picture in the paper did remind me of somebody that used to live around here. Sort of a no-good, best I recall.”
“You remember his name?”
“I ain’t too good at names, just faces, you know. I never forget a face, and I ain’t saying this fellow was the one I’m thinking about, just that he looked some like him. Family maybe.” Orbrey looked directly at Michael. “But don’t you have his name already? I mean, you got his car and all, or was it stolen?”
“Not so far as we know, and Jackson is what he said.”
“No, that ain’t right.”
“Well, if you were to remember a name, you call me up, okay, Orbrey?” Michael
pushed himself away from the truck window, thankful for a car approaching down the hill.
“I’ll do it, Michael. The missus, she’s better at names. I’ll ask her.” With a glance up at his rearview mirror, the old man reluctantly put his truck in gear before he raised his index finger off the steering wheel in farewell and slowly drove on toward the other side of the bridge.
When Michael got back to the office, Betty Jean had the phone to her ear. She rolled her eyes at him and pointed to the pile of pink While You Were Out messages on his desk held down by his stapler.
Michael shuffled through them while he waited for her to hang up. Buck again. Guess he’d better try to track the state police detective down to see what he wanted. He couldn’t think it had anything to do with the jumper. More likely that stolen car Buck found abandoned out on the interstate last week.
Kim, the reporter, called to thank him for the interview and to remind him to tune in at six. Aunt Lindy called to tell him to stop by her house before he went home. No reason, but then Aunt Lindy didn’t need to give him a reason. She said come, he went.
The rest were “way to go” notes from various citizens of the county. Betty Jean had written the message out on a couple of the notes. After that she just wrote “ditto.” On more than a few of the ditto notes, the o had been decorated with smiles or frowns and one from somebody named Brittany had been turned into a radish with a top and roots, the whole works.
After Betty Jean finally hung up, she groaned loudly. “I’m not answering another call.”
“The phones that bad?” Michael looked over at her. “What’s going on?”
“We have heroes among us.”
Michael counted through his notes. “Ten calls.”
“I quit taking messages. They all were saying the same thing anyway. ‘Tell Michael how proud we are of him. Keane County is lucky to have a man like that serving us, yuk, yuk, yuk.’ You get the idea.” Betty Jean held up a list of names. “Uncle Al said I should get their names. The election’s next year and it’s always a good idea to know who your friends are.”
Michael looked across the room at the page. There had to be thirty names. “That many people couldn’t have called.”
“That’s just what I answered. I had Lester helping for a while but talking to all those females gave him hives, so I sent him out to wash the sheriff’s car.”
“Females?”
“Running four to one, I’d say. Maybe better than that. Half of them I don’t even know.”
“You know everybody in Hidden Springs.” Michael gave her a doubtful look.
“I thought I did.”
“Just tell them they’ve got the wrong number and hang up,” Michael suggested.
“People don’t vote for people who hang up on them.” Betty Jean rubbed her ear.
“If you don’t know them, they can’t be voters.” Michael looked down at the telephone messages he still held. “Do you know what Buck wanted?”
“To make trouble, same as usual. And Hank Leland called.”
Michael ruffled through the notes to see what Hank wanted. Betty Jean stopped him. “You know I don’t take messages from Hank.”
“Right. I forgot the feud for a minute.”
“I’m not feuding with anyone,” Betty Jean said stiffly. “I treat Hank with the same courtesy I would any other citizen of the county.”
“He probably votes.”
“I should hope so.” Betty Jean huffed a breath.
“He might put your picture in the paper sometime and some great-looking guy somewhere might see it and propose marriage.”
“It could happen.” Betty Jean scanned her list of names. “Three of these wanted to know your marital status. I put a star by their names. Should I have gotten their numbers for you?” She smiled up at him sweetly.
Michael laughed and surrendered. He never came out on top in any verbal exchange with Betty Jean. “No, that’s okay. Names are enough. If it’s written in the stars, then it will happen, right?”
“I gave up on the stars a long time ago.” Betty Jean held up another pink note. “I did try to take one number. Alex called. I guess she must have been talking to Reece about our local hero.”
Michael tried not to act interested, but the mere mention of Alex’s name had a way of making his blood pump a little faster. He used to try to deny it, especially to himself. After all, Alex had rarely made anything more than cameo appearances in his life since they were kids and had vowed to be friends forever. Alex was tall, leggy, incredibly beautiful, and even more intelligent.
Ever since she’d shown up in Hidden Springs last year during that bad time after they found a body on the courthouse steps, Michael had quit trying to tell himself that Alex was no more than an old friend. That didn’t mean he didn’t still try to convince the rest of the world of that. So now he kept his voice low key. “She say what she wanted?”
“If it’s you, all I’ve got to say is poor Karen.” Betty Jean waved her pink While You Were Out pad.
“Karen and I aren’t dating. I help with the youth group at her church. That’s all.” Michael wondered when he’d get to quit explaining that to people. Karen told him to stop explaining anything, but then she hadn’t lived in Hidden Springs all her life the way he had. People seemed to think they had the right to know everything there was to know about him or at least do their best to find out.
“Some folks around town think there’s more than that between you and Karen.” Betty Jean gave him a look. “Or that there should be.”
“Then they’re wrong.” Michael swallowed a sigh and explained one more time. “We decided it was better to stick to being friends. She’s got her church. I’ve got my job.”
“And Alex.”
Sometimes Betty Jean wouldn’t give it up. Trouble was, she was right. Not about him having Alex. He didn’t. That didn’t mean he didn’t wish he did. “Alex and I are just old friends.”
“Yeah and the sun’s nothing but a little yellow circle in the sky.”
“Come on, Betty Jean, I haven’t got time to be playing your romantic games. She’s an old friend. So did she leave a message or not?” Irritation or maybe eagerness leaked out in his voice.
Betty Jean raised her eyebrows but backed off. “Let’s see. It was something like this. There was a recess in her big trial where she’s trying to get some bigwig out of a jam he shouldn’t have gotten himself into to begin with, and she heard the news. Wanted to let you know she always knew you were hero material. Said she tried your cell number but you didn’t answer. When I told her you’d probably forgotten to charge your phone, she laughed and said that sounded like you.”
“Glad I gave the two of you a laugh.” Michael pulled out his phone. He had switched it off while he was with the doctor and then forgot to turn it back on. Cell phones could be a pain, but when Alex’s number flashed on the screen, he was definitely sorry he hadn’t remembered to turn the ringer back on.
“She said to tell you not to try to call her. The trial and all. But she promised to call back,” Betty Jean said.
“Maybe in three months when she needs me to check Reece’s furnace filter or whatever.”
“She does set great store by her uncle Reece.” Betty Jean gave him a sideways glance. “Does she have any other men in her life?”
“Dozens, no doubt.” Michael did his best to sound nonchalant, but the words jabbed at his heart.
“Yeah, life’s rotten sometimes.” Betty Jean made a face.
The phone rang, but after a quick check of the clock to assure herself it was three seconds past five, she let it ring.
“Might be an emergency,” Michael said after four rings.
“Then answer it. I’ve handled all the emergencies I’m going to handle today.” She clicked off her computer and shoved some papers into a drawer. “Then again, the trial might be having another recess.”
“That’s not why I’m answering. I’m picking up because you haven’t turned on the answe
ring machine yet.” Michael lifted the receiver. It wasn’t entirely true, but then it wasn’t Alex either. Instead it was Mrs. Hastings, who lived out on Bear Ridge Road ten miles outside of town. She was sure somebody was peeking in her windows and rattling her doorknob. The old lady thought that was happening at least once a week, sometimes more.
“Are you sure it’s not the wind, Mrs. Hastings?”
“Wind? Are you daft or just hard of hearing, young man? I said I saw eyes staring at me through the window.”
“Maybe a neighbor kid?”
“I don’t care who he is. I want him arrested.” Mrs. Hastings’s voice hit a shrill high note. “I pay my taxes. I’m entitled to protection. What’s the world going to think if you let an old woman get murdered in her own home?”
Michael held the receiver away from his ear and let her have her say. Her spiel didn’t vary much week to week.
Betty Jean picked up her purse and mouthed “I told you not to answer.” She waved and walked out the door with a wide grin on her face. She was usually the one who got stuck listening to Mrs. Hastings.
Michael caught a pause and stuck in, “We’ll send somebody out.”
The old woman’s tone changed at once. “Deputy Stucker came last time, and I just know he scared away whoever was bothering me.”
It was tempting, but this was Wednesday, the night Lester always took his mother to church. As much as Michael hated listening to Mrs. Hastings, Mrs. Stucker was worse. Besides, Lester wasn’t there, and while it was unlikely anybody was actually rattling Mrs. Hastings’s doorknob, someone might be messing around out there. It wasn’t on the way home, but what was another hour? Jasper would wait patiently on the front porch for his supper, and the fish in the lake weren’t exactly going anywhere. He still had Aunt Lindy to see to, and Alex would no doubt have some kind of high-profile dinner date that would push the hero of Hidden Springs right out of her mind.
Betty Jean was right. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. Betty Jean was always telling him his biggest problem was that he thought he could solve everybody’s problems and make everybody happy. She said he needed to remember that most of the time when you solved one problem for somebody, the person thought up two to take its place.
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