Billy Ray lowered his window and yelled back, “We there yet?”
Greg craned his neck around the cab and hollered, “Just past that silo up ahead.”
The lane into the old house place was about a football field long. In fact, it was no longer a lane, only two barely visible ruts through a combination of buffalograss and mesquite. Sprigs of cholla cactus (sometimes called the jumping cactus for the ease in which it attaches itself to humans) dotted what had once been a lawn. The house was of another era; only three rooms, kitchen, living, and a single bedroom. It’s gray and weather-beaten boards making a last stand against decades of exposure to sun, rain, hail and high winds. A stone chimney, sturdy despite its age, stood as an ancient monolith of the past. The tin shed that Greg had mentioned was still there, the only outbuilding left, part of its roof lost in some long ago storm.
Lester and Billy Ray slid out of the truck and stood around, looking. Lester said, “Greg, this where you were parked that night?”
“Dunno,” Greg said, “It was dark. Hey, how about taking these cuffs off. I gotta pee.”
“Shut up,” Billy Ray said.
Lester said, “Let’s walk the place. I’ll start at what’s left of that shed. You head to the left, circle the house, if you would.”
“Got it.”
As Billy Ray reached the corner of the house, he stopped, and wrinkled his nose. “I smell smoke!” he called.
Lester sniffed the air. “Me too.”
“Around here somewhere,” Billy Ray yelled.
The wind abated, only for a moment, but it was enough to pinpoint the source of the odor. A wisp of dark gray smoke rose from the ground, the source hidden behind the weeds.
“What the hell?” Billy Ray said.
Crashing through the brush, both men ran to the smoke.
“Cellar.” Lester yelled. Billy Ray spotted the latch. A long and rusty bolt, bent in the middle, secured the hasp. Billy Ray jerked the bolt from the U shaped ring and heaved upward on the door.
A cloud of pungent gray smoke billowed into their faces. Lester made a waving motion with his hat and got on his knees, choking and blowing, trying to see. With the sudden rush of fresh air, the once smoldering leaves at the bottom of the stairs found new life and exploded into flame. Light from the open door fell across a pale white arm.
“She’s here!” Lester cried, already on the steps, ignoring the flames. Billy Ray followed, his eyes burning, feeling the smoke in his lungs. Melissa lay sprawled across the cot, unmoving, her long hair touching the floor, as the fire raced toward her. Billy Ray tried to stomp out the burning leaves as Lester bent over the girl. The blaze worsened.
“Never mind the fire,” Lester gasped. “Help me get her out of here.”
The deputy took over, cradling the girl in his arms, and in three quick steps emerged from the cellar with Lester right behind him. He eased Melissa down to the dry grass and on to her back. The once fresh and innocent face was shallow and drawn. Dark circles surrounded her sunken eyes. Dirt and grime covered her body. A hideous purple bruise marred one cheek. There was no movement.
Kneeling at the girl’s side, Lester put his ear to her chest. “No heartbeat that I can hear.”
Billy Ray knelt on the opposite side of the limp body and placed the tips of his finger across the inside of the girl’s wrist, slightly below the heel of her hand. “I got a pulse, faint, but she’s alive.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Lester said.
“Need a little room here, Sheriff.” Billy Ray nudged Lester aside and using his left hand, held Melissa’s nostrils closed. He tilted her chin upward to clear the airway, took a deep breath, covered her mouth with his, and blew. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl’s chest rise with life giving air, and blew again.
On the third effort, Melissa coughed; a dry raspy painful cough, and then sucked in a lungful of clean Oklahoma air. She opened her eyes. The panic returned like a bad dream. She could barely breathe. Someone was on top of her, and this time there were two of them. She kicked out, swung a fist and caught Billy Ray across the chin, but it was a feeble blow lacking strength or power. She went limp once again, her strength gone as quickly as it came. Like a wild animal in a trap, afraid and helpless, Melissa knew that this time, it was over.
The Sheriff took her hands in his and spoke, his voice soft and gentle. “Easy honey, easy. You’re safe now. Everything’s okay. My name’s Lester P. Morrison. I’m the County Sheriff. This is my deputy. We’re gonna get you to the hospital and fix you up, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.”
As the words of comfort soaked in, Melissa was drawn to the warm blue eyes of the man kneeling beside her. She parted her cracked lips as if to speak, but no sound came.
“Billy Ray, do we still have some of that bottled water behind the seat?”
The deputy sprinted to the truck and returned with two open bottles.
Lester poured a little of the water in his hand and then rubbed it over the girls face, smearing the acquired filth from being underground for five days. Melissa made a move to grab for the flimsy plastic. “Hold on, girl. Best to do this a little at a time I think.” Lester tipped the opening, allowing the clear and precious liquid to trickle past her lips, across her parched tongue, and ease down her desperate throat. She made a sound like more and tried to move toward the bottle.
“Easy now,” Lester said in a whisper as his throat got tight. Melissa didn’t notice when a tear ran down the old lawman’s cheek.
“Call for an ambulance or take her in ourselves?” Billy Ray asked.
Lester thought a moment then decided. “We’ll take her in. I suspect we can get her to emergency as fast as they can get a crew together and find us.”
“Let’s go then.”
Billy Ray lifted Melissa to his chest with ease and did a quick step back to the pickup while Greg Kingston watched, eyes round, without comment. Lester helped to slide the girl onto the middle of the seat as Billy Ray jumped in beside her. He put his left arm around Melissa and gently placed her head on his shoulder. “Would have been nice to have the sedan,” Billy Ray said. When Lester didn’t reply, Billy Ray added, “Wish we had the time for me show shit head back there a sample of police brutality.” Again, nothing from the Sheriff.
Lester turned the pickup around and mashed the gas to the floor, spitting dirt out the back. Flashing red and blue lights shot out from the rack mount above the cab. The warble of the siren shattered the stillness, a sound most likely never heard by the forgotten residents of the old farmhouse. In less than a mile, the speedometer was touching eighty. Billy Ray checked the passenger in the back.
“Our boy is holding on with both hands. Looks scared.”
“Good. How’s Melissa doin’?” Lester asked. “I need to keep my eyes on the road.”
Billy Ray gently tilted the girl’s face upward with his right hand. Melissa tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off and closed her eyes. “She doesn’t look so hot. Her breath sounds pretty ragged to me.”
Despite the speed, Lester shot her a glance and said, “Call dispatch. Get an ambulance on the way. She probably needs oxygen on account of all that smoke she inhaled. Be sure the EMT’s know what highway we’re coming in on. We’ll do the transfer when we meet up, probably be somewhere near the Pirate’s Den.”
Billy Ray checked his cell. “I got bars. I’ll call the hospital direct, save time.”
Lester nodded. “I keep forgetting about those things.”
After a short conversation, Billy Ray looked at Melissa again and said, “They’re on the way.”
Melissa moaned and motioned toward the bottle of water laying on the dash. When Billy Ray tipped it for her, she choked, coughed, and spit most of it out. Her eyes were glassy and her head bobbed as if she were on the verge of passing out. Billy Ray said, “We need to haul ass. Is this the fastest this piece of junk will go?”
Lester didn’t miss the convergence by far. As the outline of Earl Redman’s dark
and silent bar came into view, from out of the setting sun, an ambulance appeared. Lester slammed the brakes tossing young Mr. Kingston flat against the back of the cab with a thud, and yanked the wheel toward the parking lot. As the dust settled, Boomer was shaking his head of cobwebs like he’d just been hit by a 275 pound linebacker.
Seconds later, the same pair of EMT’s who only days ago had picked up the bodies of the Parker’s, jumped out of their vehicle and approached the pickup.
“This the missing girl?” the woman asked.
“It is,” Lester said.
Billy Ray said, “Here’s what we know. She has severe dehydration and smoke inhalation. That will be her priorities. See the bruise on her face? There could be other injuries, internal maybe, just guessing though.”
The woman nodded, appreciating the input. When a gurney appeared, Billy Ray and the male EMT eased Melissa out of the pickup and laid her on it. Security straps clicked into place. The team quickly loaded the gurney through the rear of the vehicle, the woman stepping inside with the patient. Lester and Billy Ray watched as the woman hooked up the oxygen and checked the flow. With a rip of Velcro, a blood pressure cuff was snugged around Melissa’s arm. “You all take good care of her,” Lester called out just before the doors shut.”
“We will,” the woman assured him.
Doors slammed and moments later, in the midst of more flashing lights and another siren, Melissa was gone.
Lester and Billy Ray stood in the parking lot, each with their thoughts, as the ambulance blared into the distance. When the siren faded out, Billy Ray said, “You realize don’t you, when Melissa comes out of this, the first thing she’s gonna ask for is her mama.
“I know.”
Nothing more was said for a while. A couple of cars went by, one was speeding until the driver noticed the star on the side of Lester’s pickup, and hit his brakes. The sky turned orange, then purple-gray. There were no clouds and no chance of rain in the forecast.
The Sheriff walked off to be by himself. He kicked a few rocks, occasionally picking one up and tossing it at a fence post, but mostly he stood with his hands in his back pockets, watching what was left of the sunset. Billy Ray was content to stay near the truck, leaning against the door, feeling good at having found Melissa alive. Greg Kingston didn’t know what the hell everybody was waiting on, but was in no hurry to go back to jail and said nothing. Lester made a complete circle of the lot and came back to the truck.
“B.R., I’d like you to call Dora and Becky Wilson, fill them in on what’s happened, and ask them to meet you at the hospital. Mrs. Wilson knew the Parkers and she seems like a level head to me. Melissa needs to hear the news about her parents from someone she knows. Becky being there will help.”
“Sure, but what are you going to do?” Billy Ray asked.
Lester hesitated. “I’m not sure yet. I need to think on it some more.”
*****
Back at the courthouse, the Sheriff said, “Billy Ray, take the sedan to the hospital while I check young Mr. Kingston here into the crossbar hotel. Give me a report after the doctors look at Melissa if you would.”
Billy Ray nodded and drove away. Lester took Greg by his throwing arm. “You come with me.” As they entered the building, a uniformed policeman approached. “Sheriff, there was a guy here a little earlier that was looking for you. Demanded to see his son. That the boy there?”
“It is.”
“Well, the man seemed a little irritated with law enforcement in general. Was especially upset to find that his boy was not on the premises.”
“We went for a little ride and some fresh air,” Lester said.
“Hmm,” the cop said, looking for bruises on Greg’s face. “Your prisoner seems none the worse for wear after your ride.”
“Wasn’t that kind of ride,” Lester said and jerked on Greg’s arm.
At the cell, Lester shoved Greg inside and slammed the door as hard he could for emphasis as to what just happened. The clang echoed down the narrow hallway and through the doors to the outer office of the Boise City Police Department. Two curious city cops looked up from their paperwork and shrugged.
Chapter 42
The straight-backed chair was where he’d left it outside the cell. Lester pulled it close to the bars. Unlike the movies, the Cimarron County courthouse didn’t have an interrogation room with video and sound recorders. Lester leaned forward, his hat almost touching the steel. “Greg, I’d like have another chat, man to man, okay? Do you recall earlier, when my Deputy read you your rights, the Miranda warning? Did you understand it?
“Sure. You think I’m stupid?”
Lester let that one pass.
“Greg, you can play this a couple of different ways. You can call your daddy. You can demand a lawyer. You can decide not to say another word. But son, I’m telling you, your best bet is to talk to me. You see, with Melissa alive, you won’t be charged with murder and if what you’re saying is true, probably not kidnapping, although I can’t rule it out. Yeah, there’s the rape or as you claim, an attempted rape, to deal with. I’ll know more about that when the doctors check her out. You might have to man up for that one. There’ll be other charges of course, but if you can cooperate with me now, I’ll do what I can for you. You play your cards right, there’s an outside chance that somewhere down the line, you can still play a little football for the University of Oklahoma. You help me, I’ll help you. Make sense?”
Greg dropped his head and slowly nodded in the affirmative. The mention of the words murder and kidnapping scared the crap out of him. It seemed his once glorious future was going up in smoke like he’d seen coming out of that cellar. His muscular body seemed to shrink in size, withdrawing into itself. Lester waited. When the teen looked up, tears were streaming down his cheeks. With a quivering voice and nearly unintelligible, “What do you want to know?”
Greg Boomer Kingston was ready to deal.
*****
It was just past ten o’clock as Lester made his way down Main. It was a typical weekday night in small town America. A few carloads of kids cruised the street, using the roundabout at the courthouse to change direction for yet another pass; girls waving at friends, the boys yelling insults to known adversaries, hoping for a response and some excitement, anything to break the boredom. The sidewalks were mostly dark and in shadows, the stores long closed for the day. Although the streets were as safe to walk at night as going down the aisle of a church, there were no citizens out to enjoy the cooler temps and the zephyr of wind. Street crime in Boise City was practically non-existent. As a city police car neared from the opposite direction, both he and Lester raised an index finger off the steering wheel long enough to acknowledge each other.
A single light burned at the home of Big Bill Kingston. It was on the second floor, the master bedroom if Lester remembered the floor plan correctly. Lester parked behind Greg’s Mustang, went to the door, and started to press the bell when he got a whiff of what smelled like cigar smoke. He retreated down the steps and followed a walkway bordered with landscape lighting. He circled the house and found an unlocked gate leading to the backyard and swimming pool. A dog from two houses down detected the intruder and gave out with a couple warning barks, then decided his home was not the intruder’s target and shut up. At the far end of the pool, Big Bill lay back on a chaise lounge, his cigar tip glowing in the darkness. He still wore the dress slacks and white shirt from the business day, but his shoes were off. His tie shared room on a plastic coated table with a bottle of Gray Goose vodka and a glass half full of ice. Lester lifted the latch on the gate and let himself in. Without looking at his visitor, Big Bill Kingston spoke. “What took you so long?”
“Had some things to attend to,” Lester said and took a seat at the table.
“Humph.”
The Sheriff removed his hat, ran his hand though his thinning hair, and leaned back, checking out the stars. “Nice night,” he said.
“It is, isn’t it? I enjoy night
s like this, not too hot, not too cold, sitting by the pool.” Kingston took another sip from his glass. “You know, my wife and son almost had a conniption fit when I told them we were moving out here. Truth is, I had some reservations myself. But now…well…different story. I love the pace here in this part of the state, this town, slow, no hurry. Most folks are kind and friendly, easy to get along with. I didn’t realize how annoying the traffic, and loud music, and airplanes, and all those city noises could be until I found out what real quiet sounded like.”
Lester nodded but said nothing.
“I was going to use the Ford dealership here as a stepping stone, to put me in position for something in the big time. I was gonna be on TV every night during the ten o’clock news, plugging my latest deals. I pictured myself on high billboards smiling down at the public, bringing in the suckers right and left. I was gonna make a boatload of money, winter home in Florida, maybe another in the mountains.”
A floodlight at the back of the house snapped on and Marlene Kingston looked out a window. She studied the men for a moment and disappeared. The light went off.
Big Bill continued, “But somewhere along the line, my priorities changed and that boy of mine became my life. Selling cars and making money took a backseat to seeing that kid mature and grow into greatness. He’s a natural you know. I’ve seen a lot of football players and quarterbacks in my time, but Boomer has it all! Fast, arm like a canon. Accurate too. I’ve seen him throw balls at a swinging tire from thirty yards and zing ‘em through the middle 9 out of 10. He’s fast on his feet, got good strong legs under him, probably grow another inch or two before he’s ready to start college. Couple of years experience in the Big 12 and the pros will be all over him. You notice how tall he is? The pros like tall quarterbacks. Makes it easier to see over the heads of the linebackers and pick the receivers out of a crowd. I’d bet the farm he could go number one when he declares, probably at the end of his sophomore year. Hell, maybe when he’s a freshman. Course, in the light of recent events, that might not happen. Damn shame too. Hey, you want a drink Sheriff? Excuse my manners, had a lot on my mind today.”
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 32