"That's what I suspected," the Sheriff asserted. "The bike, you said was lime green, how about the helmet?"
"Didn't find a helmet, but yeah the bike itself is kind of a lime green, popular a few years ago."
"Deputy Breland, is it the bike you saw?"
"I would have sworn that it was yellow, but it happened so quick, could have been this one."
"But you can't be sure?" Angelo asked, trying to get a confirmation or a denial.
"That's right, I can't be sure."
"So what you're saying is we don't have jack shit," the Sheriff said, sitting back in his chair and running his big hand through his hair.
"That's correct, boss."
"Either he's a criminal mastermind that's been able to really pull one over on us, or he's a pawn in some other criminal mastermind's game and we're all in the dark," he thought, very concerned that it must be the latter.
Tuesday morning came quickly; Blanche and Lillian took turns in the bathroom getting ready after Felix had his usual casual shower and bathroom time. Blanche especially avoided him and they had breakfast in the room. Caroline had been more than accommodating after the women explained the situation with Seymour and the court hearing at noon. Mrs. Muir even stopped by Blanche's room to offer her support and well wishes. Blanche talked with Ester before they caught the taxi for the courthouse. She was upset, but only because Seymour was being treated like a criminal, and those that knew and loved him knew it was impossible. She would hold down the fort with the high school students for the day, but would need Blanche in on Wednesday, the inspectors would be there and things should appear completely normal.
The two ladies sat on the second row of the courtroom assigned to Seymour's case. A few towns’ people were there but not as many as they expected. The Sheriff's Office had done a good job keeping the arrest under wraps until they had further proof that Seymour was indeed The Stalker. The courthouse was a majestic building, built just after the Civil War during the reconstruction era of American History. The courtroom itself was spacious. Deep, rich woods provided the seating, railings and judge’s desk and tables. A court recorder sat waiting near the front, a stenotype machine at her fingertips. A courthouse deputy stood by the door leading to the judge’s chambers.
At precisely noon, the door opened and a judge in black robes entered and took his seat above the audience. Seymour was brought in through a side door, his hands cuffed behind him and the diminutive Deputy Guest led him to stand behind a table in front of the judge. A tall, grey haired man in a dark, pinstriped suit entered through the same door and stood behind a table next to Seymour's.
"Must be the DA," whispered Lillian, pointing to the man in the suit.
The rear, heavy doors opened just before the proceedings were to get under way and Sheriff Lupo came and sat behind the ladies. He reached up and gave Lillian's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"That was odd," thought Blanche.
Within minutes of the court being brought to order, a stir of activity occurred at the back of the courtroom, causing everyone to turn to see what was going on. The doors suddenly opened and two-dozen people entered, Mrs. Ella Wild leading the way with administrators, teachers and students mixed, together in a supportive group. Thumbs up and other positive signs were flashed to Seymour, bringing a grin to his face.
Once things settled down and everyone found a seat, the DA spoke explaining the charges and the circumstances related to Seymour's arrest with a caveat that further charges were pending, but for now they wanted him held on the weapons charge. Behind the large desk the judge grunted and only rarely looked up from the documents before him.
"What are you looking for in terms of bail?" the judge asked.
"Judge, we had first anticipated $500,000, but after conferring with Sheriff Lupo we have agreed to drop the requested bail to $200,000."
"That is agreeable to the court. Bail is hereby set at $200,000 and can be taken care of with the court officials. Mr. Wood will be held over, pending further charges and possible trial. Mr. Mason, let me give you and your office a caution here. If you do not have significant evidence to place specific charges against this young man by Saturday, I will have no choice but to set him free and revoke the decision made today and the bail. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely judge," Mr. Mason said.
"Okay, court is adjourned, return Mr. Wood to his cell," he instructed the officer.
Seymour looked over his shoulder at the small support group seated behind him, offering a little smile showing his dimple.
The Sheriff left without saying a word to either lady but knew he had helped.
Lillian and Blanche huddled for a few minutes before going to the bank in an attempt to secure $200,000 for the release of Lillian's son and Blanche's love.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
She watched the sunlight trickle into her bedroom, little by little raising a curtain of light along the wall until the room was fully illuminated. Lillian Wood spent the night in her own home but got little sleep. The image of her son, dressed in orange coveralls, hands cuffed behind his back, looped through her mind like an old movie reel. Yesterday had proven to be more trouble for the Wood family as the day progressed. The local media had finally gotten the word that an arrest was made in The Stalker case, but no charges had been specifically filed, yet her phone rang non-stop and an aggressive, wannabe reporter had shown up on her doorstep late the night before. This morning an assessor from the bank would be coming by to provide an evaluation on the farm. They wanted to help but didn’t know if $200,000 was a doable number based on current property values and the existing mortgage on the house and land. With all the stress and worries she remained surprisingly optimistic; the hand of the Sheriff had done much to calm the older woman’s fears.
Blanche had gotten up early, no sign of Mr. Unger but she still tried to stay within the agreed upon schedule and avoid him altogether, then dressed conservatively, grabbed a banana and left for work. She made a quick stop at the hospital to see how Jasper was doing. Rufus was sitting in the room, head tilted to one side, a rolled up jacket for a pillow. Both the men in the room were asleep. With each breath Jasper would expel a deep, vibrating concussion of sound that led Blanche to believe that his father must be deaf. Blanche had little time and felt bad doing so, but she gently shook the older Jackson, startling him until his eyes could adjust and make out it was his librarian friend. With outstretched arms he pulled her in for a tight good morning hug but did not speak. Blanche motioned for him to join her in the hallway.
“How is he doing?” she asked.
“Bout as good as we kin hope. Says he’s got a pain in da ass,” he laughed.
“I’ll bet he does. How much longer are they going to keep him?”
“Till tomorra, or was it taday? I can’t be sure, soon though,” Rufus scratched his head hoping it would improve his morning memory.
“I don’t want to wake him, sounds like he’s sleeping pretty good. How do you sleep with that snoring going on? I could hear him clear down the hall as I left the elevator.”
“It’s somethin’ turrible ain’t it. Slept in da same house wit him fer sa long, don’t think I kin sleep witout it,” again he chuckled, a twinkle in his eye.
“Would you let him know that I stopped by and I hope to see him soon? Could you also let him know that the young man they’ve arrested for possibly shooting him is the wrong man? I know him, and he could not have done it. I’ll explain to Jasper later, okay?” she explained.
“Sure will perty lady,” he replied to her requests and returned to his spot in the room, getting himself comfortable again amidst the cacophony of sound.
Blanche left for the library in enough time to be a few minutes early, everything had to appear normal today, the inspectors would be by at an undisclosed time and she wanted to be prepared. Mrs. Ester Anderson would be on high alert.
Felix laid awake looking at the ceiling, watching the small dots and lines drift across t
he white surface, organics originating in the back chamber of his eyes. His doctor had told him he had floaters due to his age and they were harmless, but in the early morning hours he often could make shapes and faces from the unusual bits of debris that circulated through his vision. The sound of Bev sleeping next to him calmed his own breathing and made him feel relaxed and assured. The night had been interesting; she had been hungry for his touch and he for hers. It had not taken long to conclude the meal and business at the bar before making a beeline for her house. He had to focus to even remember where he left his car; he hoped it was still there. She shifted, rolling over on her side and draped her arm and leg across the cool Felix.
“Wednesday,” he said, moving his lips but not uttering a sound.
He tried to run the coming day through his mind, the things he needed and wanted to do, a trip to the Land and Title Office at the top of his list. Iggy had secured a special item for him that he was anxious to get his hands on, and he thought a face to face would shake the little man up in the process. He would be glad when he could put Valdosta behind him. Up until last night it had almost been fun, the game had been afoot, but it would all come down to the events of tomorrow night and the woman that slept beside him. He felt her leg move up his thigh and her hand slide between the sheets and down his torso before he felt her soft lips on his shoulder. Tomorrow would be much more difficult than he had imagined.
Deputy Breland pushed a silver cart through the main door to the lockup, juices on the bottom level and oatmeal and toast on the top. He stopped at each cell, calling the cellmate forward and handing them the breakfast. Seymour was still exhausted but not for lack of trying to sleep. The cot was insanely uncomfortable and he stirred with every sound, which was many, as they bounced off the concrete walls. The showing of support the afternoon before had lifted his spirits and he was confident his mother would be able to make the necessary arrangements to get him out of this hellhole. He was anxious to do his own investigation. Throughout the night, as he drifted in and out of slumber, he saw faces and places but he kept coming back to the man in the locker room, how unusual it had been that he retained his sunglasses as he stood at the end of their aisle.
At the time he had not cared or paid much attention to it. Some students just wore their glasses all the time, perhaps his were the type that changed and he was waiting for them to clear. He wished that he had paid closer attention to him. In his mind he could see him observing the conversation he was having with his friend, he remembered movement and he sat behind him and opened a locker. Seymour had not turned and looked at the man, but he noted as he left for the showers that the man was reading, his backpack in the open locker and his shoes on the floor. It seemed odd to him now. Why had he not undressed and changed, what was he waiting for? Then it struck him; he was waiting for the locker to be unattended so he could plant the gun. Why had he not realized that a day before?
“Deputy, Deputy Breland, I need to speak with Sheriff Lupo right away. I’ve remembered something!” he said, both hands on the bars speaking excitedly.
* * *
Noon rolled around and still nobody arrived from the bank, Lillian’s patience was wearing thin and the anger she’d felt on Monday was making a repeat appearance. She picked up the phone and dialed the bank, asking to speak with the manager. As she waited, listening to the annoying audio commercial and then the elevator music for more than two minutes, a distinct rap brought her attention to the front door.
She hollered from the kitchen, “I’m on the phone, if you’re a reporter get lost! I’m not making any statements.”
“Mrs. Wood, it’s Marc from the bank. I think you are expecting me.”
Lillian dropped the phone onto the mount and hurriedly went to the door, greeting the young man and putting her best foot forward.
“Thank you for coming, I’ve been anxiously waiting for you this morning. It’s very important that I get this taken care of so I can get my son home.”
“I understand and I’ll work as fast as I’m able but be aware these kinds of things take time. After all it’s a lot of money we’re talking about,” the preppy young man said.
“Oh, I know, I’m just anxious. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing really, I’ll just take a look at the house and the property. I’ve already looked over the legal description; the title and I know the size of your farm. It’s going to be close.”
“Close? I can’t tell you how important it is that I get that money. You’ll get it all back and with interest, my boy’s not guilty and he’s not going to run.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Wood, but we at the bank need to be careful, you understand.”
She did not understand, she just wanted this pencil pusher to clear the way for her to get her son out of the county jail.
“Well, if you need anything I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find everything. I won’t bother you when I leave but you should get a call later this afternoon from our manager, thanks.”
* * *
Blanche had not seen Marcus all morning and wondered where he was keeping himself. Mrs. Anderson had cruised through the foyer multiple times, just checking up on things. She stopped by earlier and complimented Blanche on her attire and thanked her for keeping her ‘headlights’ under wraps. The young librarian had a difficult time focusing on her job, she’d not even looked in her organized boxes and she kept thinking back to the night on the hillside. The pleasant thoughts were always pushed aside by the vision of Jasper squirming about in his own blood, calling for help, then the sight of Seymour standing behind bars, dressed in orange and the tears in his eyes. She was so torn and confused, but her heart spoke to her, giving her hope and assurance that all would be well.
At 1:00 p.m. she sat at the main desk eating the banana she’d brought and finally saw Mr. Marcus waltz through the front doors. He carried a ladder and his tool belt slung low around his waist.
“What are you doing? I thought everything was fixed and ready for the inspection?” Blanche asked, looking to see if Ester was within earshot.
“I thought so too, but remember the emergency door upstairs?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“The part still hasn’t come and Mrs. Anderson wants me to take another look at it, see if there's something I can do to get us by the inspection. I already told her if there was something I could have done I would have already, but she’s insisting, so here I am,” he said shrugging his shoulders under the weight of the aluminum ladder.
“I see. What should we do if they show up while you’re up there?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, you’ll just have to come give me a heads up and I’ll get out of here.”
“Sounds good, I’ll just come pull the ladder out from underneath you and you can dangle there as the alarm. That should get us past the inspection, don’t you think?” she joked.
“Very funny. How’s our boy doing? You doing okay?” he genuinely asked.
“I’m okay, didn’t sleep much, but I can’t imagine what kind of a night Seymour must have had. His mom is working to get the bail money today so he can go home.”
“Wish there was more we could do,” he said.
“Me too,” she said, waving as he made his way up the stairs, being careful not to mar the handrails.
Fifteen minutes later the doors opened again and a mother with three small children entered, followed by a man that she recognized but could not place. He strode directly toward her, smiling as if they knew one another. She desperately tried to draw a name from her memory but could not.
“Hello Blanche, how are you today?” he said, extending his hand and shaking hers with vigor.
“I’m good and you?”
“I’m good, thanks for asking. Sorry I’ve not been able to get back here since we talked last week,” Lester said a bit annoyed. Looking into the woman’s eyes he could tell she was drawing a blank.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’ve
been busy with my library stuff,” Blanche said, trying to give herself the time she needed to remember his name.
“Yeah, me too, been real busy getting ready for a big event tomorrow night. Looks like I’ll be moving away from Valdosta. Thinking maybe of relocating to California, got to convince my girl between now and then to come with me,” he said, teasing the woman in his own way.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to, seems like you’re the convincing type,” she said, still searching.
“That’s for sure; I suspect she’ll come around to my way of thinking.”
He was having fun watching her try to remember his previous visit but the fact that she could not was also causing a seething storm to grow inside him. He looked around to see who else was working. She appeared to be alone.
“You working on your own today? Must be hard to keep up when you’re the only one running the place,” he said, fishing for information.
“No, everybody is here just off doing other things.” Why could she not remember his name? She vaguely remembered talking to him and if she didn’t have Seymour at the forefront of her mind she probably could recall who he was.
“Do you remember the books you helped me find last week?” he prompted.
“Ah, was it travel related?” she said, hoping he would throw her a bone.
“Mmmm nope, I’m surprised you don’t recall, you said you didn’t remember the last time someone asked for that topic.”
Suddenly her mind was clear. “Voodoo, right?” she said, knowing she was correct.
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