Pursuit

by Gene Hackman

  She needed to be alone and staggered off into the weed-infested field, not knowing how she’d gotten there. “My God, oh, please.”

  Charles Clegg felt tired; his arm had kept him up most of the night. He wrapped the hurt-like-the-devil arm in a pillowcase, which then soaked with blood. He pleasured himself for a few minutes with thoughts of how and what he would do to the little bitch when he caught her. But first, priorities. He called Deedee at work.

  “Hi, Dumpling. How’s tricks?”

  “Who is this?”

  Charles thought this might not be one of his more fortunate days. Even Deedee was giving him a hard time. “It’s Charlie the King. Lover extraordinaire, protector of beautiful damsels and wayward children.”

  “Oh, you damn fool, what is it? It’s too early in the morning to be spouting all your drivel.”

  He would have to employ all his resolve to get through the day without making a major bungle of some kind. Were the Gods not aligned? Or was it the moon and stars—a cosmic force—that descended onto Bait Shack the previous night?

  “Miss Deedee, my dear, I’ve been in an accident. Could you cover for me, with Wad? Tell him I’ve gone to the hospital after a terrible spill down my basement stairs.”

  “Oh, Charles, I’m sorry I was short with you. What happened?”

  “You know, I don’t get it. I fell down the basement stairs and knocked myself out. Anyway, I woke about an hour ago with a welt on my head and my arm all banged up. Tell Mr. Drew I’ll be out for at least a day or two. Okay?”

  Charles wandered around his house. Then he gave up and headed off to the local emergency clinic. On the drive into town, he went over the events of the previous night—the shock of seeing the girl crawling out of the basement window, her puncturing his arm, the desperate drive down this country road. The hours-long search of the lake, which hadn’t produced anything except a case of sniffles, and the endless hunting through the dirt lanes of the vast rolling hills and countryside. He had seen her footprints in the woods and close to the river. The search along the water bank proved trying. His arm throbbed just thinking of it. He turned off the main road and bumped his way along an unmarked dirt trail that he knew led to a road paralleling the Missouri River. He held a knowing feeling that the girl had made it to the river.

  His arm ached, so he drove one-handed, resting his damaged limb in his lap. Just before an intersection of country lanes, a yellow sawhorse blocked the way. He got out and moved it to the side of the road, noticing a cattle guard had been cemented into the dirt roadway. He ignored the fresh concrete and drove across as a patrol car whipped through the intersection. The blue-and-white Crown Vic stopped, the officer signaling for him to pull over.

  Charles pulled the pillowcase away from his arm, purposely breaking loose the dried blood accumulated around the wound, reopening it.

  “That barrier for the cattle guard was put there for a reason. Can I see your license and registration, please.”

  Charles pressed his arm hard against the door, to accelerate the bleeding. “I’m hurt, sir. I’m lost, I can’t find help.” He raised his bloody arm up past the driver-side window.

  “What the hell did you do, mister? Damn, that looks bad.”

  Charles let out a pitiful groan. “I’m looking for a hospital, sir. Sorry about the sawhorse business. I’m lookin’ for a hospital. Did I say that already?”

  The officer stepped away from the blood trickling down the outside of the door. “Stay on this Route 100 into Jefferson City. Get that arm looked after.”

  “Sorry again. I should have this arm seen to, right?”

  He noticed the patrolman eyeing him while he pointed down the road to the west. “About twelve miles, look for Route 50 into the Whitton Expressway. It will take you right into the Health Center. You okay?”

  Charles wagged his head back and forth, as if he didn’t know, and then drove off.

  Riding shotgun, Julie unclenched her fists and shifted about in the seat, unable to find a comfortable position. Calls were in to both local police in Jefferson City and her Highway Patrol contact. She had to be satisfied with the patrolman’s dispatcher getting back to her as soon as they knew something.

  Taking Route 65 up to 50, Todd pegged his Crown Vic on eighty-five. Nailing the gas on the interstate would still have been forty miles longer. “GPS says it goes right past St. Mary’s.”

  “Isn’t that where they took the girl?” She wouldn’t say Cheryl’s name; best not to let optimism get ahead of reality. After all, it was only a girl who fit Cheryl’s description. But it could be her.

  Todd drove with lights and siren engaged. When traffic backed up outside of Jefferson City, he cut the siren but left the lights on, passing cars in the opposite lane against oncoming traffic. Other times he snaked by on the right, close to stopped cars. They pulled into the hospital parking lot.

  “Sarge, relax. I’ll put you at the entrance of ER. Just hold on. Okay?”

  Cars were stacked up near the emergency entrance, so Todd shot down a busy car lane and stopped three rows over from the entrance. “I’ll meet you inside, go. Go.”

  Julie stumbled as she slammed the car door, squeezing her way past tight-fitting vehicles. A car door swung open on a faded grey-green station wagon, just barely allowing her to run past as the surprised driver yanked back the door. This close to my baby and almost nailed by a car door.

  “Sorry, miss.” An orderly stopped her at the entrance. “Can’t let you in. Patients only.”

  “Who’s in charge?” She flashed her badge.

  “Nurse Wendy Lucasi.” He pointed down the long hallway.

  Julie could not help herself from running. At a desk at the corner of an intersection of hallways, a woman came to her feet upon hearing Julie’s oncoming commotion. “Hold it, ma’am. This is a hospital. You can’t—”

  “Are you in charge?” Julie looked at the Lucasi name tag while showing her badge.

  “What do you—”

  “I believe my daughter has been brought here in the past hour and a half. Her name is Cheryl Worth, sixteen years old. Please.”

  “Let me get in touch with the ER doctor who admitted her.” She held up her hand in a “stop” fashion.

  Julie felt dizzy. The hospital walls sagged. She knew she would have to relax and show discipline. The nurse continued to make calls, and Julie fell into a white plastic armchair wedged up against the nurse’s station. Her hands gripped her shaking knees. She tried to think if she had been told that Cheryl was definitely found. Did she do it to herself, manufacture this big premature prize because it was what she wanted to believe?

  “Mrs. Worth? Sergeant Juliette Worth?” A man in a lab coat, with one hand holding a stethoscope around his neck, approached.

  “Yes, do you have my daughter?” She snapped to her feet.

  “I’m Dr. Nathan Ryan, head of ER.” He reached across the open space and offered his hand. “To answer your question, let’s take a look. Follow me.”

  Julie was led down a hall with a series of open rooms separated by drawn curtains, all facing yet another bustling nurse’s station.

  The doctor consulted a chart from the desk and stopped in front of a room with curtains drawn. “This is the young lady we saw several hours ago, listed as a Jane Doe. Before we go in—”

  Julie moved his hand from the curtain and pushed past.

  “Please, Officer. There are certain protocols—”

  She walked to the figure in bed hooked up to an IV line and oxygen mask. Wires and monitors blinked red and yellow.

  “Her internal organs are being warmed, but being careful to stay away from the extremities. Rapid warming could cause heart arrhythmia. She has a hot pack on her chest—”

  “I need to see her face, now please.”

  “Is this your daughter?”

  “I can’t tell. Are those wounds to her face?”

  “Yes, a number of scratches and several blackened areas most probably caused by trauma
, rough deep bruising.”

  Julie looked at how the oxygen mask distorted the cheeks and puffed the area around the closed eyes. Darkened strands of hair made a nest of her bruised face. Julie went to the left side of the bed and started to reach under the thick cover for an arm.

  “Miss, you’re being extremely aggressive. Allow us to do our job.”

  “Listen to me, Doctor. My daughter was abducted and missing for close to two weeks. I need to find out if this is my girl. Please.” Julie stood by the bed as the doctor settled beside her. “What was it you wanted to do?”

  “She has a faint birthmark on her left shoulder, a star-shaped, dark image.”

  The doctor pulled back the sheet and looked closely at the top of the shoulder. “I don’t see any—”

  “More in front, close to the clavicle.”

  “Ah yes. Here it is, just as you said.”

  “Thank God. Sweetheart. Cheryl.” Julie wept.

  The doctor spoke from the parted curtain. “She’s sedated. Rough shape when she was brought in this morning. She’s doing better now, but I expect her recovery will be slow. She needs fluids. I’ll be going now. I suggest you let her rest.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Excuse my anxious behavior. I’ve been distraught and not making sense.” She squeezed Cheryl’s hand, noticing how cold it was, still. Outside in the hallway, she looked for Todd.

  He stood in the waiting room, his cell clamped to his ear. Julie clasped her hands together and shook them in triumph over her head so Todd could see. They embraced.

  Charles tried several times to put his thoughts together and do what he went there to do. He knew he could not walk into the hospital with his arm exposed. He’d spent the better part of the day driving. At times he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The episode with the policeman upset him. He did break the law; it had been a near thing. But the man was decent and, in the end, serviceable. The cop’s specific directions had helped him find the hospital with no trouble. He had cash with him and intended to use an alias at the emergency room.

  Rewrapping the offending limb took time, the pillowcase having stiffened from the accumulation of dried blood. Charles gritted his teeth and continued his chore. He tucked the rest of the cloth under his arm, wiped a few blood spots off the gearshift, and then checked the interior of his vehicle for any other clues to his identity in the event that he needed to abandon the car. He had reached across with his right hand to open the door when a loud whoop came from someone hurrying past his car door. Not knowing why, he slammed the door and ducked down after the woman passed. It seemed silly to him. He marked it up to just being cautious. He threw on his crumpled old fishing hat and dark glasses, and made his way toward the red-crossed main entrance.

  “Walker said to stay, of course.” Todd slipped his phone into his shirt pocket as he and Julie covered the length of the hospital’s long marbled hallway to the entrance. “Give me your car keys. I’ll get your go bag and be back by midnight at the latest. Not much else we can do until Cher can talk to us.”

  “Did you call the locals?”

  “Yeah, I explained the situation. They’re going to assign someone twenty-four/seven until she’s strong enough to be moved. They want to do the right thing.”

  “Todd, thank you. I don’t think this yahoo will come back for her, and anyway, how would he know where or what? Who knows, maybe she was just out in the woods for days.” Julie stopped. The image of Cheryl’s swollen face made her legs weak. “We’ll know more, of course, when she comes around.”

  Todd smiled at Julie’s nonstop jabbering. He handed her a plastic slide card with “Marriott” across the front. “I got you a room while I was waiting. It’s just down the street, walking distance. See you.”

  “Thanks, Big Man. See you in a couple.”

  The night sky held a vast accumulation of streaked clouds, their wispy tails drifting west, smudging the greyish-yellow panorama. Julie watched Todd jog toward the patrol car. She breathed deep, lung-filling breaths, feeling better than she had in weeks.

  Julie smiled as she opened the door for a nurse who pushed a wheelchair for a man wearing a crushed hat and cradling a heavily bandaged left arm. She wished him good evening and good luck.

  Julie went back and hung out in the expansive waiting room of the hospital along with other folks in varying degrees of concern. Julie read, walked, and read again.

  She visited Cheryl twice, once during visiting hours, the next time under bombardment from various nurses, orderlies, and security. The local police provided their own watch, and Cheryl had been moved to a private room.

  An elderly woman whom Julie had seen earlier speaking to one of the ER nurses approached her. “Hello, dear. Don’t mean to be a pest, but I noticed you speaking to one of the police officers during the dinner hour and thought maybe you could help me.” She was squat, stuffed into old, baggy bib overalls.

  Julie thought the elderly woman was sweet. “I’ll do what I can. What is it?”

  “I been here most of the day.” She plopped herself down on a well-used sofa. “Except for the occasional stroll down the street to stuff my face with a Big Mac. Aren’t they nasty?” she marveled. “To get to the point, I’ve inquired several times about the young heifer I brung here early this morning, and the cop on duty along the hallway there”—she pointed toward the ER hall—“won’t tell me diddly.” She grinned.

  Julie moved closer in her seat. “Let me see if I understand you—miss?” She tipped her head at the older woman.

  “That would be Gran, or some call me Granny Gault; comes from a long line of Scottish men. Means a wild boar or such.”

  “Miss Gault, you brought in your—what?” Julie smiled. “Daughter, friend, relative? Help me out here.”

  “Are you a police person? You sound like it.”

  “Yes I am, and you?” Julie liked this woman; she seemed forthright and honest.

  The old woman chuckled, putting her finger to her lips as if to tell a secret. “I’m basically just an old fart. I keep chickens and tend a couple hogs, got fruit trees and a scrabble of vegetables sprouting up. Rely mostly on my pension and spend my hours thinking about my buddy of sixty-five years, Pud Gault. But to get to it, I brought in a kid hoofing it down this old country road.”

  Julie took in her breath. “I was told a deputy sheriff brought in my daughter.”

  “Lord A’mighty, you that child’s ma?”

  “Excuse me, please,” Julie answered, nodding, the tears starting. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Was making my daily trip to Ed’s Eats and Stuff.” She rubbed her temples and cracked her swollen knuckles. “Kind of a restaurant cafe, half-assed market.” She cleared her throat. “I take a couple dozen fresh eggs to Ed every morning, about seven o’clock. I see this youngster traipsing along, and she looks flummoxed. I stop, she gets in, goes on about a dog and how her ma’s gonna be pissed and something about a basement and Aunt Willy, and I’m thinking this kid is wet in the pants, and her blouse’s damp, and she’s going on and on like she just might be plain ill. I called Rawlins at the sheriff’s, and he sirened us all the way into Jeff City to this get-sick place.”

  “Can I tell you something, Miss Gault?”

  “It’s ‘Missus,’ if you don’t mind.”

  “You are a treasure, and Cheryl, my daughter, will repeat this—thank you, thank you so very much. She is, by the way, going to be fine. She’ll recover.”

  The two of them talked for another half hour, the elderly woman promising to show Julie where she picked up Cheryl. They agreed to get together at ten o’clock the next morning at Ed’s in Osage City.

  Charles sat in his Nomad for nearly an hour, contemplating his next steps. What a shock when the nurse wheeled him out of the hospital and his new best friend held the door for him. How sweet, after enjoying two weeks of her daughter’s company to be wished “good luck” by Mama Worth.

  He watched the front entrance of the hospital until he saw the s
ergeant’s telltale stride. She had a way of walking that would put most men to shame. He considered following but thought better of it when he saw her rest her hand on her hip. It wasn’t a relaxed gesture but a comforting one that suggested an automatic pistol lived under her jacket and within easy reach.

  Charles made his way back into the hospital at one thirty in the morning. He wandered to the nurse’s station, checking names on the patient board.

  “Can I help you?” inquired an orderly.

  “I’m looking for my cousin.” He flashed a winning grin. “She was in an accident.”

  “Try the emergency area, buddy.” He did. Charles trailed through several rooms, eyeing lumps of humanity spread out on elevated iron beds. Oxygen hissed, and tubes and wires formed nests of get-well apparatus. He came upon one young thing who lay moaning, her face and arms battered, her hair twisted into a scrambled knot, the oxygen mask distorting her features. It could be her, he thought. He ran his hand along her battered arm.

  “What are you doing in here?” A nurse stood in the curtained entry.

  “Oh, hi, I’m looking for my cousin. We were in an accident.” He made a shrugging gesture with his left arm.

  “Well, you can’t be in here.” She held the plastic curtain wide for his exit.

  “Could you tell me the person’s name in there?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  She took his good arm and marched him toward the hospital exit. “I saw you here earlier; you had your arm stitched. A fall, wasn’t it? And now you’re here feeling up some kid.”

  “I’m injured, bitch.” He tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer but continued to guide him down the hall. At the wide double doors, she gave him a slight push. “If I see you back here, I’ll call security. Nighty-night.”

  Charles thought he’d pay that particular woman a visit sometime later; get to know her a little better.