CHAPTER ELEVEN

The killer’s face was indistinguishable as I watched him stabbing the screaming girl. There was blood all over the girl’s face, glasses, hair, and neck, and her clothes were torn. The man was viciously and repeatedly slashing at the girl without any hesitation like a robot programmed to slice a side of beef. The girl slumped to the ground, apparently dead. She had glasses and long hair that I couldn’t tell the color.

Even as I slept, somehow I knew it was a dream; still, I tried to notice the man’s features. All I could see was a big man of stocky build wearing an overcoat or raincoat, and he was stabbing the girl with a long butcher-style knife. I could make out nothing further amid the dark of night.

It was apparent that the dream was a reenactment of one of the murders from 1923. I knew this, and remarkably, I was very calm, as if I were watching an old movie. I knew I could do nothing to change the outcome. Still, I needed to see more, to study every detail I was being shown.

Off in the distance was another young woman, someone who, like me, was just a distant observer. She was attractive, in her twenties, with long curly hair, and she just stood there staring at the scene. I knew this had to be Lolita when she looked in my direction. The scene was frozen in time. The man held the knife straight up in the air, completely still. The girl sprawled unevenly on the ground. Lolita looked as if she were staring at something special, like she was trying to tell me something.

I studied it all over again, looking for any telltale signs, anything unusual: shoes, hat, overcoat, hair—nothing, though Lolita’s eyes didn’t move. Finally, I saw it. I saw what Lolita was trying to get me to look at. It was a ring on the middle finger of the man’s right hand—not a normal ring, but rather a very large ring. But what was strange was that that large ring was in the shape of a lion’s head. As soon as I noticed the ring, its size, and its shape, Lolita looked my way as if to say, “It’s about time!” And at that precise moment, the movie-like dream came screeching to a halt.

The light entered my eyes ever so slowly as I blinked a few times. I felt stoned, like I had been on an all-night binge, and my head was tapping out a very loud drumbeat. When I realized where I was, I recognized the doctor. It was Dr. Samuel Frederickson, and, somehow, I was once again occupying a bed at the Washington County Hospital.

“There you are,” the doctor said.

“Is this a dream?” I asked, dumbfounded. I kind of realized it wasn’t, but still didn’t quite know for sure.

“No. This is live and in color, my friend. How do you feel?” He studied my face.

“Like a train ran me over,” I said weakly.

“You’ll feel better shortly. Do you know what happened to you?” the doctor asked patiently.

“I’m not sure, but I think I fainted, maybe from exhaustion.”

“You were helped tremendously with a dose of poison,” the doctor said, and his eyes focused long and hard on mine.

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Yes, Lou,” the doctor said with a wry smile. “It was some strong stuff!”

Just then, I saw Captain Joel Krolm out of the corner of my eye as he walked through the door. His face was stern as he stared at the doctor, who just nodded in response.

“You cheated death again, Mr. Gerhani,” Krolm said, staring long and hard at me. He was clearly pissed.

“I . . . uh. . . .”

“It’s official. The poison used was thallium, an odorless, tasteless poison that is usually very deadly.”

“But how? Who?”

“It was Billy Blaine, at the hotel,” said the captain. “We have him on hotel surveillance. He planted the water bottles, the poisoned ice, and the poison-rimmed glasses. It appears that you didn’t touch the ice, but you did drink a little from the poisoned glass. But he was counting on you using the ice. If you had, you would have died for sure. What saved you was a young woman, Felicia, who called 911 and informed us that something was terribly wrong.”

The captain was clearly pissed, though I didn’t know exactly why. Nor did I care. It could be because they had a shooter and would-be murderer still on the loose, which was a disgrace for his department. He also could have been pissed at me, as if everything was my fault. I was too groggy to care.

“Louis,” the doctor said, “you are going to be fine. Once you were picked up by the ambulance, they administered intravenous drugs right away, and we suspected some kind of drugging. We quickly tested the blood and found thallium, a very powerful compound that, as the captain touched on, usually kills its victims. You consumed too little to kill you quickly, which gave us time to administer the proper drugs needed. We also sedated you heavily for several hours, giving your body a chance to clear out the poison. You are very fortunate. It seems you are like a cat with nine lives. Thank God you’re young.

“And yes, the captain was correct in the fact that the lady friend was sharp enough to realize that you were not yourself, and called 911 for assistance. If perhaps a few more hours had elapsed, your organs would have shut down one after the other, and you would not have been able to survive.”

“That poison is that potent?”

“Louis, it is indistinguishable to someone ingesting it, so you have no clue that you have been poisoned until it is too late. It also takes such a minute amount to do someone in. Your only saving grace is that you didn’t take any ice,” the doctor said.

“Right. I have a sensitivity problem with ice.”

“Again, your ass was spared,” the captain said.

“I guess I have friends in high places.” I managed to produce a weak smile.

“Well, not in Hagerstown, my friend. Someone wants you dead in a fierce way, and a quick and painful death at that. You are just too gullible or stupid to get the message.”

“Captain, I’m sorry, but I’ve got a job to do here. My ass is on the line.”

“Yeah?” he snapped with a fierce glare. “Your ass will be going for a one-way trip in a hearse if you hang around!”

“I’m not leaving,” I said, and I looked the captain square in the eyes. “I’ll leave when my story is complete. I do believe that Billy Blaine, or someone with him, is spooked by my investigation into the murders. And also, my interviewing Lolita is rubbing someone all wrong. I’m convinced there is some tie-in to the 1923 murders and Lolita.”

“Are you implying that Lolita has some knowledge about the murders or the killer responsible?”

“Captain, with all due respect, I have had more action in a couple of days than your department has had in decades.”

“Listen, you little . . .”

“Okay, gentlemen, I think Louis needs some rest right now,” the doctor said, and he put his hand on the captain’s back and steered him toward the doorway.

“One second, Dr. Frederickson,” Captain Krolm snapped. “Louis, since you won’t heed my warnings, I am assigning my best officer to watch your every move. From now on, consider Sergeant Thomas Pawler your permanent shadow. He will report to me on your every move. So, have a nice stay in our fair town of Hagerstown.!” he said as he headed out the door.

“Great! That hammerhead!” I snapped.

“I heard that!” the captain said, leaning around the doorframe. “Still not going to change anything.” His voice trailed off.

Dr. Frederickson smiled nervously at me. It was clear that he was uncomfortable with the exchanges between the captain and me, but was mostly concerned about my overall health.

“Doctor, when can I blow this joint?” I asked.

“Well, you can blow this fine establishment in a few hours if all your new blood work comes back negative for toxins and infections.”

“Infections?”

“Yes, you see, that poison wreaked havoc on your immune system, and we have to monitor the blood carefully. I’m betting that all is back to normal, but your liver functions were through the roof on the results of the first blood work. So just relax, enjoy our gourmet breakfast, and we’ll try to get you out of this joint by around ten thirty.” He laughed good-naturedly.

“Thanks for everything, Doc. But that breakfast you serve may be more potent than the thallium!”

“Funny! I have to remember that one. Oh, by the way, there is a young lady who is patiently waiting to see you. She’s been waiting for a couple of hours. I’ll let her in now. See you in a little bit, Louis.”

Within two minutes, Felicia entered the room, and I swear the entire room got brighter. She was absolutely beautiful in her nursing uniform. I used to fantasize about a gorgeous woman dressed in a nurse’s costume, but, of course, she would always slowly strip. But that’s another story for another time. Maybe it’s the white pants or the pure white shoes they wear, but I find something sexy about nurses in general.

As she came closer, I had no problem this time looking deep into her sparkly gray eyes. Felicia was smiling as she said, “What, are you trying out for the next Superman movie? First the gas station shooting, then the police precinct shooting, then the wrestling match with an oncoming car, and now poison?”

“Someone up there likes me, I guess. Not too many friends here in Hagerstown, though!”

“You have one right here,” she said, and she walked closer to my bed.

I stared long and eagerly at her ruby-red lips as she bent slowly toward me, looking tenderly into my eyes. She moved closer to me, and then closer still.

A fabulous tingling feeling came over me as we almost touched lips. Suddenly, I was startled when I heard, “Son of a bitch! I can’t believe you are still breathing!”

I turned quickly to see Sergeant Thomas Pawler glaring at me.

Great! What timing. I’m about to make the move of my life with Felicia, and this lug-head macho-man has to ruin it all.

“Get used to it, Professor, I’m your new shadow. I got orders to keep you alive, although I don’t know why. You keep barking up trees that hold grizzly bears.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said. “Felicia, this is Sergeant Pawler. Sergeant, this is Felicia, from the nursing home.”

“I heard. She saved your sorry ass, huh, buddy?”

“Would you believe?”

“He is very lucky, isn’t he?” Felicia asked.

The sergeant looked Felicia up and down then said, “Lucky is the operative word, my dear!”

Taking a hint from the way I was glaring at him, Pawler slowly withdrew from the room. “I’ll be right outside the door, bud. Your prison food is here,” he said with a sinister laugh.

It was too late. The look on his face and the sound of his voice had destroyed the moment between Felicia and me. It was replaced with cold scrambled eggs, wheat toast, and piss-tasting coffee.

I could eat nothing but a few bites as my appetite hadn’t returned and the food turned my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to leave the hospital and get back to the work at hand.

Felicia had to get to work, so we said our goodbyes as two nurses’ aides were futzing around my hospital room. I was still set to see Lolita at one that afternoon. Felicia said she would be there along with Lolita and Mr. Roberts. I reminded her that I was going to run to the farm to pick up that fresh-made ice cream for Lolita.

Dr. Frederickson returned and asked why I hadn’t touched my breakfast. I asked him, “Did you ever taste this slop?”

“No, can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“I’ve seen dog food more appetizing than this food!” I laughed.

By ten o’clock, I had received my release and was hugging my newfound friend, Dr. Frederickson.

Sergeant Pawler, my sarcastic, arrogant, and reluctant chaperone, wheeled me out of the hospital to his police cruiser. He was working his shift with me alone. We sat in the car and spoke for a while.

“I had a conversation with your boss, Harold Glavin,” Pawler said. “He didn’t sound upset that you got poisoned.” He laughed. “Sounds to me like he wishes he had beaten Billy Blaine to the punch. What the hell did you do to that man?” He smirked.

“Glavin’s just pissed at the whole world. I’m just a punching bag for him. I think if I was knocked off, he would actually cry.”

“Sounds like he’d cry for joy, bud,” Pawler snapped.

“You could be right. His assistant is a real bitch.”

We spoke about my schedule for the day—going to the farm for ice cream and returning to the nursing home to talk with Miss Lolita again.

“Your car is at the hotel?”

“I’m in the back parking lot.”

“Well, I will be following you to the farm.”

“Come on, now . . . .”

“Don’t even try that crap! I’ll be following you everywhere. Don’t you understand that someone wants you out of the way? They think you know something valuable, though I don’t think you know anything useful. Someone will stop at nothing to eliminate you. We know Billy Blaine is involved, but we are sure someone else is involved. And so far we have no leads as to Blaine’s whereabouts.”

“Sergeant, who is this Billy Blaine character?” I asked.

“Blaine is a young career criminal. All small stuff—assault and battery, larceny, harassment, stalking—but never any killing. No ties between him and Hagerstown at all. He’s been in and out of prison since the age of seventeen, never holds down a job, but he never shot up a gas station and a police officer before. So, he’s now graduated to a new level of threat and is armed and extremely dangerous.

“Why me?”

“Well, he clearly thinks you have leads on the murders of 1923, and he is either protecting someone connected to the murders, or someone hired him to take you out. Keep in mind that he isn’t just trying to spook you; he wants you six feet under. And remember, Felicia may also be a target, and anyone else you chum up with until you come to your senses and leave us all alone in our normally boring little town. Either you are very stupid or you want to be a front-page martyr in your own newspaper. But stop risking other people’s lives in Hagerstown.”

“I’ll be gone soon, Sarge.”

“Maybe in a body bag.” He laughed coldly.

“Well, right now I want to get on the road to the farm if it’s all right with you.”

“Not so fast, bubba. We have to look that car of yours over real well before you take off in it.”

“What?”

“You heard me right. To a killer, that car could be an extended weapon, a way for them to murder you without touching you directly.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I didn’t think so. I’ll explain on the way.”

The sergeant told me that killers can rig a car to blow up when the ignition switch is activated.

“Okay, my car is right in back of the hotel, in the parking lot. It’s the red Malibu late model with some damage on the bumper.”

“Oh, you’re a drunk driver, too?”

“Not exactly, though I do drink a little too much. No, I got rear-ended by a Lincoln Navigator the other day.”

“So you’re one of those heavy-footed brake drivers?”

“You think I stopped short and caused my own accident? What, are you crazy?” I yelled, now frustrated.

The sergeant made his way over to my car and got under it to look around. He walked all around the car, noticing the damage from the accident, then looked me up and down, sizing me up.

“Okay, it was my fault, the accident.” I laughed.

He squinted at me then moved on. For a solid five minutes, he inspected my car, opening the doors, looking inside and under the seats. He popped the hood and looked at everything inside.

“See, I told you everything is fine, Sergeant,” I said. “Who wants to screw around with a Chevy Malibu?”

The sergeant promptly radioed in a request for a tow truck to pick up the car.

“Hold on there, Sergeant Pawler. You can’t do that!”

“Oh, please excuse me, Mr. Gerhani,” he said sarcastically. “Listen here, Gerhani, I am ordered by Captain Krolm to keep your ass safe. It’s not something I want to do, but I must. So, until you take your sorry ass out of my town and go back to the most corrupt city in the world, you’re stuck with me. Get it?” he snarled.

“Oh, I got it, all right.”

In five minutes, the tow truck pulled up. It was Wally from the station that I was at the other day when Billy Blaine went on his shooting spree.

“Are you in trouble again?” Wally joked. “What, are you stuck?”

Pawler took control of the conversation, and Wally quickly attached my car to the lift on the tow truck.

“Sergeant, I’ll give it a good going-over back at the shop. We’ll see if anything is out of whack,” Wally said.

We drove behind Wally back to the station, where he had my car up on the lift within a few minutes. The station was relatively empty except for the occasional gas customer passing through. It was nice to see that Brian Fawlta, the gas station attendant, had returned to work. He told me that he was back to normal except for a large bump on the back of his head that was taking its time to go away.

“How’s the story going?” he asked excitedly.

I told him very little, mostly just about Lolita and the nursing home.

“I’ve never been inside that nursing home,” he said.

“That’s probably a good thing,” I remarked.

I was happy for Brian because a nursing home can be a very depressing place to visit. On the other hand, some people feel that young people should be exposed to the sick and elderly in order to be awakened to the brevity of life and encouraged to make the most of their time.

Wally inspected my car as if the president were going to be riding in it, while Pawler looked on and Brian bent my ear.

“So, how long you staying? Oh, and I heard there was a shooting at the police station by that Billy Blaine creep.”

“Yeah, Brian, can you believe that hard-on Blaine shot an officer in the station house? That’s some real big balls!”

“It’s all been in the papers, you know. Shame you didn’t write the stories. They even wrote about someone trying to run you down. Think it was Blaine, Lou?”

We spoke for a few minutes more. I found out that Brian was going to night school. He wanted to be an architect. I commended him on his choice, telling him to stick it out and that it is far better to choose a career that uses your brain rather than your body, as a body will break down and become less reliable as one ages; eventually it’ll get hard to continue with merely muscle instead of brains.

He listened intently, again putting me on a pedestal, as many in his town had done, except, of course, for Billy Blaine and the town’s law enforcement.

Wally had motioned for Pawler and me to come stand underneath the car on the lift. I looked first at the lift, then at my car, and then I slowly made my way underneath it. I was always paranoid about extremely heavy objects raised right above my head. I hoped Wally would talk fast. I couldn’t take another hit in the head.

“Lou,” Wally began, “someone clearly wants you dead. I’ve seen many instances of someone putting the fear of God in a person by modifying and rigging something on his vehicle, but in this case, someone wanted to do you in for sure!”

“So, Sergeant Pawler was correct,” I said, as I glanced apologetically at Pawler, then at Wally, and waited.

“Oh, he was right on!” Wally smiled.

Pawler looked at me and said, “When we were at the hotel parking lot, I thought I saw a drop of brake fluid on a rear brake line, so as a precaution I had the vehicle pulled in without anyone starting it up.”

With that, Pawler called the station house for the fingerprint officer to come to Wally’s to print the car.

“Someone knew what they were doing here,” Wally said, with a little admiration for the culprit. “They sliced the brake line just enough for your brakes to fail, perhaps on a highway or steep incline some minutes after your next car trip began. And that’s not all. Look here.” He pointed to the insides of the two front tires.

“That’s a bubble!” I snapped, as I shook my head in disbelief. “Holy crap, that’s ready to blow!”

“That, too, was brilliant,” Wally declared, a devilish smile on his face.

Nice that he’s being entertained at my expense.

“You see,” he continued, “as the tires heat up like they do after a few miles, the air pressure rises in the tires and the bubble has a great chance of causing a major blowout. This is someone who clearly has done this sort of thing before.”

“I was going to head to the farm off the highway . . . .”

“I bet you would have come back in a body bag.” Wally shook his head with a very serious expression on his face.

“The only way you’re going to any farm is in the back of a police cruiser, Bub,” Sergeant Pawler snapped.

“I’ll have this baby fixed up as good as new, as soon as I receive the go-ahead from the authorities,” Wally said. “And after they lift all prints, I’ll dive under the hood and inspect everything, including the full electric system and fuel lines. But, gentlemen, I fully expect to find nothing additional. After all, with both tires bubbling from being sliced, and the brake line already oozing precious brake fluid, the job would have been successful in causing a horrific accident. But more likely, an overturned vehicle and then a flipping car. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m glad you men had me do a quick look-see.”

“I’ll be dipped!” Brian exclaimed as he, too, came under the lifted car. “A real-life execution hit!” he marveled.

Brian ran for coffees and donuts while we waited for the fingerprint officer to arrive. I listened to voicemail messages while I waited. Graham Griffiths had left another message, and Felicia had left me a couple as well. She wanted to lift my spirits and make me laugh, which her messages did. I returned Graham’s call before he could get too worried and raise suspicion at the newspaper’s main office.

“Where have you been, buddy? I was—”

“Listen, Graham, I can’t talk. I am fine now, but it’s been rough. Someone tried to take me out, run me down, then poison me, and now cut the brake lines and tires on my car.”

“Son of a bitch! They’re out for you, my man!”

“I’m fine. Don’t tell anyone at the newspaper, especially Harold the hard-on!”

“But what are you going to do? You need protection.”

“Listen,” I said, “I’m fine. The police captain assigned an officer to me full-time. I’m as safe as anyone could be. Trust me, Graham. I’m cutting out of this town in a day or two, so please don’t call anymore. I’ll call you when I have some more time. Take care. I’ll see you later,” I rushed the call.

“Watch your ass, okay?”

“Okay, bye,” I said and disconnected the call.

While we waited, we enjoyed the coffee and donuts Brian had picked up, and Wally explained what needed to be done to rectify the damage to my car.

“Lou, you realize that once a tire is compromised the way your two tires were, we have to replace them. Unlike with a regular hole from a nail or even a screw, we cannot just seal up a hole of this kind with a plug. The tires were cut purposely so they would blow at any high-speed heat-up, the perfect scenario for a nasty accident. The brake line can be replaced real easy. After I get an okay from the police, I can have your car ready in about an hour and a half.”

“He won’t be needing it for a while,” the sergeant chimed in. “I’ll be taking him for a ride.” He laughed and looked directly at me. “I made him an offer he can’t refuse!”

I hated to have to rely on anyone. For my entire life, I have been independent to a fault. I feel somewhat helpless when another person has to drive me around. But I realized I had no choice. I needed to get to Elizabeth’s Market Farm and Creamery. We needed to pick up the pistachio ice cream for Lolita, or I’d look like a fool.

So, I was stuck with Sergeant Pawler, who had absolutely no way about him. I didn’t know if it was just me he hated, or maybe the world. I knew little about him or his personal life except that he had served in the military with the Marines. He also was divorced a few years back, and had been with the police force for over ten years. I could tell that he was tough as nails and went real hard on criminals, taking his job perhaps too seriously. I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to ruffle his feathers knowing that he wanted nothing to do with babysitting me and being my shadow. He, no doubt, would celebrate with Captain Krolm upon my departure from Hagerstown.

It was around ten thirty that morning when Sergeant Pawler drove me to the farm to purchase the pistachio ice cream.

I remembered the few times I had eaten pistachio ice cream. It was a little funky compared to other flavors, but still very good. I was curious why the farm creamery’s ice cream was so much better than other brands. No doubt, Lolita was an expert after 110 years of life. She had known food back when it didn’t have preservatives, additives, and fat-free low everything in it. I hoped the farm would enlighten me as to how they made the fresh, homemade ice cream and how it differed from store brands.

The farm was fifteen minutes away by highway. All I could picture was the major blowout I would’ve had if I had been driving my own car. I thought about the motive to knock me off. It finally sank in: Someone wanted me dead. It’s a very unnerving feeling to know there is someone who wants you dead so badly that nothing will stop their attempts.

First, your stomach tightens into a knot once your mind accepts that the threat is real. Your eyes may start twitching uncontrollably, as mine did, and worse, you start looking around at your surroundings nonstop and uncontrollably, because anyone could be the killer. No one was exempt. Even old people were suspected potential killers, as disguises can make anyone look entirely different. And lastly, whenever you eat or drink anything, it immediately turns into acid in the stomach, and the stomach emulates a simmering volcano.

Sleep is impossible for the potential mark of a killer. The mind revolves faster than a spinning top, calculating all the ways you could ultimately be killed in full, gory detail. And the detail plays back in the mind as if it were a movie on an endless loop.

So, here I was, riding along with Sergeant Pawler, once again in the back of his cruiser. I was supposed to feel safe, but my mind convinced me differently. After all, for someone to poison me with thallium and, on top of that, to slice my tires and brake lines, they meant business. Anyone can take out another person if they want to badly enough. No one can ever be fully protected. No one can be put into a protective bubble. Car bombs can be planted. High-powered rifles can be shot from great distances. Poisons can be added to foods or drinks. Walk-by stabbings can’t be defended against if you’re caught unaware.

No, I would have to get out of town, and quick. Fear is a very strange emotion. It eats away at you, driving you insane to the point where your mind stops working properly and your thinking becomes clouded. This was where I was at that precise moment. I could concentrate on nothing but death, and even envisioned my own wake, coffin, color of the casket, and the pillow inside it, and all the mourners around it. Unfortunately, there weren’t many mourners. It crossed my mind that maybe I should try to do something about that from this point on. I had never thought of my own funeral before, but as I envisioned it, there were so few cars lined up behind the hearse that it really bothered me, not that a hundred cars in procession would make me much happier at that moment.

I was suddenly shocked back to reality as Sergeant Pawler blurted out, “Don’t look now, but I think someone is following us.”

Of course, I spun around and looked. What I saw was a large black car with no license plate on the front, still a good distance behind us. They’re following a police officer? Now that is strange. Then again, almost everything I had experienced in Hagerstown had been strange, dangerous, or unusual.

As soon as we passed the next exit, the sergeant put on his siren and flashing lights. I watched closely as the large black car made a sharp turn off at the exit and left rubber in a quick getaway. I strained as I tried to see the driver.

“They were uncovered!” Pawler said, as he called into the precinct and ordered a cruiser to the exit in pursuit of the black car. I thought that chasing the car ourselves would have been a better idea, but the sergeant clearly thought it could be a trap of some kind, and his number one priority and his orders were to protect me. So he asked for a cruiser to trace the black car’s tracks just in case they were careless. I thought it was fruitless.

But now I was convinced that I had to wrap up my investigation of the 1923 murders real soon, or I could be the next obituary in the local paper. I could just drop the investigation; after all, I had only come to interview Lolita and write a nice story about her. Still, why should I cave in to someone who was spooked because I was nosing around about some murders that took place ninety-one years ago?

After all, what did I really have? I had spoken with a few people and uncovered mostly old news about the murders, their victims, and some suspects who were never found guilty. I had seen clippings about the murders, and I’d read about the victims. There was nothing concrete to indicate that I was closing in on any real leads, thus I wasn’t a threat. Why kill me? What good would that do? No one had been able to solve the murders for almost a century. What made anyone think that I could do any better?

I turned quickly around to look behind us, studying the road. Nothing. No one was behind us or even close to us. Then it hit me. The only variable, I figured, that someone had deciphered was that this nosy reporter, who was investigating a 1923 murder case, also was interviewing Lolita Croome, the oldest person in America and, more importantly, the oldest living Hagerstown resident, a woman who lived through all the murders and knew all the victims. Still, I wondered, where was the connection to the killer? And who today could possibly care so much that they, too, were willing to kill to keep the truth from coming out?

Sergeant Pawler didn’t talk. It was like driving with a mummy. Well, he wasn’t very pleasant to speak with anyway, so I probably was better off in my own world. After all, my mind is always so active that sometimes I have to scream internally to stop thinking so much. It doesn’t usually work, and today was no different. I kept wondering if someone was waiting with a machine gun or a grenade around the next bend. Anything was possible.

Ice cream, think ice cream, please! In return, my mind sent out the thought, You could wind up on ice—as a corpse!

Nice thought, Lou.

“Sergeant,” I said, against better judgment, “you think we’re safe now?”

“I am. Don’t know about your sorry ass. At least I have a gun to protect myself.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help noticing that it sounded almost sinister.

“Oh, that’s real encouraging!” I snapped, as I looked all around the highway, searching for anything slightly suspicious, just in case.