Chapter 20

 

That next day the same woman who had visited the National Institute of Health’s library, entered the personnel area of the Fort Myers Hospital. Earlier, she had filled out a host of papers applying for the position of a registered nurse in their operating room. The head personnel specialist looked suspiciously over her half spectacles at the woman’s basic application, along with two attachments—glowing recommendations from two major hospitals in the Chicago area. 

“I’m impressed,” the woman said. “You received a nurse’s degree from Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, Virginia, with top honors. And you served for ten years in operating rooms in the mid-west area. You are certainly what we are looking for, but you understand that if you’re hired you will only be a temporary employee until our regular nurse returns after her maternity leave.” 

 “Yes, I understand, that will be fine.” 

“Normally we check applications out quite extensively; but your application is so impressive, and we really desperately need someone right now . . . I’m going to take the chance and hire you, but I want you to know I rarely do such a thing.” 

“Thank you so much,” the woman said, smiling. “You won’t be sorry.”

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“That would be fine, but since I’m new to the hospital I would like to familiarize myself with the operating rooms; would that be possible?”

“Yes, I’ve no meetings for a couple of hours; I’d be happy to show you around. By the way, your first operation assist will be 8 a.m. tomorrow morning; you have to be here not later than 6 a.m. Would that be acceptable?” 

“Sure; and perhaps during the tour, you will introduce me to the surgeon who is doing the operations as well?” 

“I think I can do that. This will work out great for the two of us. Now, please complete the information for Social Security, print your past addresses over the past ten years, complete all that nasty bureaucratic stuff that we need, and then we’ll get started with your hospital tour.”

The woman completed the necessary forms, putting down false addresses and a false Social Security number. I will be long gone before they find out any of this, she reasoned. 

* * *

A couple days had passed, and Fred contacted the police chief in Tallahassee whose office was working the case of the prison breakout. 

Fred identified himself, and the chief said, “Yes, the warden told me about you and that you thought Donna, Jane, and her boyfriend Slim Woods might have escaped to your neck of the woods.”

“Yes, that’s correct. I’m wondering if you have more information from your side?”

“I checked the Wood’s homestead, Slim’s mother and brother still live there. I brought them both in for questioning; both the mother and her son claim they never saw Slim after the breakout. They claimed they were not close to him and that he didn’t communicate with them often. I didn’t believe them, but there wasn’t much else I could do to get the information out of them. Since Slim had served his full sentence, he didn’t have to report to a parole officer. I interviewed the few neighbors that reside in their rural area, and they professed ignorance as well. We put a watch on their house in case he returns sometime in the future. I also checked for stolen cars in our general area but had no luck; so I have no idea what type of vehicle they used for their getaway. Slim’s brother is a trucker and he goes into the Oklahoma City area once every four days. He could have taken Slim with him at any time. But that’s a lot of miles for us to cover; Slim could have stolen a car from virtually any town on the way.”

“Thanks, Chief, give me a call if anything breaks.”

“Sure, you do the same.”

Fred hung up, thinking—another damn dead end! Sarasota is a major vacation town during the winter, he thought, vacationers and snowbirds from all over the country and from Europe come here for its warmth and white quartz beaches. There’s no use looking for an out of town car, he thought, that was an impossible exercise. 

He recalled that one time while visiting an in-law he had traveled to the small town of Pineville, West Virginia. He guessed its population was well under a thousand. There was not much there to attract visitors, and it was quite a few miles from the state border; so basically all the license plates in the town were from West Virginia. After he left the area and returned home, he got a call from his sister-in-law. She had picked up the local police frequency on her scanner and found out the police had been tracking his car while he had been in town because it was not only out of state, but was all the way from Florida. And that alone was enough to raise their suspicions. At times he wished he lived in that small town; because anyone out of that world of sameness would become an immediate suspect. He had no such luck living in such a large transient community.