CHAPTER 2

 

Kearns ran along the river, the steady pounding of his neoprene-soled shoes creating a pleasant rhythm. He’d been running for just over ten minutes and was beginning to even his pace and regulate his breathing. From here on, for the next twenty minutes or so, it would be smooth sailing. The first ten minutes were the hardest.

Once he despised running. A hitch in the army as an infantryman did little to alter that sentiment.

It took the Iowa Law Enforcement Academy and a charismatic physical training instructor to instill an affinity for running. It had been several months since he’d graduated the police academy, and he was now a rookie deputy sheriff in rural Story County. Unlike his academy classmates he still ran regularly, even though there was no longer an army drill sergeant or police academy PT instructor to mandate it.

Kearns jogged along the Skunk River and turned onto University Drive. The Franklin Roosevelt Elementary School lay ahead.

He took the air in slow, through his nose, and watched his breath leave in a visible plume. It was late November, and winter was still a few weeks away. Though the TV weatherman raved about the mild weather central Iowa was experiencing, he could feel the coming season in the sting of his lungs. Folks were saying it was going to be a hard one.

He chuckled to himself. He couldn’t remember when an Iowa winter wasn’t a hard one. Looking far ahead, Kearns yielded the sidewalk to a group of schoolchildren who were hogging it; a wandering mob herded by two harried adults.

He gave them a glance, and went back to focusing on that point on the ground avid runners seem unable to look away from. He jerked his head up with a start when he heard the scream.

It was a short scream. The word, “No!” was all he heard. But in its tone was a stark, bone-chilling quality that made Kearns unconsciously break stride. He held his breath to listen better. It was what he saw, however, that brought him to a complete stop.

Approximately seventy yards ahead a large man was holding a child. Kearns could see the child’s legs kicking spastically, well off the ground. The man wore a green army jacket, and all Kearns could see was his back. The man retreated towards a clunky-looking station wagon parked nearby. An elderly woman, perhaps the one who’d screamed, ran towards the man with her arms outstretched. In her every move, even from his distance, Kearns sensed desperate terror.

Deputy Kevin Kearns instinctively started running again, this time in a sprint. His heart raced as the drama unfolded before him. Suddenly everything seemed to be occurring in slow-motion. He ran with all his strength, but felt he would never reach the children.

He formed no plan of action for his arrival. All his concentration was focused on simply getting there. His legs pumped furiously and he stretched his arms to lengthen his stride. The elderly woman’s outstretched fingers almost reached the jumbo-sized man holding the child.

To his horror, the man drew a pistol from his coat pocket and leveled it point-blank at the approaching woman.

With twenty yards to go, Kearns saw the flash of the pistol’s muzzle. The sound of the gunshot reached him a split-second later. The woman’s head jerked and she stopped in mid-stride, crumbling to the ground. The big man turned away and began walking towards the car. He seemed oblivious to the weight of the child struggling in his grasp.