Ahead of the Press Publishing

Haunted

By : S.L. Kotar and J.E. Gessler

Chapter 10

“Captain Rayburn?”

Looking up from the report he was reading, the officer nodded at his lieutenant. There had been rumors Gerard would apply for a promotion after Captain Carpenter’s planned retirement, but he never had. Perhaps it had been the circumstances. Two months before his 65^th birthday Carpenter suffered a heart attack. He had been at work at the time and Phil Gerard had been the first to find him. Both had been working late and there was no one else in the office. After calling for an ambulance, Gerard noted in his incident report he had used cardiopulmonary resuscitation in an attempt to keep his superior officer alive until help arrived. What he did not report, but was wildly circulated after the fact, had been a comment one of the attendants made to the janitor as they were carrying the victim out on a stretcher.

“Carpenter said, ‘Do your duty as you see fit, Phil.’ What do you think he meant?”

The janitor had replied he didn’t know, but the following evening, after the sad news of the captain’s death reached the station, he had relayed the statement to one of the detectives. He, in turn, passed it on to one of the officers under Gerard’s direct supervision. He answered without giving the matter any deep reflection.

“It’s the Kimble case,” he said. “Poor Carpenter was telling Gerard to keep on it.”

No one questioned the veracity of the interpretation and after Perkins “Perk” Rayburn was sworn in, that had been included in the rundown he had been given by the chief.

“Phil Gerard is your best lieutenant. He knows the homicide department like nobody’s business. He doesn’t know what a day off means when he’s on a case. He has the instincts of a predator and he can smell a clue better than any bloodhound. He has only one Achilles’ heel: Richard Kimble. Read up on the case. Get to know it. He does. Back and forth.”

“That’s the murderer who escaped? The doctor who killed his wife?”

“Right. Working on the other side of the state it probably wasn’t big news to you boys, but here it was headlines. Still is, for that matter. No one’s ever forgot. People took sides. After the train wreck that’s all anyone talked about for months.”

“Surely it’s died down by now. That was almost a decade ago.”

“It’s there on the back burner, simmering. One word, rumor, innuendo and it starts all over again. But to Gerard, its front page news every day. He has no ‘back burner’ if you want to call it that. Captain Carpenter gave him a lot of leeway to track down any fresh lead that came along. It’s been quiet lately but if something comes up… I suggest you go along with it. We’d all like to put an end to the case. Finally get it behind us. But use your judgment. You’re in charge, now.”

Which explained to the newly installed captain from “the other side of the state” why the lieutenant had not sought a captaincy. Which was all right with him. It was always awkward working in a division when one of the men felt he had been unfairly passed over for promotion, especially by a foreigner.

Which explained why, when Lieutenant Gerard made his hesitant query, “Captain Rayburn?” the commander was ready for him.

“Yes, Phil?”

“I know you weren’t here when it happened but there’s an open case on the books –”

“You’re referring to Richard Kimble?”

“Yes, sir. There’s nothing new,” he hastened to add, “but it’s just that… it’s been so quiet for so long it leads to unpleasant speculations.”

“That he’s dead?”
“That he’s gone underground; under cover. Found a safe haven and stayed there.”

“I see. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“A report just in. From Phoenix. A man fitting Kimble’s description was a witness in a beating. He was brought in for questioning. Well educated, soft spoken. Described as being very nervous.”

“That’s pretty thin.”

“I agree. It’s just that… in the earliest days of the case…. My first confirmed sighting, Captain. It was in Tucson. He – Kimble – was involved there with a woman named Monica Welles. There was something special about her; he was taking her and her son away with him when there was an altercation. A shooting, actually. Her husband found out about it, trailed them to a bus depot and got insanely violent. When he aimed his weapon at the security guards who were trying to intervene, they shot him. I spoke with her several days afterwards. I got the very strong impression she and Dr. Kimble were – I won’t say in love, but I wouldn’t argue against it, either. In any case, she inherited a very substantial cattle ranch outside Phoenix and it occurred to me perhaps he went back there.”

“Got tired of running, you mean?”
“She certainly would – and could – provide him with a long term refuge. After all these years the idea might just have appealed to him.”

“What is it you want?”

“To go there and have a look around. See for myself. Speak with her. Get a feel for the situation. And certainly see if I can locate this ‘Ray Prince,’ the witness in question, and have a friendly chat with him.”

Rayburn’s response was immediate. He had his mandate and in any case, he thought the idea held merit. Even if it were thin.

“I think you should do that. Is three days enough?”

“It should be, yes sir. Thank you.”

“The department will cover the expense. Just see to it you write a report when you get back.”

“I always do.”

 

The witness Ray Prince was nowhere to be located. Checking it at the Phoenix police department, Gerard was disappointed but not surprised to discover the man had “dropped out of sight.” Without his testimony the charges against the brawler had been dropped.

“Happens all the time, Lieutenant,” the detective on the now dismissed case explained. “These people come and go like cloud bursts. The man in question – Tom Morley – he’s gone, too. That’s what I figured would happen. Men argue, get in a fight. Someone reports it, we check it out. Ask a few questions. If no one is seriously injured that’s usually the end of it. Sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing. Besides, someone from your office did call it in to mine.”

“That was a new man. He still looks at the out-of-state posters. Old ones, even. I didn’t think there was anything to it, but I gave him permission to make the call. I didn’t expect you to respond.”

“We take things a little more seriously in Indiana.”

The Arizona detective waved his non-regulation cowboy hat in front of his face as though it were a fan.

“Anything else I can do for you? Give you a ride back to the airport?”
“I have a rental car. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Noting the tone, the man noted, “Always glad to help a fellow officer from one of those serious states back east.”

“Indiana is generally considered to be in the Midwest. Good day.”

He had no trouble finding the Welles’ ranch.

“Get in your car and drive,” the clerk at the gas station advised him. “Take any road you want. As far as the eye can see it’s Welles property.”

“Pretty influential, the man who owns it?”

“The ranch is owned by Mrs. Welles. She runs it.”

“Oh, really? A widow woman?”

“That’s right. Her husband was killed a years back. Terrible thing. Over in Tucson, it was.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“Seems he was defending his wife and boy. There was some mistake or confusion and he was killed in the crossfire.”

“And so she runs the place by herself? Doesn’t have a man to help her? A foreman who does the muscle work?”
“Sure. There’s a foreman out there.”

“Don’t happen to know his name by any chance?”
“Ray Prince.”

“Is that a fact?” he asked, rolling back on his heels.

“Got business with Ray?”

“I may have. If he’s the man I’m looking for. We’re old college buddies. You know him well?”

“Not well. Enough to nod and say howdy. He keeps to himself. Quiet like. They say he’s smart as a whip.”

“Wouldn’t happen to know if he does any doctoring about the place, do you? Tend the animals, maybe? Treat the hands?”

“Now that you mention it, I have heard such. A right handy fella.”

“I’d agree with you there. Thank you.”

Feeling better than he had in months, perhaps years, Gerard got back in his car and started driving. His best line of attack was to find the school Mark Welles attended and question him. Children were usually less adept at lying and without forewarning, the boy might give the game away. If he had been ten or eleven in 1965, that made him seventeen or eighteen now.

Hitting his hand against the steering wheel, he cursed. While time had figuratively stood still for him, it had marched on for others. Mark Welles was no longer a boy; he was well into his teenaged years and had possibly even graduated high school.

“Funny, I hadn’t thought of that,” he mumbled.

Mark Welles was almost a man by legal definition. Or, perhaps he was if Gerard had underestimated his age. That made Richard Kimble 45 years old and him 54.

“Where has all the time gone?”

He suddenly felt old.

Following the signs that pointed the way to the Welles’ ranch, he eventually came upon a large, Western-style gate, beyond which lay open ground leading to a large, ranch-style house. A barn to his right and a corral to his left added to the overall impression of wealth. Not in an ostensive way, but from the upkeep of the property and the obvious value of the home. As if to belie that, an old, rusted pickup sat parked in front of a wooden horse hitch. His heart quickened when he saw it.

Just the sort of truck a fugitive would feel comfortable driving. An invisible truck’ one that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Driving a pickup like that, a man – A man, what? A man masquerading as a foreman, but who was, in reality, the husband of the mistress?

    That was something else he had failed to consider, but sitting in front of the house, became patently obvious. There was no reason Richard Kimble, as a widower, couldn’t marry. And no reason he shouldn’t, because wives couldn’t testify against their husbands.

If Kimble were here, and if he had married, there was every likelihood the couple would have produced children. Children, after all, were what he and his first wife had been arguing about when she died.

Scanning the yard, he sought any sign that children lived in the house: a tire swing; a tricycle. A basketball hoop or a treehouse. But, there was nothing to indicate such was the case.

Of course, Gerard reasoned as he got out of the car, they wouldn’t dare have children if no one knew they were married. Nothing he heard indicated Monica Welles had re-married. Which also begged the question, if Kimble had finally returned to her for safe haven, why hadn’t she merely sold the ranch and gone off with him? That would have given the couple more than enough money to change their identities and start a new life together.

But, he had come too far to doubt, now.

Getting out of the car and quietly shutting the door, he made his way to the front entrance and knocked. If he questioned whether she would answer it herself, or send a servant, that was quickly answered when he found himself fact-to-face with Mrs. Monica Welles.

She eyed him with unadulterated disgust.

“So. You’ve finally come. I wondered when you would.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Welles,” he politely greeted. “You expected me? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. The only way I’d flatter you would be to send flowers to your funeral.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated. May I come in? It’s hot out here.”

“If I thought it was hot enough to kill you, I’d slam the door in your face.”

Yet, she stepped back and he entered, immediately feeling the coolness of the house.

“I’m still looking for Dr. Kimble. I wondered if you might have seen him.”

“Your leads must be pretty slim if you’ve come here.”

She led him into the den and he followed, discovering it to be wood-paneled with a brightly-woven Indian rug and Western artifacts on the walls and end tables.

“Very attractive,” he approved, looking around. “But it looks masculine. Surely, you’ve changed the décor after all these years of widowhood?”

“There’s no reason my taste shouldn’t run along these lines. I’ve lived in this area all my life and this is a working ranch. I run thousands of head of cattle.”

“With the help of a foreman?”

“Yes, I have a foreman.”

Shifting his gaze from the room to her face, Gerard saw that time had been good to Monica Welles. She hardly looked a day older than he remembered her, but it now held a quiet dignity and sense of authority it had previously lacked.

“What’s his name?”

“Ray Prince.”

“Is he around?”
Instead of answering, she moved toward the middle of the room, her long, Western skirt making low swishing noises as she walked.

“Would you like some lemonade? Iced tea?”

“Either would be most welcome, thank you.”

Turning to her left, Monica signaled an unseen servant, then indicated he be seated. He waited until she sat, then followed suit.

“No. I sent him to Tucson. There’s a cattle auction going on there.”

“That can be checked out, you know.”
She folded her hands and leaned forward.

“What’s this all about, Lieutenant?”
“There was some altercation between two ranch hands. A man called Ray Prince was brought in to testify. One of the deputies there thought he looked like Richard Kimble and called me.”

She relaxed, catching him by surprise.

“You think Dr. Kimble is Ray Prince?”

“I thought it was worth investigating.”

“Why?”
He debated how much to say and then sighed.

“Because there haven’t been any reports of him for several years. I realize he’s been on the run a long time and he’s hardly front page news outside Stafford, but it goes against logic. Someone, somewhere is bound to recognize him and report it.”

Her face went through a number of subtle expressions as she considered his words and how to respond. She finally smiled.

“Oh, yes. Richard Kimble. He did come here several years ago. He was in a bad way; had been shot in the chest. I did everything I could for him, but, of course, I couldn’t call the doctor. Not and have him ask questions. He died. I buried him out back.”

“Where, out back?”

He asked too quickly, too forcefully. She laughed.

“I have a vast amount of acreage from which to choose. You’ll need a court order – which the local magistrate won’t give you – and several hundred men and bulldozers to go through it all. And even then, there’s no saying I buried him on my property. There’s a great deal of state land available for illicit burial.”

The information was damning but his bubble had already been burst.

“You’re lying to me. Why?”

“Because you were a fool to come here, raking up old wounds.”

The servant brought in two glasses of lemonade on a tray, set it on the coffee table and quietly retreated.

“I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention.”

She indicated he take a glass. He did so but set it down on a side table by the armrest.

“I think it was.”

“Do you imagine me that cruel?”

“I imagine you capable of all sorts of cruelty.”

In order to gather his thoughts, he took a sip of the cold beverage before continuing.

“I’m sorry. I’m only trying to do my job. Richard Kimble was convicted of first degree murder.”

“He’s innocent.”

“It’s not my place to judge.”

“Then, you’re beneath contempt. Everyone judges. I judged. My son, Mark judged. All the people who I hope have helped him along the way judged. If you haven’t, then you’re the only one.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may. I came here looking for Richard Kimble. Is he here?”

Monica Welles got up and began wandering around the room. Turning her back on him, she picked up a string of turquoise beads and began fingering them as one would a rosary.

“If he were, you know I wouldn’t tell you. So, why do you ask?”

“I was hoping the years had altered your perceptions. I see now they haven’t.”

From the finality of his tone she expected him to get up and go but he did not. Instead, he drank more of the lemonade.

“No. That’s not why you asked.”

“Perhaps I wanted to hear the tone of your voice when you answered.”

“Yours tells me more about you than mine would enlighten you.”

“How do you mean?”

She thought he sounded frightened.

“You think he’s dead.”

Gerard shook his head in denial.

“I’ve been through a scenario like that once before. This isn’t the same.”

For some reason she couldn’t explain, Monica turned around, one eyebrow arched. Not in defiance but intent.

“Tell me about it. If you please.”

Directing his eyes into the massive stone fireplace where logs were carefully stacked for the next cold day, even if it were months away, he began speaking.

“This was quite a few years ago, now. I received a call from the police in Bennington, Vermont. They told me Richard Kimble had been killed in a car accident. Saving a woman and her child from a truck skidding toward them on the ice. I had no reason to doubt them. They sent fingerprints… which I didn’t get at the time. I informed his sister, Mrs. Taft, and went to collect the body. When I got there, the body was already placed in a coffin. I… didn’t check it. Another error. I accompanied it back to Stafford.”

“How?” she asked and her voice sounded hollow.

“By train. It was… less expensive that way. I rode with it in the baggage car. All the way. It was slow going. They forgot about me. When we finally arrived in Stafford, an undertaker’s wagon met us. That had been arranged by the Tafts. I didn’t follow it. I went home. Later that night Donna Taft came to my door in a fit of rage. The man in the coffin wasn’t her brother. There had been a mistake; a misidentification of the fingerprints. She thought I had been playing some sort of a macabre joke on her.”

“You weren’t.”

“No. So, then I knew Richard Kimble was still alive. I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or the contrary.” He cleared his throat and finally looked up with a sad smile. “You’ll be interested to know that shortly thereafter the good doctor called me. He accused me of tormenting his family to get back at him.”

“And you denied it?”

“Have you heard this story before?”

“No,” she replied and he believed her.

“I made a bargain with him.”

“What was it?”

He waved it away.

“It doesn’t matter. I denied it. That’s all there is to it.”

Gathering the folds of her skirt around her legs, Monica came and sat down opposite him. In a different chair than the one she had used before. In the change of light he noted that the years had not been quite as kind as he imagined.

“He called me once. That’s why I never moved, you know. So he could always find me if…” She searched for the right expression. He filled it in for her.

“If he ever had a bullet in his chest.”

“Not so drastic as that, but yes. If he needed money; or a safe hideout. Or, just someone to talk to on those long, lonely nights.”

“Which was it?”

Her hand fluttered and then fell.

“Just to talk.” She made an attempt to sound more uplifting. “Every three minutes he had to keep putting coins in the phone box. I wanted to call him back but he wouldn’t let me. Phone records can be traced, he said. He sounded older.”

That completed the circle.

“How long did you talk?”

They might have been reminiscing about a mutual friend who had passed from memory by all but them.

“Half an hour or so, I’d guess. Until he ran out of change.”

“What did you talk about?”

“That’s the funny part. I can’t remember. You’d think I’d have engrained it in my memory, but as soon as I hung up, it all seemed to vanish. As though I had made it up.”

“I think I understand.”

“It’s peculiar, isn’t it, how a man you hardly know can make such an impression on your life.”

“I’ve been known to wonder that, myself.”

“Where is he, Lieutenant?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me. And now I see you can’t.”

“I think at this moment if Ray Prince really were Richard Kimble, I’d introduce you. When he returned from Tucson.”

“Of course.”

“But, he’s not. I wish he was.”

His foot twitched and he started to stand.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mrs. Welles.”

She stood and they faced one another.

“You’ll be going back to Stafford?”

“Yes.”

“What time does your plane leave?”

“Day after tomorrow. I suppose I’ll have to change it.”

“You thought it would take three days to find your man?”

“Having met you once, I was prepared for a siege. Or, a knockdown battle.”

“And I was prepared to shoot you in the chest.” She motioned he follow and she led him back to the front door. Reaching behind it, Monica retrieved a 12-bore shotgun. “As you can see, I wasn’t planning on missing.”

“Has it been there all these years?”

“Yes.”

The corners of his lips flicked upward.

“I’m glad you didn’t shoot me.”

“But, at least I would have been able to call the doctor.”

“The question is, would you have?”

“We’ll never know.” She replaced the weapon in its appointed spot. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
He was less surprised than he might have been.

“Yes. Yes, I would. Thank you.”

She gave orders for the meal, then took him outside.

“I had no idea how to run a ranch after Ed died. I had a foreman, of course, and we worked it out for a while until he started to get ideas about marrying the widow. I sent him on his way and set about teaching myself ranching. It wasn’t easy but I found I enjoyed it and eventually I got as good, if not better, than Ed. I’ve had foremans come and go since then, but I learned not to rely on them and never made the mistakes I did with the first. It was, ‘keep your distance if you want to keep your job.’ And, for the most part, they did. Ray Prince is the fifth one I’ve had.”

“The one who doctors the hands and tends the stock?”

She laughed and it was light and airy.

“Who told you that?”
“I heard it around.”

“For a man who just arrived, you learned a lot.”

“I only have three days.”

“And you were expecting a siege.”

“Or, a battle.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“I am, but not in the way you think.”

She laughed again and guided him around the corrals and out into the pastures until the sun began to set and they made their way back to the house.

“I see you have horses,” he began, pausing to stare into those kept nearest the house. “Fine looking animals.”

“Do you ride?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m pretty much of a city slicker. That one over there,” he indicated, pointing to a black stallion, “is magnificent. Is it yours? Or, perhaps your son’s?”

“No, it’s Dicks –” Monica bit off her words and tried to gloss over them. “It belongs to Ray Prince.”

“It seems to me I remember Richard Kimble was quite a horseman.”

“Is he? I never had the chance to find out. That would have made it easy for him to fit in around here. Being a horseman is considered an absolute necessity on a ranch. Would you like to wash up before we eat?”

“I would. Although I apologize for having no better suit than what I’m wearing. I didn’t expect to be wined and diner by so charming a hostess.”

“No worry. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

She directed him to a large, well-supplied restroom where he made himself presentable, using the electric razor he found in the cabinet to shave away the stubble that had begun to grow on his cheeks. Joining her in the dining room, he found she had changed into a fresh summer dress.

“Good evening,” she greeted as he entered.

Taking in the bone china, Scottish crystal and silver candelabra set out for him, he made her a polite bow.

“I was hoping to meet your son, Mark.”

“He’s in Tucson with Ray. The ranch will be his one day and he’s eager to learn all there is to know about running it.”

“Amazing, how fast they grow, isn’t it?”

“You have children of your own?”

“Two. A boy and a girl.”

She sat at the head of the table, tacitly relieving him of the obligation of pulling back her chair. He joined her at the place-setting on her left. They dined on thick broiled steak, fried potatoes, a green salad and an aged red wine before taking coffee and a spiced cinnamon cake in the den, making small talk and avoiding any larger issues. Finding the time grow long, Gerard checked his watch and indicated it was time to leave.

“I want to thank you for a most pleasant and unexpected evening.”

“As unexpected for me as it was for you,” she agreed. “I’m glad you decided to stay. Why did you?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Because we share something in common, albeit on different sides. Why did you invite me?”

A tortured look of sadness flashed through her eyes before she looked away.

“Because you told me the story of the train ride. And because you grieved for him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She offered her hand.

“Good evening, Lieutenant. I hope one day we can meet on better terms.”

Since he had no answer, he said nothing.

 

Phillip Gerard drove all night, arriving in Tucson as the sun was just coming up over the lip of the world. Failing to appreciate the way the early morning rays sparkled off the dessert sand, making it appear as though a billion gems were buried beneath, he stopped at the first open gas station he came to and asked directions to the cattle auction. Receiving them, he drove to the open-air arena filled with pole tents and corrals and horse vans. Parking by a large truck with the words “Welles Ranch” on the side, he rolled down the windows and proceeded to wait. By seven o’clock those involved in the business began arriving.

Purposely selecting a man who drove up in a car with the crest of a different ranch on the door, he approached and offered an easy smile.

“I’m looking for Ray Prince. Have you seen him this morning?”

“He was over at the Hungry Cow eating breakfast a few minutes ago. He should be here soon.”

“Can you tell me what he was wearing? I have a… message from his wife.”

“Red and black checkered shirt, black cowboy hat and a bandana around his neck.”

“Was Mark with him?”

“He sure was.”

“Thanks.”

Having thus established the wardrobe of the man he sought from an independent source, in case Monica Welles had called ahead to warn her foreman and he had switched identities with another man, Gerard settled in to wait. Half an hour later he was alerted by a youthful voice calling out, “I’m going over to check out those horses I told you about yesterday, Ray!”

The man he addressed, whose face was momentarily obscured by the sun, waved his approval. Gerard’s heart began racing.

Six foot tall or a little taller with those boots he’s wearing. Black hair. Right build.

    The words, “Dr. Kimble” were on his lips when the man moved out of the sunlight. Reality came crashing. There was no doubt about it. This man, this Ray Prince, was not Richard Kimble.

I knew it all along. But I had to be sure.

    That slip of the tongue: ‘No, it’s Dick’s horse’ was meant to fool me.

    She sent me on a wild goose chase.

    No harm done.

    At least I know now she’s never seen him. I can go home satisfied.

    “Satisfied” wasn’t the right word but it suited the occasion.

Link to HAUNTED Chapter 11