By: Betsy J. Bennett
CHAPTER 10
“Johnson was dangerous. He had killed multiple times. I didn’t know that then, but since his death, I’ve followed through. He was a killer.”
The smile was slow, was deadly. “You didn’t know what then, Lieutenant?”
“How many times Johnson had killed.” Lieutenant Gerard’s voice was low, little more than a mumble as he struggled to breathe. Gerard could feel his pulse thumping, could feel the throbbing in his temples, could feel it in his wrists, could feel it in his chest where it felt like his heart was laboring to beat. He clenched his hands together to keep them from shaking, looked down at his shoes. When he finally looked up at the DA, his mouth was dry, and his words came out raspy, and barely louder than a whisper. “I did not murder Fred Johnson. He was dangerous, and while executing my duties as a sworn police officer, I had to stop him from shooting any more innocents.”
The DA pointed his finger, slashing it down, in an action that indicated to the twelve sitting rapt, that Gerard had just made the point under sworn testimony, that he was trying for. “Yes, as a sworn police officer, you shot Fred Johnson, thus framing this one-armed man for the murder of Helen Kimble, a murder that by your records, and a jury of twelve, Mr. Kimble was responsible for.”
His eyes felt bloodshot, his vision unreliable, but he looked through the crowd of the packed courtroom, found Richard Kimble and made eye contact with him. “Fred Johnson killed Helen Kimble. There was a witness.”
“You mentioned this witness, this convenient witness who kept quiet for six years, even though he professed to be a friend to the Kimbles, who had been to their home many times. That witness?”
Realizing he had lost, realizing following that thread would get him nowhere, Gerard tried to back step. “Tell me what does any of this have to do with the murder of Whit Polamic? That’s what this trial is about.”
The judge looked at Gerard’s lawyer. “Councilor?” the judge asked.
As though coming out of a trance, he too quickly asserted, “Objection, your honor. Lieutenant Gerard is not on trial for the murder of Fred Johnson or for his relationship with Mr. Kimble.”
“But, your honor,” insisted the DA, approaching the bench, “that is exactly the point. I allege, and I can prove, that Lieutenant Phillip Gerard and Richard Kimble became friends over their long-played game of cops and robbers. I believe what Lieutenant Gerard said, that Richard Kimble was personable, that he made friends who helped him along the way to avoid capture. It is my assertion that one of the most significant friends he made was with the man obsessed with his capture. I further allege that many of Mr. Kimble’s daring escapes were assisted by Lieutenant Gerard. This sworn deputy of the law helped Kimble get though the road blocks. Gerard looked left when he knew Kimble was running to the right. Lieutenant Phillip Gerard—” here he paused, made sure he made eye contact with each of the twelve jurors. “I believe Gerard actually killed Whit Polamic to allow Richard Kimble to escape.”
“What? I never—“
Gerard tried to stand, realized he didn’t have the strength in his legs to do so, so he desperately tried to breathe while he studied his lawyer. The kid had his mouth open, was certainly enjoying watching his client being slaughtered on the witness stand.
“Your honor, members of the jury, I’ll back up a bit, if you’ll allow me to continue with my cross examination .”
The judge nodded. “Continue.”
“Lieutenant, are you well enough to continue?”
No, but Gerard nodded, so Abernathy continued. “There was a $10,000 reward for the capture of Richard Kimble. That we’ve established.”
“Yes.”
“Did your precinct put the money up?”
“No.”
“The local Stafford newspaper did, because they were frustrated with the fact that Kimble hadn’t been captured yet. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“The same newspaper editor who considered you incompetent?”
“I don’t know—“
“Exhibit I, the newspaper article from the Stafford Chronicle, the article is called “How to murder your wife and get away with it,” published just the day before Gerard arrived here, looking for Kimble.”
“I allege Whit Polamic knew where Kimble was hiding. He told friends he was heading out to collect the reward. I have them on the witness list, and will follow up with them when I am through with Mr. Gerard’s testimony. Note, Kimble is alleged to have left the town the day Burmas was shot and killed, but Gerard stayed two days longer.”
“I was looking for clues, what direction Kimble went.”
“Did you generally spend two extra days in an area after you lost Kimble’s trail? Or did you put your tail between your legs and run home to Stafford, a failure?”
“He, Kimble had friends here. He might have said something.”
The DA was shouting, standing right in Gerard’s face, bellowing out his ugly accusations. “I allege that Polamic knew where Kimble was, that he was about to bring the man in, dead or alive, and that to save Kimble’s life, you shot and killed Polamic, a sworn deputy, just doing his duty!”
“I never!” Gerard said. He tried to stand, then he put his hand to his chest and collapsed to the floor.
***
“Livi, I’ve got Mike Decker on Line 1,” Dora Ann said.
“I’ll take it in my office.” Her teeth were clamped together and her feet, pounding as she walked from the exam room, had the walls shaking. More than one patient in the waiting room had up and left, after hearing about the temper the usually mellow Dr. Olivia Olivetti was experiencing, willing to take their chance on a mellower mood another day. They too had read the newspaper article.
“Mr. Decker,” she spat. She was willing to chop someone up into bloody pieces, and was professional enough not to take her anger directly out on her patients. This interloper, this “friend” was another matter.
“So, I take it you’ve seen the article?”
Livi tapped her fingers on the newspaper, a damning article filled with lies and half truths, made all the more plausible because many of the statements were taken from the Kimble v Indiana trial. The article written for a Detroit newspaper and picked up by the Associated Press was mostly taken from an interview with Korl, indicated Kimble physically abused Helen on numerous occasions, that he was not as innocent as his recent exoneration had made him appear.
“Yes. If I find that piece of shit, and I mean that literally, who wrote that article, I’m going to make sure he breathes his last.”
Decker laughed, trying to diffuse tension. “You may have to stand in line. Dr. Kimble has a lot of supporters. I had to talk Donna Taft out of driving north with an axe she sharpened this morning.”
For the first time since she read the lies printed as news Olivia felt the tension draining from her and smiled. Donna was a friend. Donna would give her tips on how to murder Joe Korl and how to hide the body.
“You shouldn’t have talked her out of it. I will help her.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but in no one’s best interest at the moment. And Olivia, it might not be in your best interest to confess your plans to aid and abet a murder. I might be asked to testify at your trial.”
“Will I have your newspaper behind me if I do?”
“Probably. As long as I have my job.”
She laughed, charmed. “Decker, what about Richard? I haven’t been able to get in contact with him.”
“I’ve left messages with the family where he’s staying. Richard has survived bad press before. Trust me, no one believes this.”
“Because it’s in print meant someone did.”
“That rag is not one of the more reputable newspapers. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“And I got two more people I didn’t know about who are livid over the article willing to write the “Top of the Deck.” Don’t worry, my newspaper is printing the truth, Dr. Olivetti.”
“It’s Dr. Kimble, now.”
“I spoke to Richard a few days back. He told me although the marriage was legal, you were keeping your name.”
“Richard wants me to keep my name. Tell me, Mr. Decker, are you more afraid of him or of me?”
“Is this a rhetorical question?”
“No.”
Decker wasted no time in answering. “You, Dr. Kimble.”
“That was the right answer. What are you doing about the article?”
“Right now I’m in Stafford. I spoke to the neighbor who testified against Kimble at the trial. She swore under oath Helen always had bruises.”
“I read that in the paper this morning. It couldn’t have been true.” She had proof. She would go through more of Helen Kimble’s letters to her mother if she had to. On the top of the list of things Olivia believed strongly, was Richard was nothing but gentle with his first wife.
“You’re right. She lied. Seems our good friend Judge Reistling called her before she was supposed to testify, said her testimony would be stronger if she mentioned bruises.”
“Oh, how I hate that man. I know he never did anything to earn the death penalty, but I promise you, if he ever shows up in my clinic, he’s going to be hurting.”
“You’re scary, Dr. Kimble, you know that don’t you?” Decker asked.
“You got that right. And Mike, thanks for standing up for Richard, yet again.”
“It is my pleasure, but I have to say my editor loves Kimble stories on the front page. We always sell out. Maybe when this is over, we can find some other trouble to get our boy in.”
“Remember when you said I was scary?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you should keep that in mind.”
Both newspaper reporter and physician were laughing when she hung up the phone.
It smelled like a hospital room. No matter how many thousands of times he had entered a patient’s room, it was always the smell that struck him first. During a long shift, he would acclimate to the smell, but it would be back again the next day, as pungent as ever. It was a smell unique to hospitals, and he was very glad Olivia’s clinic didn’t carry the same connotations. He would have noticed.
The patient on the bed was lying with his eyes closed, but there was nothing relaxed about it. Kimble must have made some movement for the piercing blue eyes opened and locked on him.
“So you’re still here?”
Gerard rattled the handcuff. “Ha ha.”
Kimble walked further into the room, debated the tact he should take, and decided to go for levity. “I’m sure I would have been out of here by now, if this were me.”
Using the button on a cord by the side of the bed, Gerard raised the head so he could sit up. “I don’t know how you did it. Some of the time I was there, and I still don’t know. Like that time at the hospital, when you had your shoulder wound. Oh, I was mad. I tried to find who helped you. It was not Anne Leonetti. I spoke with her.”
“No. It was not them. I ran into her at the reception. She said her lawyer ordered her to stay away from me but she came anyway.”
“Undoubtedly good advice. So, who helped you? It’s too late for me to go after them on aiding and abetting.”
Kimble settled himself in the chair beside the bed. The other bed in the room was currently unoccupied. “No one helped me. I managed that by myself.”
“Really?”
“Well I did take advantage of the orderly they had watching me. I’d worked with him for a few days, knew what he did when no one was looking. He was an idiot and easily distracted, the kind of person who gives the medical community a bad name. And Lieutenant, when you consider the alternative, I was willing to do things to escape I wouldn’t normally do. And in case you’re wondering, I had a couple of bad nights from that wound, but I got through it. And Livi, when she discovered it, had some choice words to say about you.”
“Yeah, I remember. But I didn’t shoot you.”
“I told her that. And she wasn’t pleased with me either. Said I should have recovered in a hospital.” He shrugged, wished some memories would start fading. “That wasn’t really an option.”
“Wisconsin doesn’t have the death penalty,” Gerard said, as if a non-sequitur.
Kimble didn’t have to look at the handcuff to know what was on the lawman’s mind. “You’ll be spared that at least, but trust me, there’s a long way to go before you get to sentencing.”
“You’ve looked it up?”
Kimble shrugged, as if he didn’t have anything better to do with his time than to check death row statutes. “Yes.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I never doubted it.”
Gerard coughed, cleared his throat. Already the cough was sounding better, his lungs less congested. “Dr. Kimble, since I’ve been here, I haven’t been able to do much but think back on the past. I mean they won’t even let me have a phone to call Marie.”
“I know that too. If you want I can call her, although I doubt she’d believe anything I say. I could call Donna. Maybe Marie would listen to my sister.”
“When I have something to say. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Alright. Although, speaking as a doctor, you might recover faster having your wife at your side.”
“When I’m in handcuffs, and facing a murder conviction? They’ve officially charged me, you know.”
“I know. I would have been here yesterday or the day before, but they didn’t want you having visitors, and frankly, I expect to be arrested any minute myself as a co-conspirator. Livi is not happy.”
“I’m sure she’s not.”
“I tried to explain to her what marriage to me might entail, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“We’ll get out of this, Dr. Kimble. You’ve been in worse situations and it turned out all right.”
“Yeah, but every time I think it’s over, that I can live my life without looking over my shoulder, something else happens. God, I’m ready for a little obscurity in a small clinic and a woman to love.”
“They haven’t arrested you yet. You could leave.”
“I’ve been asked, quite politely I might add, not to leave the county. And I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. You need someone on your side. From what I can tell, your lawyer isn’t.”
“I can see that. I seem to have your luck in selecting a lawyer, although in my defense, this one was court-appointed.”
“I would speak to him, but there’s only trouble following that route. First, I have no idea what to say, second, the court already thinks we’re working together, and have been for years. My offer of help would be suspect. So, how are you feeling?”
“Physically?”
Kimble nodded.
“Better. Much better. I thought I was going to die.”
“It was rather dramatic, passing out while testifying. I think for a while the judge was sympathetic.”
“I didn’t do it to be entertaining,” Gerard growled, “or for sympathy.”
“I realize that,” Kimble said. “You’d been sick for a while.”
Gerard spared a glace toward the guard who stood outside the hospital room. He lowered his voice before he spoke. “Would you help me escape if I asked?”
Kimble fiddled with his hands in his pockets, wished he had a cigarette. “I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet. Give the justice system a chance to work.”
“I can’t imagine it’s going to get any better. I can understand Abernathy’s arguments. There were many times when I was present when you got away. It does look like collusion.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Just answer the question. Would you help me escape?”
“You want me to admit to a felony? I still consider you a police detective. Yes, you’re under arrest now, but that’s likely to change as soon as we get the charges dropped.”
“Answer the question, Dr. Kimble.”
“Are you sure you want the answer?”
Always the policeman, Gerard didn’t smile, keeping his features straight. “Yes. I would say I’m interested in your answer on a strictly academic level, but this,” he said, rattling the handcuff, “has become very real. There’s not a single thing I would change if I could go back in time to when I was chasing you, but from this perspective,” he rattled the cuffs again, “I am beginning to get a different perspective on how totally innocent events can look damning. I believe in the legal system, always have, but for the moment, let’s say I’m trying to consider all my options.”
Kimble had a hair tie in his pocket, it belonged to Olivia, and he found touching it helped to ground him in the new life he was building for himself and his wife. He didn’t need to think over the repercussions of Gerard’s question, although he did debate mentally if honesty was the best policy. “If this trial goes forward and you are convicted, if the judgment is lengthy, say more than five years, and you can’t get an appeal, especially on the inexperience of your lawyer, then yes, absolutely, I would help you escape. And not just you, anyone facing an unfair murder conviction. If I couldn’t help save a friend, I don’t deserve to call myself a doctor. But living on the run isn’t easy. I’m certain I couldn’t do it again if I had to. You’d have to come to terms with a different version of yourself, one you never could have imagined.”
“Sitting here, wearing this,” the cuff rattled again, “I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t. Even with what you know about what I went through, and I’m sure there is no one else alive who understands my fugitive years as well as you do, you have no conception of the long, lonely nights, the fear of being recognized, of learning to hate so many things, but primarily, your own name.”
Gerard swallowed, considered the statement. If he had asked his question lightly, off-the-cuff, he was almost shocked by how seriously Richard Kimble was taking it.
“Could you live without calling Marie, without going to any of Phil’s ballgames, missing ballet recitals for your daughter? Could you face Christmas knowing you couldn’t go home, couldn’t call, for they would be sure to have the phone bugged. Could you live without self-respect? When you run, your sense of worth is one of the first things you lose. One other thing, Lieutenant, realize if I do help you escape, I’ll be destroying my own life too, and any chance Livi and I might have for happiness.”
Gerard exhaled loudly, as if he expected a totally different answer and found himself shocked. There was a glamour to the idea of running from unjust charges, to traveling the country unencumbered with a family, a job. He had forgotten how difficult it must have been for Kimble.
“I suspect it will never come to that. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bringing up such painful memories. I’m going to get through this the right way, the legal way. I’m kinda shocked at myself for willing to think that I’d try to escape, when my whole life has been dedicated to preserving justice.”
Gerard’s hands shook as he grabbed a tissue to cover his mouth as he coughed again, a long, phlegm-filled sound. “You’re a good friend now. I don’t know why. You should hate me, for all I put you through.”
“No. Not even while I was a fugitive. I understood you, respected you for your dedication, even if,” here Kimble cracked a smile, “I cursed you for it, more than once.”
Gerard tried to shift on the bed, a natural movement, cut short by the handcuffs, as if he had forgotten them. “You saved me way back, with the moonshiners, even when it couldn’t have been in your best interest to let me go.”
“Look at it this way: at the time I was innocent of murder. If I let them hang you, I’m not sure I could continue to say that.”
Gerard shifted again, this time supremely aware of the restraints, trying to find comfort in the hospital bed, when there was no comfort to be found. The handcuff clattered against the metal bars, forcing Kimble to rub his own wrists.
Gerard hadn’t shaved, looked disreputable, for Kimble was used to seeing him perfectly groomed. “I was insensitive then. I’ve had not much to do here but think back on all the times I chased you. The memories are hardly pleasant.”
The smile appeared, vanished. “If it makes you feel better, I doubt they were much better for me.”
“No, you misunderstand. I keep thinking back on those days with the moonshiners, how I complained I was innocent, expecting them, and you, to accept my word on face value. I didn’t see the parallel, how I never listened to your avowals of your innocence, as if one set of laws applied to me, another for you.”
Kimble paused, let the implications roll around in his mind. This was the closest Lieutenant Gerard had ever come to an apology. “I did recognize the irony. I would have mentioned it, if I thought you would listen.”
“Then a few days ago, facing what could have been my death—“
He moved closer, feeling more comfortable speaking about medicine than whatever awful things had filled his past. “Phil, it wasn’t a heart attack.”
Gerard rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the palms of his hands, perhaps the first sign of weakness the fugitive had ever seen the lawman exhibit. All those years, his memories of the policeman hunting him were limited to a suit, tie, and an unrelenting obsession. How could he, Kimble, rest when he knew Gerard would not?
“I know that, now. But I didn’t then. Sure felt like I was dying. I don’t like the things I thought, I felt, I believed.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. I don’t blame you for anything, and I don’t think I ever did. You were just doing your job.”
Gerard coughed for a while, his lungs were still compromised. He waited to speak until he got his breath back, his dignity. “I know. I probably don’t deserve your understanding, but I appreciate it. But still, is this what prison is like, having nothing to do but think back over choices made over the years?”
“There’s a little bit more to it than that.” Especially with a death sentence, the days ticking down way too rapidly, awaiting a short train ride to the Death House, where, perhaps, the pain developed from anticipation would end.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll miss Phil and my daughter growing up, miss the comradely of coworkers, miss the satisfaction of a job well done.”
“We’re not there yet.”
“Did you miss freedom? The ability to go out to dinner or to the movies without fear?”
“I missed a lot of things.” When it looked like Gerard would not be happy with that simple evasion, Kimble continued. “I missed my wife. I missed my job. I ached because of the shame attached to my name which before Helen’s murder I had honored and kept spotless. I wasn’t the only one affected. Donna and Dad and Ray had a hard time of it after my arrest. And the Waverlys still haven’t recovered from the shock of Helen’s murder.”
“And yet—“
“Yet?” Kimble asked.
“Wearing handcuffs, here, under suspicion of such an ugly crime, as I mentioned, I’ve got a different perspective.” He stopped, rubbed his chin where his beard was thick, itchy. “Sometimes you have to question even the most important things you hold sacred.”
“You believed the law could never make a mistake, that a judge and jury would find the truth.”
“Seems idiotic now.”
Kimble jingled change in his pocket, felt again the hair tie and thought of Olivia. “No. If you believe that now, then what about your career? All those years of apprehending felons? The justice system isn’t perfect, it does make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean the whole organization is worthless. But, Lieutenant, maybe you haven’t been asking enough questions or the right questions. Don’t you think it’s important to look beyond what everyone else says is true, and try to figure out the facts for yourself?”
Kimble waited while Gerard clamped his eyes shut as if fighting internal demons. “I looked for the one-armed man, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Kimble had demons of his own, tried to keep the tone of his voice even, the accusation from his words. “You looked, but you never believed.”
“Yes, I never believed. I am used to criminals lying to me. It comes with the job.”
“So much that you didn’t accept the truth when you heard it. I had no idea how to lie when I started running. It’s something I had to learn.”
“You never lied to me.”
“I never did. I don’t expect I will.”
“So tell me about my health.”
“You have doctors.”
“Actually if you want to know, I don’t exactly trust them either.”
“So it’s not just widowers grieving for their wife you have trouble with?”
“They say it wasn’t a heart attack.”
“Then believe it. Why would your physician lie to you?”
“It felt like a heart attack. There was tremendous pain in my chest. I couldn’t breathe, I felt myself dying.”
Kimble was far more comfortable with this line of conversation. “You weren’t dying. You were very sick, but judging from your color, they way you’re alert and speaking now, I’ll say whatever treatment your doctor has prescribed seems to be working.”
“What are they doing?”
“Ask them.”
“I’m asking you. You said you’d never lie to me.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”
“You haven’t looked?”
“No. Believe it or not patient confidentially is something I strongly believe in.”
“In the ambulance you said it wasn’t a heart attack.”
“Your heart was strong. From what I can tell, and this is just based on experience, and I’d never tell you this as a diagnosis, it didn’t suffer any trauma. There was no CPR, no need to shock you back into sinus rhythm. I suspect, and at this point it’s only an educated guess since I haven’t seen any of the lab work or X-rays, that you have pneumonia which can mimic the symptoms of an MI. I think you’ve had it a while. I wanted to say something at the wedding reception.”
“I thought it was a cold. A bad cold.”
“I know. Mostly that’s how pneumonia presents. But then there’s fever, and it doesn’t get better.”
“Pneumonia. People don’t die from pneumonia.”
“Actually they do all the time. Usually the very old, the very young, those who can’t fight the infection off, but healthy people die too. In that respect, you’re lucky. You do seem to be responding well to treatment.”
“I want to know what they’re giving me.”
“If you give your permission, I’ll read your chart. I’m not comfortable acting as your physician, and for that matter, I’m not licensed in Wisconsin, but I can read what the doctors say.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
A white-uniformed nurse popped into the room, wearing a nurse’s white cap. “Visiting hours are over.”
“A few more minutes?” Gerard asked.
“Well, the guard on the door doesn’t seem to mind. Dr. Kimble, I’ll be back in about twenty minutes to check vitals and pass meds. You’ll need to be gone then.”
“Thanks, we appreciate it.”
“She recognized you.”
“Almost everyone does, mostly because of Decker. I wasn’t this easily recognized when I was on the run. I’ve gotten used to it.” Kimble waited until she disappeared before he spoke again. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back in. They’re looking at me as an accomplice, and if Bailey or Abernathy want to pursue that, they’ll keep us as far apart as possible.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to have to work on getting your name cleared. You’ll have to tell me what to do. I’m not investigator, well, not unless it’s medical symptoms I can’t run to ground, but I have no idea where to start.”
“First we need to get another ballistics expert to compare the bullets. If we can refute that evidence, they’ve got no case. Ballistics isn’t one hundred percent, never was, probably never will be, but you can use it to rule out a specific gun.”
“How do I do that?”
“Call my captain. He has the resources, maybe he can’t get the evidence to Indiana, but he might be able to get the Feds involved. They have great technology.”
“Captain Carpenter is no Richard Kimble fan.”
“Maybe not. But he’d listen to you.”
“That’s not what his track record says.”
“Richard, he knows you’re innocent, and he knows I am too. That should help.”
“I’ll give him a call. I can do that much. What else?”
“We need to find who else carried a 9mm revolver. Find someone who wanted the duly sworn-in Deputy Polamic dead.”
“I’ve been looking into that. It’s a long list. He was not the type to make friends.”
“What we need is motive. Solving most crimes when there is no clear evidence comes down to motive. Why would someone what him dead? That’s different than disliking him, or even hating him. And he was shot in the mountains.” Gerard, excited with his argument, moved, forgetting the handcuff until it hindered him. He snarled, but he did not let it stop him. “This probably was a spur of the moment murder. I doubt it was pre-meditated, but the odds are good the person who shot him knew him well enough to be considered a friend. They probably went together, and they were probably looking for you.”
“I was long gone by then. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t afford to.”
“Were you? Sheriff Bailey is awfully sure the exact time of death. Trust me, after months in a shallow grave it’s impossible to come up with TOD beyond the range of a few weeks or months. What information does he have that we don’t, that he can pinpoint it that exactly?”
“Ok. Anything else?”
Gerard coughed, his stamina and perhaps his breathing treatment wearing off. “Just I’d like to say I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” The statement caught Kimble off guard. He shifted, looked at the lawman in the bed, trying to understand.
“I’d forgotten this, that’s all I can say in my defense. It wasn’t until you brought it up that I remembered.”
“What?”
“Something I think you should know.”
Kimble felt acid churning in his gut, was expecting the worst.
“Before you were arrested, Reistling came to me.”
“What?”
“I’d been called to the court to testify, some spur of the moment thing. I was busy trying to put a case together against you. I didn’t have all that I needed, and I was still interviewing all one-armed men I could find, but I dropped everything and went.”
Kimble waited, holding his breath. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.
“When I got there, I couldn’t find where to go. No one needed me, so I was getting ready to return to the precinct when Judge Reistling stopped me.”
“And?”
“There’s not much to it. He asked what information we had trying to catch Mrs. Kimble’s killer, how I was building my case against you. I didn’t have much, certainly nothing more than your alibi couldn’t hold water and your prints were on the lamp. I arrested you later that day. I’m trying to rack my brain, to remember specifically what he said. I didn’t let him influence me. I can’t believe I would, but I wasn’t ready to bring charges, and then I did.”
“I see,” Kimble muttered. He no longer felt comfort from the hair tie, no longer felt comfort from anything.
“What?”
“Something Reistling said to me two weeks before I married. I went to see him. It was a mistake, I knew it then, but I had to hear what he had to say.”
“Looking for closure,” Gerard said.
“Exactly. Reistling said how he wasn’t specifically after me, he only wanted a front page murder case. I suppose I should have expected him to lie.”
Gerard felt chilled, wished there were additional blankets he could pull up. He also felt extremely vulnerable, a feeling he didn’t like. “Dr. Kimble, I knew when you came to me with his name that something about him bothered me at the time. I didn’t put all the pieces together, but I must have been called to that courtroom specifically for him to ask me about you. Looking back, it was no accident that we met, and as a judge, Reistling couldn’t have been seen going to the police station or to the crime scene. He was after information; I gave it to him. And if he influenced my feelings about you, I can’t say, except as I mentioned, I arrested you before I was comfortable that I had all the facts.”
Kimble ground his teeth, wondered if he could still consider this man a friend. Betrayal came at him from all directions. “There were no facts.”
“I can’t apologize for anything I did, but I do apologize for not listening to you, not hearing you when you spoke. But mostly I’m sorry for how the justice system treated you. No matter where this goes,” he shook the handcuff, “I know that justice isn’t always perfect, but it usually works.”
“I appreciate the thought,” Kimble said, walking to the door.
“I’ve hurt you again,” Gerard said, but Kimble was gone, and he spoke to himself.
A heavy frost had settled in overnight, making the yellowed grass look dusty. After leaving Gerard, and a long phone call with Olivia, Kimble returned to the Laurence home. He hadn’t slept well, spending most of the time looking out the window, old habits die hard. For a few hours he helped Jacob, Kathy and Ella in the chicken barns, feeding and cleaning. They liked to get started well before the sun rose. Then they went in for breakfast, before going back out for the remaining chores.
Ella complained, and watching her, although she was efficient, he couldn’t see this as her life’s work. He would bet in a year or so some drifter would stop, talk nice to her, and she’d be gone, especially since his suggestions of her continuing her education fell on deaf ears. Kathy took to the labor like she’d been born to it, speaking to the chickens as favored family members, working diligently, ignoring the stench and the chicken waste. He wondered if she ever thought of what happened to these pampered birds after they left the farm.
Jacob had hired a few local men to help with the chores, but Kimble kept his distance from them. He had no doubt that all had accepted a position from the sheriff hunting him a few months back.
He stayed back to clean up the breakfast dishes while the Lawrences went back to the never ending chores of running a chicken farm. The house was quiet, only the small, scruffy dog running around. For any number of reasons, the dog wasn’t invited to the chicken pens. Nursing his coffee, Kimble dialed the number, he’d had memorized from years before, although he’d only called once. He saw her in his mind’s eye, not as she had been a few days before as a guest at his wedding, but as a person so terrified to be near him that she had suffered hysterical blindness. “Mrs. Gerard?”
“What do you want, Dr. Kimble?” Her voice held no warmth and obviously she had no trouble recognizing his.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, but if I may be blunt, you are disturbing me.”
“The lieutenant asked me to call.”
“Why isn’t he calling himself?”
In the background, he could hear Gerard’s daughter ask some question, probably about where things were so she could get off to school. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. “Phillip can’t get to a phone right now, but he wanted to tell you he’ll be home as soon as he can.”
He heard tapping, wondered if she were drumming her fingers in frustration, at him, her daughter, or her husband. He supposed it would be a fair guess to include all three. “Is that some kind of euphemism, Dr. Kimble?”
“Actually, it is. Right now he’s in the hospital. He’s responding well to treatment.”
“What treatment?”
“The initial diagnosis is that he had a heart attack, but—“
“But?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you his physician?”
“No.”
“I suppose that’s something. Have you run any tests?”
“His doctor has. I want you to know he’s in the hospital and getting good care.”
“If that were the case, Phil would have called me himself.”
“If you hear anything, or if someone comes to the door asking questions, I don’t want you to worry.”
“What does that mean?”
In the background he heard, “Mommmm!” in a teenager’s whine. Not Phil Jr.
“Right now he’s been arrested for murder.”
“Murder? You have anything to do with that?”
He wondered if she were expecting a confession. “Indirectly. You probably heard, back at my wedding reception that a man was killed. A sheriff’s deputy, back when I was on the run was found shot to death. They’re no longer interested in me, or rather, no longer solely interested in me. They have no proof, and I have every hope this matter will all be cleared up soon.”
“I suppose you believe that, although I can’t see how. How many times did you say you were innocent? I’m heading out there.”
“It would be best if you stay with the children. Phil will call you as soon as he can.”
“This is all your fault, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer, but as he replaced the receiver in the phone’s cradle, he whispered, “Yes, Marie, I suppose it is.”
***
Telling himself he shoved his hands in his pants pockets because of the increasingly fierce north wind, and not because he was nervous, Kimble opened the door to the sheriff’s office. He swallowed, repeated his mantra “I’m free, I’m free,” a couple of times, wondering if he’d still be able to say that in a few days. Gerard’s pre-trial had ended with the verdict that there was enough to continue with an actual trial, but that was on hold for a week, recessed for the time the lieutenant needed to get back on his feet. Kimble hoped Gerard’s lawyer would see this for the gift it was, and start mounting a more serious defense, but he had no hope there.
That’s why he was here. Facing the sheriff.
Taking the time to look around, Kimble wondered if he’d ever feel comfortable walking into a sheriff’s office, and then added the corollary, wondered if there would ever come a time when he didn’t need to.
A tall, thin man with a firm sense of self-control, Sheriff Bailey sat at his desk, a mound of paperwork in front of him. Doctors, lawyers, lawmen, all were required to spend most of their time dotting I’s and crossing T’s. Using two fingers, he typed into a massive typewriter, the thing must have weighed fifty pounds, and the form in the roller was in triplicate, judging from carbon paper.
There was no receptionist at the desk, but then it was late. Most of the staff probably had gone home hours before. “Sheriff,” Kimble said by way of greeting. Then feeling uncomfortable, he pulled his hands out. “I’m going to have to buy gloves, if I’m going to stick around any longer.”
“Are you going to stick around?”
The grin came, disappeared, this time was self mocking. “Not if I can help it.”
Bailey said he remembered Kimble from Kimble’s short stint in the Korean war, but although his memory was good, Kimble did not recall him from that time.
Bailey pushed his chair away from the typewriter, stood behind the desk. The movement in no way could be considered welcoming. “Dr. Kimble, what can I do for you?”
“I’d like some information.”
“In case you’re wondering, that what can I do for you was meant as sarcasm. I really don’t think there’s anything I’m willing to do for you or your friend, especially as he’s on trial for murder.”
Kimble shuffled, neither moving closer nor further away from the desk. “He’s a good cop and he’s innocent. You have to know that.”
“Do I?”
“If you don’t, you’re an idiot, and I don’t take you for being a fool.”
“The testimony was fairly damning, that he helped you escape, time after time.”
“Never happened.”
“Still, explains a lot of things like how one convicted killer with his picture plastered across the country could successfully evade four years of manhunts.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about that. I just need some information.”
Bailey hiked a hip on the corner of his desk, as if to highlight the gun he wore remained within easy reach. Like a dog with a bone, Bailey wasn’t about to let the conversational thread go. “If a court of law finds Gerard guilty in the death of Whit Polamic, know that I’m coming after you next. I’ve nothing to tie you to the murder, yet, but if you were working in cahoots with Gerard, then you’re complicit.”
“I was not working for him. Whatever you think, Gerard has never betrayed his badge. Take it from me. I know. He never once tried to help me escape.”
“Then he was massively incompetent.”
“No. He’s a good cop. His record in Indiana backs that up. I was lucky and exploited every situation I found myself in.”
Bailey’s smile this time was as icy as Kimble’s had been. “Exploit. Yes, that’s probably a good word for what you did. You know I was dating Ella Lawrence when you showed up.”
“I get the idea there was nothing serious there.”
“Not on her part, perhaps. After you left, after I saw how she pined for you, even knowing you were a convicted murderer, I knew I could never date her again. I don’t want to marry a woman who could take the word of a man convicted by a jury of his peers for murder of his own wife, to be in my life.”
“Then I’m sorry for you. She is a lovely woman.”
“You used her.”
“I suppose it is your right to believe that, even when it’s not true. I never used her. I was hired by Jacob to be a handyman, and that’s what I did. When things got too hot, and I’m referring to the police here and not any relationship, I left. I never once led Ella on, never took anything she had to offer. And Sheriff, if she wasn’t interested in you, maybe that’s more your fault than mine.”
“You better get going, Dr. Kimble, before I find some charge to get you on. Evading a police manhunt might be enough.”
“Charges will never stick. I’m innocent. And if you try, you’ll look like the fool. I bet they take your job for it.”
“You threatening me?”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want to be here. I have a new bride I’d like to return to and trust me, when I’m back in Olivia’s arms, I’m never going to think of this hidebound town ever again. But I have a man who I now consider a friend who never did anything wrong in his professional career who is on trial for murder. I can’t let that go. Now I don’t know who the murderer is, but I know it wasn’t Lieutenant Phillip Gerard. You’re wasting time on this trial that you should spend on other avenues of inquiry.”
“Now you’re a lawman?”
“Absolutely not. Perish the thought. But I do have one question.”
“I don’t care. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal.” Kimble walked to the door, put his hand on the knob, but then turned back. “And in case you’re wondering, I think Ella made the right decision in having nothing to do with you. And I hope when this is over and the real murderer is caught you apologize.”
“To you?”
“To Lieutenant Gerard.”