By: Betsy J. Bennett
CHAPTER 7
They had no trouble finding parking, as the street was empty and Donna was half-convinced when Olivia told her where to leave the car that they had chosen the wrong location. Donna, who had been here just the day before, didn’t recognize the area. The tables, the grills, the stand the DJ had used, the hundreds of folding chairs were all gone. Probably three hundred people, if not more had clogged these streets, laughing, eating, dancing, making through traffic impossible. There was still litter on the street, not much but some, but then this was a forgotten part of Detroit where most of the buildings were boarded up or falling down, and litter had complete jurisdiction on the roadways.
“I wonder how late the party broke up?” Donna said, because in this complete transformation, it looked like someone should say something.
Olivia shrugged, tugged up the collar of her coat as if she were freezing. “I left about ten. Everyone was long gone by then. It got cold out, probably too cold to party outside. Maggi, my nurse, took me home. She and a few of my patients saw everything got back to where it was supposed to be. I’m sure the neighborhood will be talking about that party for decades.”
“No doubt.”
Olivia unlocked the front door and ushered them inside. The reception room had been transformed. Everywhere she looked, presents, some wrapped professionally, some hastily put together with the Sunday comics, tape and string. Donna hugged her, “If you ever wonder if you’re doing good in this city, remember this day. These people love you.”
The stack of presents was nothing short of amazing. “I really think we should take a picture of this,” Donna said, staring at the haul. “This is something to remember years from now.” Left unsaid, was Richard would love to see it.
“I doubt any of us brought a camera,” Marie said. She still held the baby.
“I keep one in the clinic,” Livi said. “For legal purposes.”
“Now you’re a lawyer?”
“No, but sometimes there are medical issues that we need to document.”
Donna sat Olivia down on one of the waiting room benches and found a large trash can that they would need for wrapping paper discards. She reached into her purse and after digging for what seemed like fifteen minutes, pulled out a dozen small cars in various makes, models and colors. “Boys, you stay out of the exam rooms, understand?”
They nodded solemnly, and, Olivia thought, insincerely.
“Then you can race down the main hallway. I don’t want to hear you killing each other.”
As the boys sped away, Donna rolled her eyes. “They like crashes,” she said with a shiver. “Their Uncle Ray races stock cars and heaven help them if they decide they want to follow in his footsteps. Richard raced for a while too, although Helen disliked it, so he gave the car to his brother.”
There was undoubtedly more to the story and Olivia made a silent vow to dig for it later.
“So,” Donna said, always the peacemaker, “open the cards first or the packages?”
They opted for the packages, letting David and Billy have the empty boxes to make a fort, held together by medical tape when they grew bored with the cars. Their structure was magnificent when the last present had been opened.
“More diapers? Are you sure you need all of these baby gifts?” Marie asked. “You haven’t even been married twenty-four hours yet.”
Hoping she was hiding her secret, and honestly not even positive herself, Olivia smiled. “No, not for me, but for the patients. Richard is encouraging pre-natal appointments. I’ve been too busy with my emergencies and my regular patients, that I haven’t given obstetrics more than a passing thought, but most of these new moms have nothing. This way we can show them how to diaper a baby, and hand off some diapers and bottles to get them started on their new life. It will be a help to the community.”
“They’re too poor to buy diapers?”
“They are poor people, but as you can see by this, generous to a fault.”
“What’s this one? It weighs enough to be a cinder block.” It was wrapped poorly, but cheerfully in paper some child had colored by hand.
“Well, are you going to open it?”
“I’m wondering if I study the drawings close enough if I can figure out who this is from.”
“Just open it.”
It was an orange ceramic pig, hand thrown, a massive thing, heavy, and it had that traditional slot in the back for coins. “A piggy bank?”
“That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Marie Gerard said. She hadn’t been impressed with any of the wedding gifts, as if she were expecting French crystal and bone china.
“I think it’s charming.” It was ugly, but the kind of ugly that indicated someone had tried very hard and had somehow succeeded.
“There’s a card.” Donna handed it to her, and Olivia set the piggy bank aside, it was too heavy to leave on her lap, and unfolded it. She read it quickly.
It was unsigned. Donna wiped her eyes. “Hormones,” she said. “While I’m nursing, everything makes me weep. Still, I like the piggy bank too.”
Olivia decided not only did she like it, but that she would cherish it. “I’ll put it on Dora Ann’s desk, where everyone can see it.” She looked over at the desk piled about three feet deep in forms and files and who knew what else. “No, I think I’ll put it on my desk. And Richard will be pleased with this.”
“Yes, he will.”
Donna started handing Olivia cards, a few with sizable checks. They were addressed to Olivia and Richard, not the clinic, but Livi knew most of this money would be used to help support the needs of the people who needed a doctor. “Mercy, this one is large enough to buy an X-ray machine.”
“Or a trip to London,” Marie said. “I’ve always wanted to see Europe. Have you been?”
Olivia smiled, shrugged. “Not since I graduated med school. We used to go every summer. My father would shut down his practice for a month and take us to Germany or Ireland or France and Italy, whatever he was in the mood for. We’d do all the tourist things and still have time to sit back and enjoy a beach. You know, I haven’t thought of that in years, until Richard asked if I wanted to go to Europe for a honeymoon.”
“What did you tell him?” Marie asked. Donna didn’t need to ask, she didn’t know Olivia long, but felt she knew her well.
“What did I tell him? That we had work to do! I don’t need anything for my honeymoon but Richard, but I guess the jokes’ on me, I don’t even have that. No, I’m not much interested in Europe. There’s too much to do here.”
Donna handed her another check, this one with a name she recognized from meeting yesterday at the reception. “Richard made some good friends over the years he was running,” she’d say, looking at the amount. But one card brought her up short, had her wiping tears.
“What is it?” Donna asked. She was nursing Ronnie again, held her hand out for the card. The check was modest, but it was the short neatly printed statement that had Donna rubbing her eyes too.
Olivia, it said, I am glad someone finally captured Richard Kimble. It was signed Phillip Gerard.
“You did,” Donna whispered in an aside. “With you, his running will be over.”
Olivia did nothing more than raise an eyebrow, a silent communication that said “should we show this to Marie?” and Donna shook her head. If Phil wanted Marie to know, he’d tell her himself.
But Olivia kept the card, shoving it in her medical bag. She would show this to Richard, show him that he didn’t need to run anymore, that he could relax.
If he ever came back.
***
Kimble startled, coming awake instantly, his lungs gasping in air as if he had been suffocating. He pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of the cot, rubbing his face. After a long minute, his eyes focused on Gerard standing on the other side of the jail cell.
Without speaking, he ran for the small toilet in the cell, and vomited bile.
“Nightmare?” Gerard asked.
“Yes, and no offense, but seeing you and those bars, seemed to make it a little too real.”
“Sorry. I thought you could use company. There’s not much going on, at least nothing that they’re telling me. So, what was your nightmare?”
Kimble cupped his hand, used water from the tap to rinse out his mouth. “I killed a fly.”
Understanding there had to be more to the haunted look in Kimble’s eyes, Gerard let the statement rest.
With legs that were clearly unsteady, Kimble made it back to the cot, rested his elbows on his knees, his head cupped in his palms. “That’s why I don’t like to sleep. I rarely find it restful.”
“And the current situation can’t possibly be helping.”
“I didn’t kill this man,” Kimble insisted.
“I have no doubt of that. I generally thought you were capable of only one murder.”
Kimble met the lawman’s face. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Considering your exoneration, I guess not.”
“I really could use some sleep,” Kimble said, thinking of a bedroom in another state and a woman who had beyond all hope had become his wife.
Killing a fly. What horrendous incident in his past did that refer to?
“So, does this feel familiar?” Gerard asked, standing outside the barred door. He stopped long enough to blow his nose. Gerard’s nose was red, indicating it was an action he’d preformed repeatedly.
Kimble straightened, trying to calm his pulse, to remember Gerard was a friend now, that this murder would be solved and he’d be back in Detroit with Olivia soon. “How many times did we face each other, me locked up, you on the other side?”
Gerard shuffled his feet. “In retrospect, far too many.”
Kimble still wore his wedding finery, although the tie, the belt and the pin used to hold the boutonniere in place had been removed. “In case you’re wondering, the other day, before the wedding, I promised Livi I wouldn’t get arrested ever again.”
“I’m doing all I can to see that this ugliness is over as soon as possible. They treating you ok?”
“Define ok.” Kimble’s tone was sardonic.
“From what I understand, they’re going to convene a Grand Jury. A Grand Jury is—“
“That’s alright. I know what they are,” Kimble said.
“I’ll testify for you, if you think that would help.”
“I don’t see how it could. You had no idea where I was when this particular murder occurred.”
Gerard wiped his forehead. It was damp. “I don’t suppose you have any proof where you were?”
“No, no proof. I know where I was, I remember that much, but unless the people I was with kept notes documenting my arrival, I don’t see how it would help. They’d probably say, yeah, he was here at the end of May, but whether it was any specific day between the 20th and the 29th, I doubt they’d know. Besides, if I do get arrested, that’s always aiding and abetting on these new charges and I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
“After this time, I doubt any department would follow through.”
“Tell that to Sheriff Bailey. And why take the risk? I’ve learned that the people who’ve helped me in the past don’t always end up better off.”
Smiling, Gerard said, “Tell that to Decker.”
“Yeah, well, on so many levels he’s the exception. So, no gun?” Kimble asked, noting the lieutenant still wore his shoulder holster, but it was empty.
“It’s standard procedure never to bring a gun in to see a prisoner, too many times they can get their hands on the weapon.”
“Imagine that,” Kimble said.
“But no, they haven’t given it back to me. I really hope all this is over soon.”
Minutes later, Bailey arrived, gave a long look to Gerard, then using a large key, unlocked the cell door. “You’re free to go.”
Kimble stood, made no move toward the open cell door, as if this were a trap and he’d been tricked too many times in the past. “I am?”
“Yes. We have no evidence to hold you.”
“Grand jury come back?”
Bailey shook his head. “No need to convene one. DA took a look at the evidence, or rather lack of evidence, and stated just because you were in the area a few days before was no reason to suspect you of murder. He said there was no way we could place the gun in your hands and that you had no history with Polamic which might have erupted in violence. He also mentioned the judge would point out any number of people were known to be around at that time, including, I might add, myself. Why wasn’t I arresting them too?”
“In case you’re wondering, I didn’t do it.”
“It’s my opinion Richard Kimble is incapable of murder. I was willing for a time to believe he killed once,” Gerard said, “but I never saw him as a killer.”
Kimble stood, wiped his slacks as if his wedding finery had fared poorly in the hours since the wedding. “So I’m free to go? I’d like to get home to my bride.”
“Yes. I’ll apologize for any inconvenience. And if you know anything, witnessed anything as you were leaving town that might be relevant, I’d like to know.”
“I’ve got nothing for you. At the risk of sounding selfish, I was only thinking of my own life expectancy at the time, not anyone elses’.”
“I just wish they’d told me this before. I could have saved myself a trip to Detroit.”
“Good, although as I was telling the Lieutenant, this place was starting to feel familiar.”
Bailey stepped aside, letting Kimble exit, but clearly something was up. “Anything else?” the former fugitive asked, turning around as if half expecting he would have been shot in the back if he hadn’t.
“Not for you. Lieutenant Gerard, the ballistics came back on your service revolver. The experts say it’s a complete match to the murder they’re investigating.”
“What?” Gerard was a policeman with over twenty years on the force, and he doubted that anything could shock him anymore. Obviously he’d been mistaken.
“Our ballistic experts say your gun fired the bullet that killed Polamic.”
“No! That’s impossible,” Gerard shouted, then stopped to cough for several minutes.
“Ballistics doesn’t lie.”
“I don’t believe this. I’d like the bullets examined by another set of experts.”
“From your own precinct?”
“From any precinct. Ballistics is not fool-proof. I swear to you, I had nothing to do with the murder,” Gerard insisted.
Bailey adopted that no-nonsense tone that was standard with any policeman interviewing a suspect. “Was your gun ever out of your possession while you were here? Did you lend it to anyone, even someone who might have been considered a friend?”
“Never. I wouldn’t do that. No one touches my gun except me.”
Bailey nodded, as if in agreement, another tactic used by lawmen to put a suspect at ease, maybe confess to something they wouldn’t otherwise say. “I don’t want to arrest you. I’ve been in touch with your captain, and he has been singing your praises as a fair and just police officer, so out of courtesy to the badge you carry, I’m not putting you in this cell, but I’m going to ask you not to leave town, and to answer a few more of my questions.”
“Alright, as long as you realize I want it on record as saying I did not kill that man. I am innocent of all charges.”
“So noted. Now, let’s go to my office, and see if we can’t get to the bottom of this mess.”
***
There were twenty charts on her desk, and she swore she’d get to them today. Dora Ann, who was in charge of the files, was starting to complain. Olivia wouldn’t mind if she thought anyone read them, and she knew for a fact many of the names on the top of these files were false, especially those of patients needing treatment for STDs, or who had come in with bleeding knife wounds. It didn’t matter to her, she treated patients, although she would certainly prefer their real names, as these people had a habit of coming back time after time.
But charting was required, and she had to do it, for the agencies who oversaw her clinic required it. Still, it was a nightmare.
For a moment she ignored the charts, studied the ugly orange piggy bank on her desk. Already three pennies rattled. Three people who were alive today because she had gone to med school and accepted this job. She wouldn’t put a penny in for every patient. Not the ones who needed a broken arm casted or a good round of antibiotics for whatever slime had invaded their body. No, the pennies were for those whose lives she saved.
She loved her piggy bank, wished it had come to her years before, when she was first starting out. She wondered how heavy it would be now, and the thought, at the end of this hectic, busy day, made her smile.
Dora Ann knocked on the open door and entered. “Livi, it’s Richard.”
“He’s here?”
“On the telephone.”
She picked up the receiver at her desk, held it to her ear. It had been four days since the wedding. “Richard, how are you? I’ve been so worried.”
“Fine. Livi, I needed to hear your voice, to know if you’re ok.”
She cradled the receiver against her neck. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“I need to apologize. I wanted our marriage to start out with only happiness, good friends, good food, and you. Livi, all I need is you.”
“You’re not answering my questions. Does that mean we need to hire a lawyer?”
“No. No. I have been cleared of all charges. They had no proof to hold me, so they’re letting me go.”
“Then you’re coming home?”
“Soon. With your permission, and telling you I’d rather be with you, there’s one more thing I have to do here.”
“What? I don’t know anything. Decker’s been in touch, trying to find things out, and I think he’s planning on driving up just to get some answers.”
“I’ll call him next. They arrested Phillip now, they say the ballistics prove he shot some guy named Polamic, a man who had been on the posse chasing me about three months before my exoneration.”
“Gerard?” She touched the bank, a light caress, a grounding in her life. “I can’t believe that, and knowing you, you don’t either.”
“No. He didn’t do it. I’m not a cop and I’m not an investigator, but there are some things I can look into. The sheriff isn’t a fan, so I’m keeping out of his sight as much as possible. But I want you to know I love you. I’ll be thinking of you every minute.”
“I know. I love you too.”
There was crackling on the line, it wasn’t the best connection. “Did you open the presents?”
“I didn’t want to, but Donna and Maggi insisted.”
“I’m glad. Did we get some good stuff?”
“The clinic is set for years to come.”
“We both know that’s not true. But I hope, for a while at least, we’ll have what we need for our patients. Livi, I need you to know that I support you in everything you do.”
“I know.”
“Is Donna still there?”
“No, she and Len went home. They’d kept the kids out of school for a week, decided they couldn’t do it any longer, but she helped me, Richard. Helped me get through that first lonely night.”
“I’m glad.”
“And Richard, I have something I need to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“Not here, not now. When you get home.”
“A surprise? I have to say lately I’m not the biggest fan of surprises.”
“I know. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Alright you, get back to work. I’m sure the patients are stacking up.”
The difference in Wisconsin time and East Coast time had the clinic closed. “If they are stacking up, it’s because this is a two physician clinic, and one of them keeps taking off.”
“Never again. After this, I’m home forever.”
***
Getting into a familiar routine, Kimble stuck out his thumb, was pleased when he was picked up almost immediately. It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, what remained to be seen was how he would be greeted.
Night fell early in November, and although it wasn’t late, not much after six, it was full dark. The wind had a sharp bite to it, and through poor planning, although he’d be hard pressed to say whose lack, he was without a jacket. It had been a long walk down the drive.
He knocked on the door, taking time to notice two new buildings beside the old barn, although the light was indistinct, and he was not able to see them clearly. Barking erupted immediately, was quickly silenced when the door was answered by a young woman, her hair up in pig tails, making her look far younger than he knew she was. “Uncle Dave, you came! You came!”
Kathy Lawrence ran to Kimble and wrapped her arms around him tightly. She was in her early twenties, her features guileless. She was ‘simple,’ had never learned to read as a child, although Kimble, when he had been here months before, had tried to teach her.
“His name is not Dave,” said her older sister Ella. She kept her distance, standing in the living room, her arms wrapped around herself, her body language speaking very clearly to stay away.
“He’s my Uncle Dave,” Kathy said, wiping her eyes as she faced down her sister. She went back and hugged him tightly. There was nothing sexual in the action, it was, exactly as she said, the reaction of a child with a favored relative. He had tried to teach her too that he wasn’t her uncle, but using her logic, that he cared for her, and she for him, that made him family. Then she turned her attention back to Kimble, patting him lightly on the chest. “They said you would hurt me.”
“I’ve never hurt anyone,” he said. “And we’re friends. I would never hurt my friends.”
Her smile widened into a beam. “I told them that. I told them you were kind. I told them you were my friend.”
“I’ll always be your friend.”
“He’s not your friend, either,” Ella continued. “He was hiding from the police. He used our trust to keep him safe.”
Jacob, the girls’ father appeared, coming in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a hand towel. Must be dinner dishes. “Dr. Kimble, please come in. I don’t know what they’re thinking, not even inviting you into the house.”
“If I’m not wanted—“
“You’ll always be welcomed here. Even back then, if we’d known, you would have been welcomed. The door is always open to friends.”
“Jacob,” Kimble said, holding his hand out. He was not disappointed, as Jacob Lawrence shook hands firmly.
“Ella, I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
He could almost say she looked exactly the same, but the wariness about her was new. Pain he suspected he had left her with.
“You did.”
“How? Did I ever do anything or say anything to lead you on? To let you think I was more than a drifter working for room and board?”
“I thought we—“ but she wouldn’t continue. It was something she hadn’t admitted even to herself.
“Dr. Kimble worked very hard for us while he was here,” Jacob said.
“I know you won’t believe this, but I enjoyed myself while I was here. I liked the work. I liked being considered part of your family for a few days and I considered that a kindness.”
“You’ll always be part of our family,” Kathy continued. “Now come in. I’ll get you something to eat. You’re probably hungry.”
“Before you let him in,” Ella said, “maybe he should read this.” She went to the small basket beside the couch, pulled out a newspaper.
“Uncle Dave doesn’t need to read the newspaper. As father said, he’s always welcomed here. He’s my friend. He saved my life when that bad man tried to hurt me. It was the other guy who was the bad guy.”
Ella shoved the newspaper into Richard’s hands. ‘Kimble arrested Again’ the headline said, in bold letters, above the fold on the front page, ‘Suspected of murder’. His picture was there, the familiar one from his initial booking, with his hair salt and pepper gray and his features looking shocked. He remembered the day clearly. It was one of a thousand he’d rather forget.
The old familiar panic returned, had his heart racing, but he controlled his breathing and his reaction. He folded the paper, the article on the inside, and handed it back to her. “In case you’re wondering, there was no evidence against me, and any charges pending were dismissed. I didn’t kill the deputy. I’m certain I never met him. I couldn’t prove I was someplace else when he was killed, although I was long gone, but didn’t seem to matter. I don’t hang around for the entertainment of police searches. Ella, the only evidence they had against me was that I had been considered a murderer at the time and they used the logic that I killed once, I could kill again. But trust me, there is no evidence against me. I didn’t commit that murder any more than I did the first.”
“Come in. I’ve coffee on. Are you hungry?” Jacob shut the door behind Kimble, the mid-November night had turned blistery cold.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure he’s starving,” Kathy said, patting him as she might a golden retriever. “He was always hungry when he was here before.”
“I’m sure you could eat. And if you want to stay, your old room is still available. I keep looking for another handyman, and I haven’t had the luck I had with you. Oh and for that matter, we kept the clothing you left. I doubted we’d ever see you again, but it seemed a sin to throw it out. Of course, Kathy here was sure you’d be back. There’s probably something there that is warmer than what you’ve got on.”
Kimble followed Jacob into the kitchen, accepted coffee, hot and bracing, and fried chicken, cold, but still delicious.
“So, you did put in some chicken pens?”
Jacob grinned, ear to ear, showing pride. “I’ll show them to you in the morning. I’ve only about five hundred right now, but I’m going to keep expanding the operation. I’m getting a good price for my fryers, seems American doctors are saying stay away from red meat. There’s a need for chicken farms.”
“So you were right.”
“Apparently, and right in trusting you, although I’ll confess, for a few months, I wasn’t sure what to believe. But you have to know, Kathy never doubted.”
Kathy folded her arms against her chest and although speaking to Kimble, stuck her tongue out at her sister. Having scored her imaginary point, she went back to the sink, started moving things around. “You didn’t kill anyone.”
“I should have had you come testify in the state of Indiana. I could have used a good character witness like you.”
“And this ugliness now?” Jacob asked.
“You name it correctly. It is ugly. They’re questioning Lieutenant Gerard. They say ballistics match his weapon.”
“And you don’t believe it?”
“Not for a minute.”
Jacob took a sip of coffee, then set the mug back down. “He was hardly your friend back then.”
“We’ve come to an understanding. If you don’t read the paper, know that Gerard was instrumental in helping me get my exoneration. I consider him a friend.”
“He would have shot you, back then, when Burmas was killed.”
“Yes, although in his defense, he never wanted me dead at his hands. He wanted the justice system to work.”
“So, you got married?” Ella asked. The question wasn’t followed by usual response, “Congratulations.” Kimble hadn’t been expecting it, wasn’t surprised that it was missing. Still he grinned, acted honored that she’d asked.
“Yes, a few days ago. She’s a physician.”
“I wanted—“ but she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Wanted?”
She shifted on the chair beside him, her hands knotting. This wasn’t an easy conversation for her, finally realizing as she spoke how childish she had been with an infatuation, how honorable he had been as a temporary member of their family. “To know you better. You never told us anything of what you were going through.”
Kimble knew people. For many years his life depended on reading unconscious tells. He would be kind. He could do nothing else. “I couldn’t.”
“It’s easy. You open your mouth and speak.”
He could hear Kathy behind him, in her child-like exuberance clinking plates, dropping pot lids. They would not have privacy for this conversation much longer, and what they were discussing, Kathy would never understand. “Ella, know that whatever I wanted or didn’t want while I was on the run, having a relationship, and that included friendship, with anyone was impossible.”
She leaned forward, as if to move closer, to slap him or hug him, he had no idea. So much for reading people. But she inched back, stayed rooted where she was. “Impossible? Why?”