CHAPTER 16

Marcus stared at the cop car in disbelief. They had found him. Wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life.

He tried to determine whether he had any moves left, or if he was best to concede defeat. Concede defeat? The words sounded sacrilegious to him, as if stubbornness was an existential philosophy.

He saw a figure open the door and exit the vehicle, but he couldn’t see more than the person’s outline with the cruiser’s headlights shining in his face.

“Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them. Lie down on the ground with your hands behind your back. Palms facing up.”

He complied and laid down on the highway’s cool asphalt. An officer stepped out from behind the light, a member of the Texas Highway Patrol.

He smiled. Whoever said, “Where’s a cop when you need one?”

Short blonde hair topped the officer’s five foot nine frame. There was nothing exceptional about him. He wasn’t big, but he wasn’t small. He wasn’t attractive, but he wasn’t grotesque. He wasn’t thin, but he wasn’t overweight either. He was ordinary in every way that Marcus could see.

“Don’t move,” the officer said, as he approached with his weapon drawn and his muscles tensed like a coiled cobra.

The cop wasn’t taking any chances, and Marcus began to wonder why finding a man, who might only be a hitchhiker or drifter, would make a state police officer so apprehensive. The officer cuffed his hands behind his back and ushered him to the rear seat of the police cruiser. He considered asking what he was charged with and wondered why the officer had been so quick to assume that he posed an imminent danger. But he really didn’t have any other options, and he knew that finding an ally in this officer would be a step toward a resolution.

He had decided when the officer first told him to kiss the asphalt that he would wait until the man had him secure before unleashing the details of his story. That way, the patrolman would feel safe and possibly be more receptive. He knew how jumpy a cop, especially a rookie, could get when he or she felt threatened. He didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot with his potential savior.

He didn’t resist at all as the officer placed him in the back seat of the cruiser. The cop didn’t even bother to place a seatbelt around him, as if he was going to bite the man in the jugular when he leaned over to latch the belt.

With that thought, he realized why the officer had treated him like a fugitive. Because the man thought he was a fugitive. After all, there was a serial killer presumed to be in the area.

The officer got into the front seat, put the car in gear, and drove. He didn’t say a word.

A hollow feeling expanded in Marcus’s stomach. “Listen, my name is Marcus Will—”

“I know what your name is.”

Silence.

“Where are you taking me?”

Silence.

Marcus took a deep breath. “Am I being charged with something here?”

“I was told not to talk to you.”

“By who?”

“You’re wanted, and I’ve been told not to talk to you.”

He ran all the possibilities through his mind. The officer hadn’t even advised him of his Miranda rights. Is this guy working for the Sheriff? He didn’t think so. The orders would most likely be to shoot on sight if that were the case.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you think I am or what you think I’ve done, but my name is Marcus Williams. I’m not Francis Ackerman. You can use your computer there to pull up his picture and—”

“Like I told you before,” the officer said, tapping the computer terminal mounted on his console. “I know who you are. Marcus Williams. Suspect in the homicide of Maureen Hill. And I’ve been given strict instructions not to talk to you and to deliver you straight to the Dimmit County Sheriff’s office. So sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Suspect in the homicide of Maureen Hill?

The words shocked him at first, but after a moment, he realized that he should have thought of this possibility. It made sense. The Sheriff needed to discredit him and make sure that he couldn’t find anyone sympathetic to his cause. The cop in the front seat didn’t work for the Sheriff, but he might as well have been on the payroll. After all, the man was chauffeuring him to his death.

The Sheriff would take custody of him, and then it would be easy. Hire a prisoner to take me out, or just kill me during a faked escape attempt.

“I’m not a killer.”

“That’s exactly what a killer would say.”

“Just listen for a minute. The reason that the Sheriff doesn’t want you to talk to me is because he’s the killer. He’s trying to kill me because I found out about him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I stumbled onto Maureen Hill’s body because I’m her new neighbor. I went to introduce myself. But something didn’t add up at the crime scene, so I called the Sheriff back there. I discovered that the thing that didn’t fit was that the Sheriff had already captured the real killer…Ackerman. You heard of him, right?”

The officer didn’t offer a reply, but he couldn’t decide whether the lack of a sarcastic response meant that he was convincing him or just that the man didn’t have anything else to say.

“The Sheriff’s got some plan for Ackerman that doesn’t involve a trial and prison. It involves murder. I stumbled onto the whole mess, so now he wants me dead too. If you deliver me to his office, then you’re an accessory to murder.”

“Why would the Sheriff do something like that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe for some feeling of power? Maybe he got burnt by the system one too many times? Shoelaces tied too tight? One too many swirlies in High School? It doesn’t take much nowadays. I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I know that a police officer is supposed to enforce and uphold the law. Not make up the law as he goes along. Not bend the law when it suits him to do so. And the Sheriff’s broken the law; he’s taken it upon himself to be judge, jury, and executioner. The question really isn’t whether Ackerman deserves to live or die because the bottom line is that it’s not the Sheriff’s job to decide. He’s playing God.”

The officer nodded in agreement, and then he glanced back at Marcus and said, “You’re right. A policeman’s not supposed to play God. But a wise man once told me that a cop is like a shepherd, and sometimes in order to protect the flock, you have to keep the wolves away.”