Jacob's Ladder (15 page)

“Ma'am,” Officer Patrick said as they waited for the other man to return, “I don't think the guy you spoke to was a patrolman. I imagine he was hanging out somewhere close by and heard the police scanner. Lots of people have them,” he explained. “He heard the report and knew you were out here alone.” He cleared his throat. “There're a lot of sick people out there,” he added.

Rose thought about the implication. If what they suspected was true, then Officer Caldwell, or whatever his name was, had simply chosen her as a target because it was reported that a woman was alone at the rest stop. At first, the possible scenario frightened her, but then she remembered the questions that he had asked, how interested he'd been in her situation. She recalled especially the question he had asked about what was in the trailer.

Somehow, she knew that Officer Caldwell was not just a predator looking for a target. Officer Caldwell was specifically interested in something in that trailer—namely, the ladder.

She remembered how excited he had gotten when she had mentioned the ladder to him, how he'd quickly moved to the camper and had her go inside to get it. When Rose replayed the event in her mind, she recognized that she had once again escaped from real danger.

As she continued to think about it, she began to wonder about the ladder and why it was of such interest. Once she realized that the ladder was somehow the key to everything that had happened over the last day or so, she couldn't wait to get a better look at it. She was quite curious as to why such an insignificant thing could be the motive behind murder, kidnapping, stealing, and now impersonating a police officer.

“Why don't you go sit in the car with Officer Patrick and give your statement. We'll take a good look around the vehicle and around the perimeter of the rest stop to see what we can find.”

Officer Lincoln nodded toward the youngest patrolman, who waited for Rose and then started walking toward his car.

Rose followed him to the clearly marked Highway Patrol car and got in the passenger's side after he opened the door for her. She sat down and watched as the other two officers examined the outside of the truck and the camper. Officer Patrick walked around to the driver's side and got in beside her.

“Okay,” he said as he got some papers together and retrieved a pen from the console in the car. “Let's start at the beginning. What are you doing in Checotah, Oklahoma, in a camper with New Mexico plates that was stolen in West Memphis, Arkansas?”

Rose sat back in her seat and began. She told the story very clearly and in great detail. Twenty minutes later, having failed to mention the bracelet in her front pocket and the ladder, which she now understood was the key to everything that had happened, Rose was given a cup of coffee from the vending machine, a pack of crackers, and was driven by Officer Lincoln to the station in Checotah, Oklahoma.

The morning was beginning to fade. Rose sat at a desk in the unfamiliar office.

It was four hours before Sheriff Montgomery arrived, and it would be after dark before she was back in her own camper at Shady Grove.

SEVENTEEN

Neither Rose nor the sheriff spoke a word until he drove across the border into Arkansas. Rose was tired and embarrassed about the way things had turned out; the lawman just wanted to get home.

Once he'd arrived in Checotah about 11:30
A.M.
, Sheriff Montgomery spent an hour with the Highway Patrol officer going over the event. Then he and Officer Lincoln drove Rose to Henryetta to the police station and then to the interstate, where she was able to identify the motel where the camper had been parked.

By the time they checked the place, about seven hours after she had escaped, there were no clues that the camper and the two men, whom she had heard but not seen, had ever been there.

The manager of the motel showed them the only room that had been rented between midnight and 6:00
A.M.
It was on the end, right beside the office, room number 101, one of the rooms where they always put the late-night check-ins. He said it was a trucker who'd come in, a man by the name of Joe Lawson. A guy from Georgia, he stayed there regularly on his cross-country hauls.

The manager noted that they had rented fifteen of the forty rooms the previous night but that all of the guests except Mr. Lawson had gotten in before the other manager's shift ended at 11:00
P.M.
He pulled out the files to verify what he'd said.

This employee, who had been on duty all night and was just about to go home, also showed the police the registration card of the Georgia resident, stamped at 5:20
A.M.
Rose figured this person was the driver of the truck who had pulled up next to her when she had first awakened in the storage compartment of the trailer.

“No other check-ins,” the manager said when Patrolman Lincoln asked again. “I'm sure.”

Sheriff Montgomery turned to Rose and asked the question that she knew all of the other officers were thinking. “Are you sure this is the place?”

Rose could tell how it looked. She knew it was unlikely that two men would have stolen a camper, driven only a few hours after making the heist, and then pulled into a motel to get some sleep. And even if that story was as she'd reported, Rose understood the next puzzling question: If they hadn't stayed at the motel, where had they gone?

The manager certainly didn't appear to be lying about the one room that had been rented in the early hours of the morning; so, like everyone else, she wondered why the thieves had parked in the motel parking lot, gotten out, and then not gone into the motel.

She glanced around and noticed a gas station, a couple of fast-food restaurants—the places she remembered had been near the exit—but there was not much else around.

“Yeah, I know this is it. I remember the parking lot,” she told them. Then she thought for a second.

Rose was trying to imagine possible scenarios. “Maybe they just stopped here and had somebody pick them up.”

One of the police officers from Henryetta twirled a toothpick in his mouth, sliding it from side to side. He was tall, skinny, and had acted perturbed the whole time they had been at the motel. He turned to Rose, raising an eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest, relaxing his stance. “You sure you didn't drive that camper to Henryetta yourself?” he asked, his voice smacking of contempt.

Rose felt her face redden. Of course that's what the two lawmen from Henryetta would think. The one who asked the question was grinning at her like he had caught her in a lie and the other one, appearing somewhat bored with the entire situation, had returned to his car.

That's what the patrolmen from Checotah must think, too, she realized as they walked away from the conversation, whispering to themselves. And when she turned to Sheriff Montgomery, his eyes quickly darted away from hers and his head jerked toward the interstate. She knew that he thought the same thing, too. His lack of support was devastating.

A deputy from West Memphis was dispatched to pick up the rig from the Highway Patrol office in Oklahoma. They still needed it for the murder investigation. He was already on his way when Sheriff Montgomery and Rose left for home.

Before they got ready to leave, she thought about the ladder, considered telling the sheriff or the Highway Patrol officers about it before they departed, about the impersonating officer who seemed to know of it. But she was so troubled about being disbelieved, so hurt by the way Sheriff Montgomery had turned away from her, she offered no further comments. She could not bring herself to introduce anything else to the group of men assigned to sort through her adventure.

She sat in the passenger's seat of the sheriff's car and did not speak a word as they drove away. She stared out the window at the sights they sped past, counted the exits, and, only to herself, named the birds that rested on fence posts and darted across the golden fields beside the interstate. She rode along silently, not knowing anything to say.

Finally, once they crossed into Arkansas, the sheriff made an attempt at conversation. “You get anything to eat today?” he asked.

Rose was hungry, but she didn't want to make the trip to West Memphis any longer than it had to be.

“I had something this morning,” she told him, noticing the clock on the dashboard. It was after 3:00
P.M.
Neither of them had eaten lunch.

“There's a place up the road in Russellville,” he replied. “Burgers mostly, but it's not bad.”

Rose made no response.

They drove a few more miles. He turned off the exit and into the parking lot of a diner. It was empty except for only a couple of vehicles. Staff, Rose assumed. They got out of the car and went in.

It wasn't until they sat down in a booth, had given their orders, and were facing each other with uncomfortable looks that Rose took the bracelet cut of her pocket and placed it on the table between them.

“That's why I was at the camper,” she suddenly confessed, pushing the bracelet toward the sheriff. “I found it yesterday morning after I realized the man was dead. It was out in the grass, next to his truck.”

The sheriff picked up the piece of jewelry and turned it over in his hands.

The waitress arrived with their drinks and Rose waited until the woman had gone before continuing.

“I don't know why I kept it,” she said. “I just did. I took it to the library after I left your office, tried to figure out what the symbols are; then I was going to take it back and drop it off in the grass again, where I found it to begin with.”

The sheriff had pulled his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and was studying it. He still did not respond.

“I waited until late, about midnight, to return it. And that's why I was there,” she said.

Sheriff Montgomery looked up at Rose, peering at her over his glasses. There was a long pause.

“I didn't steal the camper and drive it to Oklahoma,” she said. She was weary of the silence. “It's like I told you on the phone, I heard the men come up from the river and I hid inside. I had no idea what they were going to do. Then they pulled out.”

She wiped her hands on the tops of her legs. “I hid in the storage compartment and then I fell asleep.”

A couple of men walked into the diner and Rose glanced up before going on. They sat down at a booth on the other side of the room. She thought nothing of it.

“When I woke up, we were no longer moving, and the men were gone. That's when I found the extra keys and drove away.” She took a swallow of her drink.

She waited for the sheriff to say something.

“I didn't make it up,” she said. “I didn't steal the camper and drive to Oklahoma.”

The waitress brought over their food. Sheriff Montgomery slid the bracelet off the table and held it in his lap. They both said that everything looked fine when they were asked about their orders, then waited until she left again.

“Why didn't you show me this before?” he finally asked, referring to the bracelet. He took off his glasses and stuck them in his pocket.

Rose reached for the salt and added some to her french fries. She shrugged her shoulders like a teenager in trouble, then took a bite.

“I don't know,” she said truthfully, her mouth full of food.

Sheriff Montgomery slipped the bracelet in with his glasses and began eating his lunch.

Rose waited for him to ask another question, but he didn't say anything else until he had finished eating his hamburger. Then he drank all of his soda and wiped his mouth.

“I don't think you stole the camper,” he finally said.

Rose turned away. She was still eating her food. She noticed one of the two men in the booth sitting across from her peer in her direction. For a moment, she thought there was something familiar about him, but she quickly turned to face the sheriff.

“Is there anything else you haven't told me?” he asked.

“There was a secret area,” she said, sliding her plate away from her, having eaten all she wanted. “Someone modified the storage compartment under the bed, made a fake wall and a hidden area in the rear.”

The sheriff was listening closely.

“I fell through the fake wall,” she reported.

The waitress returned to the table and cleared away the plates. Neither of them wanted dessert, so she left the bill with Sheriff Montgomery.

“I didn't think anything about it at first, but later, when the first officer who wasn't really an officer—” She stopped abruptly, wondering if she needed to explain, but then realized by the nod of his head that the sheriff knew about the impersonator.

“When he asked me if I had found anything odd inside the camper, I mentioned the ladder.” Rose took a drink of water. “Well, now I think that may be what the killers were after in the first place.”

Sheriff Montgomery appeared puzzled. “A hidden compartment?” he asked, not sure of what she meant.

“No, the ladder.” She waited. “That's what was in the hidden compartment. I fell on it,” she added.

“The man from New Mexico had made a special compartment, hidden under his bed, for a ladder?” he asked, considering this new information.

Rose nodded and then shrugged her shoulders again. “I know, it seems weird to me, too. And I never really saw it. It was dark when I was on top of it, and when I went inside to get it for the officer who wasn't really an officer, I still couldn't see anything then, either.”

Sheriff Montgomery seemed to be deliberating about what Rose was saying. He pulled out the bracelet and then put on his reading glasses, studying it again. He rolled it around in his hands and then he pointed to one of the signs. It was one that Rose hadn't been able to identify, but as he turned and showed it to her, she recognized what he had discovered. The symbol with the two parallel lines with small intersecting lines between them was a ladder. She was surprised she hadn't realize this at first.