Chapter Twenty-five
John Madison hadn’t really been serious about his plans to go to Fort Lauderdale, not really. But finding a dead body in his apartment had totally revised his thinking – big time.
He hadn’t known that Mark Crawly planned a visit with him that day, not until he found the detective beaten around the face and dead in his easy-boy chair; the one Charli had insisted he needed because the electric mechanism lifted him for easier standing.
The problem he had with the sucker was when he’d fall asleep and his arm accidently pressed the up-button, he’d wake up just as his body flew through the air to land a few feet across the room. He’d blessed the position of his sofa across from the chair, giving him a soft landing more times than he’d admit.
Stop it!He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Hands shaking terribly, he rubbed them against his knees, reenacting familiar behavior before the pain-relieving days of yoga exercises for the elderly, a knee replacement, and best of all, his B.C. Bud Rub.
Stop rambling, old man, and ignoring the inevitable.Reviewing the horrific scene, his sluggish brain had trouble taking it in. Like a spoiled puppy, most of his days were spent eating and sleeping with the occasional fun activity thrown in. The only occasions where he cared enough to stay alert were spent with his FBI granddaughter.
It’s time to deal with reality, John-boy.You can’t escape what’s right in front of you.
Mark hadn’t had the luxury of escape either. It appeared that the old cop had taken quite a thrashing before he’d been put out of his misery. Was this done by the same killer he’d read about? Oh God, had the killer executed Mark, trying to get answers to Charli’s whereabouts – tortured him until he talked?
Not that Mark could have given away all that much. Once, after too much wine and John’s constant sly probing, he’d shaken his head bemused by John’s unwillingness to give up. “I’m not taking any chances on your girl’s safety, John. Not that I know a lot about her whereabouts now that she’s in the system anyway. But she’s a good agent, and you should be proud of her for stepping up and doing her duty.”
John computed Mark’s “in the system” comments, her taking on a special job and everything else he’d managed to piece together, with her being in witness protection. He presumed, either someone else could ID the murderer they’d written about in the paper, or she was the witness herself.
Either way, she’d gone into hiding. And he’d bet the farm that the killer had done his best to find out where. But an old soldier like Mark wouldn’t have spilled the beans. Would he?
Suddenly, a sledge hammer of understanding hit him hard, and had him falling back against the sofa that had provided him a soft landing so many times before.
That murdering bastard came here to question me!
That makes the most sense. He thought I knew something, found Mark waiting for me in my chair and probably mistook us.
Okay, this could only mean one thing. Sure as shit, the killer was after his Charli.
Wake up, old fool. Grab a few things and get your rickety old ass out of here.It’s too late to save Mark, but you need to disappear before they stop you from trying to warn her.
Circling the apartment like a chicken with his head cut off, John grabbed an old tote bag, some underwear, shirts, pants and socks and then stopped.
Scratching his head, needing to think straight, he waited. When new thoughts bombarded, he took off again. This time, he snagged his passport, iPad, phone, wallet and all the cash he’d stuffed in hiding places around the joint.
Suddenly, he thought of his laptop and knew he didn’t want the cops to find the latest searches he’d done when they worked the crime scene. With it under his arm, he headed to Brad’s apartment.
Banging loudly, knowing the old fart had probably fallen asleep after supper, he walked in and sure enough, there he sat, snoring away in his chair.
He thought for a minute and tiptoed forward. Actually, this worked even better. Rather than asking Brad to hide the computer, and then lying to the questions he’d no doubt have to answer, he’d just tuck it away somewhere his old friend wouldn’t notice it.
Sneaking into the man’s bedroom, blessing God for giving him strong limbs so he needed no walker or walking aids other than the occasional cane on rainy days, he opened the closet to hide his laptop.
Just as he went to close the door, he spotted a thin leather binder with the word “Documents” embossed in gold lettering. Quickly, he opened it and amongst the papers, he found Brad’s passport and his old medical card. Grabbing both, plus the unopened bottle of extra strength Tylenol his pal ate like candy, he let himself out without rousing his friend.
First checking to see if the corridor was clear, he hurried back to his place to collect his gear. Needing to scat before someone came into his apartment and tried to stop him, he headed for the back door, fingered in the security code to unlock it and headed to the nearest restaurant.
There he approached a young lady, asked if she’d be so kind as to use her phone to call him a taxi, and was tickled when after inquiring where he wanted to go, she offered him a ride.
Small town, good-hearted folks… God love ‘em.
***
Hours later and many towns away from home, John had his new friend drop him off at an airport hotel where he settled down to catch a flight first thing in the morning. He didn’t care where it flew, as long as they didn’t look too closely at the photo in his new passport.
He knew for a fact that most officials never really scrutinized old people. It had been happening a lot over these last few years, him passing under the radar like he had no importance to the world.
He figured it meant they hated any reminders of their own approaching futures. If he wore the glasses he’d bought at a convenience store, combed all his hair back from his forehead and pretended to be a grouch, surely they’d see Brad.