by Jackie Lynn
“And when these men stopped in Henryetta at a motel, you climbed out of the camper and drove to Checotah?”
She wondered how he knew about Henryetta, but she figured that the sheriff had mentioned all of that when he called in the report. The officer seemed to know everything she had told Sheriff Montgomery.
She nodded again.
“You get a look at the men?” he asked.
Rose shook her head. She knew her story wasn’t going to be very believable. Then she thought about getting back to West Memphis. She wasn’t sure whether the police would take her or if somebody would have to come and get her.
She wondered if Tom was still in Fort Smith. She thought that if he were there, it would make the most sense to have him drive up to Checotah and get her. She considered whether or not the officer might let her use his phone to call Tom, then decided that she would ask him later.
“So.” The young officer had taken out a pen and appeared to be making a few notes on the paper in his clipboard. “You were in the camper most of the night?” He waited for a response.
Rose nodded.
“Did you notice anything different inside the camper while you hid?” he asked.
Rose thought that was an odd question to ask at the beginning of his report, but she figured he had his own reasons for how he conducted his investigation.
The officer searched around the lot again. A car pulled in and stopped on the other side of the rest area. He appeared to be watching it with a great amount of interest.
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary while you were in the camper?” he asked again, his tone a bit more agitated. Then he cleared his throat and asked it another way. “Do you have any idea as to why the two men may have wanted to steal the vehicle?”
Rose thought that was a logical line of questioning. She remembered the bracelet and reached down. It was still in her front pocket. She knew that was going to take some explaining, too.
She was about to answer his question by saying that she didn’t have any thoughts about why they were stealing the camper, that she had not seen anything unique while she was hiding inside, and then she suddenly thought of the ladder, how odd it was that the dead man had secured it, hidden it so far away. Though she could not understand what would have been so important about a ladder for a camper, she wondered, because of the officer’s question, if that was what the men had been searching for.
“I hid in the storage area under the bed,” she told the officer as a means of having the story unfold. Then she stopped.
“What’s your name?” she asked, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself.
“Caldwell,” he said. “Go ahead,” he instructed, appearing very interested in her answer.
“So, I was hiding in there, thinking that might be the best place. It’s very small,” she said.
The officer nodded as if he knew that.
“And when the camper made a turn, I fell through the rear of it, into another little holding area, another compartment, modified,” she explained. Then she paused again and asked, “Are you Highway Patrol?”
“Right,” he replied, sounding a bit put off by her questions. “Officer Caldwell of the Oklahoma Highway Patrol,” and he reached to his pocket and held out his badge, which confirmed only his name.
Rose looked it over and nodded. “You work all night?” she asked. She’d stopped telling the story because it had dawned on her that it might just help her case if she was thought to be polite and forthcoming by the first responding officer. She understood that she was going to be in trouble when she returned to Arkansas, so she figured she might as well have at least one lawman on her side. Besides, she thought, observing him very closely, he really was quite good-looking.
“All night,” he replied affirmatively. “I work the late shift.” He did not seem to appreciate her attempt at light conversation.
Rose wondered what color his eyes were and was hoping he would remove his sunglasses.
He quickly returned to the line of questioning, “When you fell through to this holding area, what did you find?” He was no longer taking notes.
“Just a ladder,” she replied.
Immediately, the officer stepped away from Rose and moved to the camper door. He walked up the steps, reached up, and discovered that it was locked. He turned to her. “You have the key?” he asked.
Rose nodded and pointed inside the truck.
“I’d like for you to get that for me,” he said, now having stepped down and shifted his body slightly away from the camper.
Rose reached inside the truck and got an extra camper key that she had found in the ashtray. She shut the door and headed in the officer’s direction. She opened the door and was going to let him enter first. He started to go up the steps and then seemed to think better of it.
“Why don’t you go and get it,” he suggested, glimpsing around the parking lot again. “I’ll go radio my office to let them know that I’ve found you and that you’re okay.”
Rose shrugged; she figured he should do whatever he needed to do. She walked up the steps and into the camper. It’s such a mess, she thought as she inched her way across stacks of clothes and strewn objects. She knelt down and opened the storage area, lay down and rolled inside. She was growing tired of the small hiding place. She slid toward the rear of the compartment, where she had fallen and slept and dreamed such an odd dream. She reached around and felt for the ladder.
Without any light, Rose was unsuccessful in knowing how to pull the ladder out from the compartment. It was tied or nailed to the floor and she was unable to unloosen it.
It soon became uncomfortable for Rose lying on her back. She attempted to free the ladder for about ten minutes, working on both ends, trying to pull it out. But she couldn’t figure out how to loosen it from the walls of the hidden area.
After a few more minutes, she realized she was not going to be able to release it by herself. She rolled away from the rear area, squeezed out from the storage compartment, stood up inside the camper, and headed for the door.
“I’m going to need some help,” she said before she got all the way out of the camper.
Rose stood on the top step. She was surprised to see that the black SUV and Officer Caldwell were gone. She glanced at the entryway of the rest stop and noticed two Highway Patrol cars pulling in, heading in her direction. She turned so she could see the exit and saw only a small cloud of dust as a vehicle sped onto the interstate.
SIXTEEN
“Rose Franklin?” the officer from the first car asked as he stepped out from the driver’s side.
Rose was still staring in the direction of the exit. She was puzzled by Patrolman Caldwell’s quick departure. When she saw the two cars pulling into the rest stop, she simply thought he had called the station and was receiving backup.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m Rose Franklin.”
She waited for him to introduce himself and explain what he was doing there and why the first officer had departed so quickly.
“I’m Officer Paul Lincoln,” he said, and immediately presented her with a business card with his name and information.
Rose studied it. Then she peered up at the man in front of her. She noticed a few differences between Officer Lincoln’s uniform and the uniform of the man who had only recently left.
Under Officer Lincoln’s badge there was a identification card, clearly showing a photo of the man standing in front of her, as well as his rank. She studied the card again and wondered why Officer Caldwell hadn’t handed her his card when they met.
Officer Lincoln’s uniform was black, not navy like Officer Caldwell’s, and he was wearing his hat, which was broader and had a thick brim with a small band around it, not like the flat one with a bill that the first officer had carried under his arm.
Rose was puzzled. She didn’t understand where Officer Caldwell had gone and she also didn’t understand why the Oklahoma Highway Patrol wore different uniforms.
“
Did Officer Caldwell get another call?” She turned to glance up toward the interstate.
“Who’s Officer Caldwell?” the patrolman standing in front of her asked.
By this time, the second car had also pulled up beside her. There were two patrolmen in that car. Both of them quickly got out and came to stand with Officer Lincoln. They nodded at one another in acknowledgment. She suddenly felt surrounded.
“Patrolman Caldwell,” she replied, remembering that she didn’t know his first name. “He was the one just here.” Feeling somewhat uncertain of the newly arrived threesome, she searched around her to see if she could make a run for it.
The three officers turned and looked at one another. They all shrugged.
“He said he got the call off the scanner and that he was a couple of exits down, not too far away on the interstate,” she reported, retreating a bit, realizing the only thing she could do as a means of escape was to run to the highway.
“I was just dispatched to this location. I’m the first respondent,” Officer Lincoln said. Then he nodded in the direction of the other two men, “This is Officer Wallace, and that’s Officer Patrick. They’re the backup unit,” he added. “We’re all there is.”
Rose stared down at the card she had been given. Then the other two men also handed her business cards with their names and information. She peered up at their uniforms, noticing the identification badges, both with photos of them clearly visible.
“This man was driving a dark SUV,” Rose reported.
Then she thought about that. “Do Oklahoma patrolmen drive SUVs?” she asked.
“Not near here,” the first officer said. “Mostly just out in the country.”
“What did he say to you?” Officer Patrick asked. He was standing next to Officer Lincoln. The other patrolman had left the group and was walking around the camper.
Rose carefully watched the officer as he inspected the vehicle.
“He said he was Highway Patrol,” she answered, feeling very confused. At that point, she didn’t know whom to trust, and she tried to keep her eyes on all three patrolmen, especially the one who was moving around the camper. She turned to notice their cars. Both vehicles appeared much more official than the SUV. They were clearly designated as Oklahoma Highway Patrol and had lights attached to their roofs.
“Did he say anything else, try to get you to go with him?” It was Officer Patrick who asked this question. He seemed to be the youngest of the three. He was red-faced, freckled, had an innocence about him that softened Rose.
All three officers were now standing in front of her.
“He just wanted me to go in the camper to get—” Since she still wasn’t sure which officer was the real officer, she didn’t know if she should finish the statement. “To go in the camper” was all she said.
“And what happened then?” asked Officer Lincoln. He appeared to be about fifty and was the eldest of the three. He seemed to be in charge. The other two followed his lead.
“And then when I came out, he was gone. And you were driving up.”
The three patrolmen turned to one another again, as if they knew one another’s thoughts.
“Can you give a description of the guy?” Officer Lincoln asked.
And for this question, she was ready. “He was about thirty, had sandy brown hair that was cut real short and had a little curl on the top.” Rose demonstrated with her finger in her hair. “He was about six feet tall, wore sunglasses—Ray-Bans, I think. His uniform was just like yours except it was navy blue and it was cut to fit tight across his chest. He had a gun, handcuffs, even a badge,” she replied, thinking she’d done well to remember everything she had.
“Sounds like a fine-looking guy,” Officer Wallace remarked, and smiled.
Rose blushed, realizing she had given a description that was just a bit too detailed.
“Did he have an identification card with his picture on it, his shield number?” asked Officer Patrick, the one with the freckles.
“No, just a badge,” she answered, understanding that she should have known to ask for a photo ID. Her father would have really let her have it for that rookie mistake.
With that answer, all three nodded. Officer Lincoln walked over to his car and told the dispatcher what Rose had reported. In addition to the situation at the rest stop, as called in from a lawman in Arkansas, he noted, they were now in pursuit of a man driving a dark SUV, pretending to be a Highway Patrol officer.
“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.
