End of a Long Trip...

Chapter Thirteen

Ann sat down and leaned her head forward on her hands. She was still stunned. Her thoughts were muddled, struggling to make sense of what she had just learned.
Prosser had been quiet through all of what had happened, knowing he had no place in any of it. Now he sat opposite Ann and quietly asked, “How about a cup of coffee?”
She didn’t answer and he motioned the waitress over and ordered two cups of coffee and two glazed donuts. When they came, he broke off a piece of donut and dipped it in his coffee and slurped when he ate it. The sound caused Ann to look up.
“I’m sorry, Gerald,” she said. “I didn’t even introduce you.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “I think I know him anyhow. And I think I like him; and you, too.”
Ann looked quizzically at him. She felt like she was really seeing him for the first time and, surprisingly, she liked what she saw. She said, “Thank you. I think I like you, too.”
Ann tried to remember the last time she had told someone she liked them. She couldn’t remember when. It had been a long time. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone for a friend? It had been a while. Maybe too long.

They finished their repast and started out again. They rode along for a while without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. Ann wondered when and where Pete would have the memorial for Two Shoes. Wherever, she would be there.

All at once she felt like talking. “Have you ever been married?” Ann asked, making small talk.
“Yes,” he answered. “My wife was killed in a hiking accident. It was a long time ago.”

“Sorry to hear it. It must be hard to lose someone you love,” Ann said.
“It is,” said Prosser. Her name was Patricia. “She was a wonderful person. We had so much in common and so little time together. I still think about her a lot.”

“What happened?” asked Ann. She had an impression he wouldn’t mind talking about it some.

“It was crazy,” he said. “We were hiking on a pretty easy hiking trail, one we had been on before. It was more like a stroll. She stepped on a little bitty stone, just enough to turn her foot, and she fell almost a hundred feet. She grabbed a limb but it broke off. She hit her head on a ledge on the way down and was probably dead before she hit the bottom. It was just an unfortunate thing.”

Ann was quiet for a moment then said, “That’s terrible. I’m sorry for you.”
“I had a problem talking about it for a long time; even thinking about it,” Prosser said. “But time takes care of things sometimes. I was enlisted in the Army and, after what happened, decided to make a career out of it so I stayed in for the twenty and retired. That’s about it. Now you know my life story. How about you? Ever been married?”

“Naw,” said Ann. “I never had the time to even think about it. I had a relationship once that lasted about a week; just long enough for me to realize I wasn’t going to be my old self anymore. Realizing that was enough for me to see I’d never make any man a good wife. I guess I’m married to my job.”

“Maybe you just never met the right man,” said Prosser.
“Maybe not,” answered Ann and she looked at him when she said it. Her gaze lasted a second and he said, “Watch it!”

She looked back at the road and saw brake lights coming on and quickly checked the rear view mirror and applied the brakes. The car slowed and Ann saw a car had pulled onto the shoulder of the road and turned on its four way lights.

Her first thought was to stop and see what the problem was. She glanced at Prosser and his eyebrows rose quizzically and he shrugged, evidently guessing what her thoughts were.

After she got closer, she saw a tire was flat on the front of the car. She could see the driver and he looked vaguely familiar. She couldn’t see his face clearly but she had a feeling she had seen him somewhere before. ‘Where,’ she thought. ‘Oh, well, maybe it’ll come to me.’ She decided to keep going.

“I guess we’d better get to the business at hand,” Ann said, after they had cleared the heavier traffic. “There are a few things we’ll need to do when we get there.”

“I’m ready,” said Prosser.
“First, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to spend the night at my place instead of getting a room somewhere. That’ll give us more time to set things up. I have a spare bedroom that’s pretty comfortable. I think we should go on to my place before we let anyone know we’re here. That way we’ll have an element of surprise on our side,” Ann said.

Prosser agreed. He considered making a remark about the sleeping arrangements but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. So far, Ann had been all business and he decided that, if that were to change, he’d let her be the one to change it.

“Do you have your plan together?” he asked. “What will I be doing besides just watching?”
Ann thought for a moment. “I have a small, very good voice recorder,” she said. “I want you to carry it in your pocket and turn it on when we see Tom. He won’t know he is being recorded and maybe I can get him to just come clean and admit everything. He always gets to the office earlier than anyone else and I want us to be there waiting for him when he gets there in the morning.”

“That sounds like a plan,” said Prosser.
Ann looked at him and grinned. She recognized the quip and was pleased he would remember what both Two Shoes and Pistol Pete had said.
“Catchy little phrase,” he said with a chuckle. Ann agreed.

They rode on in relative silence until they reached the outskirts of Tulla City. Ann took a back road from the highway to her house so she wouldn’t be seen.
She pulled up in front of the house and stopped the car and they got out and went inside.

“Deja vous all over again,” he said. “Seems like I’ve been here before. Oh, yes, it was for cookies and coffee. I remember now!”
Ann grinned at that and it occurred to her how easy it had been for her to smile today. She felt a bit surprised. She found herself liking this man more all the time and she felt quite comfortable with that knowledge.

She went into the kitchen and filled the percolator with tap water and loaded the Folgers Coffee into the filter and turned the percolator on. It immediately began perking.

She walked back to the living room and sat on a recliner, her favorite chair. Prosser sat across from her on the sofa.
“I need to be at the office in the morning before Tom gets there,” said Ann. “He always gets there early so we’ll need to be there very early ahead of him. We can park in the back and go in the back door without being seen. I want to get done what I need to do before anyone else shows up. I want you to turn the recorder on as soon as Tom comes in. Just don’t let him see you do it.
He’ll be armed, of course, and I’m not sure what to expect from him. I hope us being in the office will cause him to think twice about pulling his weapon.”
“I’ll second that!”

The rest of the evening was spent in small talk. It was a pleasant evening and Ann was glad Prosser had come with her. She was enjoying his company. They had sandwiches and milk and decided to hit the proverbial sack.

Prosser excused himself and retired to his bedroom. Ann puttered around the kitchen area, cleaning the few dishes they had used and she put them away. In a few minutes, the kitchen was sparkling and she went into her bedroom.

She lay in her bed thinking of everything,-and nothing. This was taking a turn she had not considered. She was having feelings for the reporter; feelings that were strange to her. She hadn’t felt this way for a very long time and she didn’t mind the feeling. Her brain conjured up scenarios that were about her and Prosser and she enjoyed them.
She wondered how he would be to live with. She wondered how much of a temper he might have. She wondered if he was allergic to anything. She wondered if he wondered about her. She wondered how it would be to kiss him.

“Stop this!” she shouted silently to herself. “What is happening to me all of a sudden?” She closed her eyes tightly and told herself to go to sleep. She didn’t.

She wondered if she would be fresh and alert in the morning when she had to face Detective Shelton. She hoped so. She wasn’t sleepy and closing her eyes very tightly wasn’t helping.
She knew she would be awake all night and tomorrow she would feel like crap, or worse. She considered postponing the encounter until she could sleep. She would think about it. Then she woke up and it was 5:00 am and she felt great.

“I must be living right,” she thought. She arose silently and washed her face and dressed and went into the living room. Prosser was already there and Ann could hear the coffee pot perking in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said cheerily.
“And good morning to you, Mr. Prosser,” she answered. “I see you have the coffee on.”
“Yes, I thought that was the least I could do for the girl of my dreams,” he said with a grin.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, “I was in your dreams last night?”
“Yes you were,” he answered, “and I have never seen a cuter mole in my life.”
“What,-how do you know about my mole,” she said with a grin. “No one has seen that mole. It’s not in a public place. Have you been peeking through the key hole?”

Prosser laughed out loud. “No,” he said,” But I knew a woman as beautiful as you had to have one somewhere and so I thought I’d take a stab at it!”
Ann laughed at that comment. “Be careful where you stab,” she said.

The coffee finished perking and Ann went into the kitchen and poured two cups and brought them to the living room and placed them on the coffee table. Then she went back and got two glazed donuts and put those on the coffee table, also, with two paper towels as napkins.

They sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying their repast. Neither of them was thinking about the task they faced this morning. Instead, they were thinking of each other. Prosser was the first to speak of it.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Ann, obviously not surprised by the question.
“How about second,-no, make it third sight?” he asked.
“That’s a distinct possibility,” she said with a smile. “I thought about you a lot last night. Maybe we have more in common than our chore. I’d like to talk about it later, if you would.”

“I would like nothing more,” he said.
Ann hesitated; looking at Prosser intently for a second then came out of her reverie abruptly.

“We’d better do it,” she said, and arose and headed toward the kitchen with her cup and napkin.
Prosser followed her into the kitchen with his cup and napkin and placed the cup into the sink and looked around for a trash receptacle. Ann took the napkin from him and discarded both napkins into a waste can in a cabinet under the sink.

They went back into the living room and Prosser asked Ann what the procedure would be. She said they would drive to the office and park in the back, since detective Watson always parked in front of the office. They would enter the office through the rear door and take stations at certain points and wait quietly until Watson arrived.

They drove to the office and parked in the rear and went in and took their spots. Ann sat at a desk toward the rear of the main reception room, just to the right of the door that lead to the chiefs’ office where she could be seen only after Watson had completely entered and walked toward the back. There was nothing behind her except a wall.

Prosser sat to her left and forward a short ways, out of sight of the entrance. With any luck, detective Watson wouldn’t see him at all until it was all over.

Ann hoped the other detective would admit his crime and, since he was found out, surrender himself without a fight. She wore her pistol, an automatic Walther 9 mm, high on her right hip, easy to get to and easy to draw. She wore the gun under a light short jacket but had taken the jacket off when she sat down.

A few weeks earlier she had gone to the firing range and practiced drawing and firing her weapon. She had practiced extensively drawing her sidearm since joining the force and she was very fast. She had put four shots in rapid-fire into a cantaloupe sized area at 15 yards. No Matt Dillon but not bad for a lady cop.

Prosser sat quietly, contemplating his position in this. Ann had placed him in a very well protected spot, out of sight of anyone not purposely looking for him. He felt his breathing, deep and regular, making no sound whatever.

He heard the sound at the same time Ann heard it. A car stopped at the front of the office and the engine idled briefly then stopped. A door slammed and footsteps approached the front door. Tom Watson sometimes wore western style boots with small, tapered working heels that clicked on a hard surface. These must be what he has on now.

A key was quietly inserted into the door lock and the door swung silently open. Tom reached to his right and flipped a switch on the wall and an overhead light came on. He stood still for a moment and then started walking slowly forward.

“Another day just like the rest,” he sighed as he stepped toward the rear of the office.

Ann slowly stood up. “Maybe not, Tom,” she said.

The older detective stopped and stiffened, surprised, his hand moved toward his shoulder holster.
“Don’t do that,” Ann said.

“Ann, what are you doing here in the dark?” he asked. Ann felt like he knew why she was here and she said so.
“I think you know,” she said. “Why did you do it, Tom?” she asked. You’re a great detective and I know you love your job.”

Tom didn’t answer for a few moments. He stood very still, looking Ann over and obviously thinking of what to say next. He knew he was caught but not necessarily captured.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “You’re new at this and already have accomplished more than you probably expected to accomplish. You were very good or maybe, just lucky, solving the Abbot case. That was good and, although you might not believe it, I was happy for you; to see you rewarded for a job well done. Along with everyone else, I still don’t believe how you say you did it. I’ve really been stumped on that one. There’s something you won’t tell about it but I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

As soon as Watson turned the key in the front door lock, Prosser had switched the recorder on. Then he sat quietly, very careful to not make a sound of any kind. Now he listened.

“You still haven’t told me why you did it,” Ann said.
Tom grinned. “Yeah, I almost forgot what the question was,” he said. “I’ve always been a good cop, careful to do things right and as well as I could. I was made detective on my merits and because of the years I spent being a uniform. I don’t think anyone can dispute that.”

“Then the chief died and someone needed to take his place. Well, I was senior officer and should have been promoted on the spot,-or someone from outside brought in. Perkins was Sheriff then and he didn’t know me very well but he was friends with Mel. When Mel realized the sheriff wanted him as chief, he really started bucking for the job. He raised so much hell that old man Rafton couldn’t decide what to do so he appointed Perkins as temporary Chief of Police.
That was a crock of shit, as far as I was concerned but the sheriff said he’d talk to the mayor and they’d decide who the new chief would be. He said it would probably be me because of my length of service. He agreed with me that it wouldn’t be right for him to hold both positions.”

“So,” Watson went on, visibly agitated; “He spoke to the old bastard and Rafton said he had made his decision and we’d abide by it whether we liked it or not! He even came to the station and told me and the rest that he had made his decision and it wasn’t up for debate. He said, ‘The front door to this office swings both ways!’ I knew what he meant. If I didn’t like it, I could quit. Well, I was too old to look for another job so I decided to bide my time. Everything that goes around comes around and I just waited for the right time. I thought this was it but I hadn’t counted on you. My mistake. A big mistake, it seems.”

“How did you find out?” he asked. “I thought I had all the bases pretty well covered.”

“It doesn’t really matter how I found out, Ann said. “The only thing that matters is, I can prove it all. I hate it, Tom. I kinda like you but this is my job and I took an oath to uphold the law.”

“Does your friend have a gun?” Tom asked.
Ann’s body stiffened. She knew Tom hadn’t looked around. How did he know there was someone else here? What should she say now? She stammered slightly before she answered, then she knew she couldn’t lie and say he did have a gun. Damn!

“No he doesn’t,” she said. “I hope that won’t matter. You know you can’t get away with anything here.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he said. “If both of you are dead, I can tell any story I want to and no one will know the difference.”

His hand twitched very slightly but Ann saw it. Her hand was on the butt of her pistol and she had tensed.
“Tom, please don’t try anything stupid,” she said. “None of this is worth dying for.”

She knew it was too late. She knew he felt he had no choice but to draw and shoot her, then shoot Prosser, too. She knew she couldn’t let that happen; especially now, after being with Prosser yesterday and last night. The thought flashed through her mind that she wished he had shared her bed last night. ‘Stop this!’ she ordered herself.

Tom’s hand jerked toward the pistol in his shoulder holster and Ann’s hand wrapped around the butt of her Walther.
It all happened so fast but it seemed like slow motion. Ann had experienced this feeling before but she couldn’t remember when or where. There was no time to consider anything, how fast she was; did she grip the handle right, should she aim or just snap off a shot and hope she gets lucky.

‘If he gets me, I hope Gerald gets away,’ she thought. ‘How stupid,’ she assured herself, ‘he won’t get me.’

She waited for the flat popping report of her pistol. She knew that a rifle report cracks sharply and reverberates; almost echoes while a pistol has a quick, blunt, dull pop when it’s fired.
She felt the pistol buck in her hand and listened for the dull report. She didn’t hear it. She heard a tremendous roar, almost like a cannon going off. It was for just an instant.

She felt a crushing blow to her body, like she imagined a horses hoof would feel if it kicked her, and she felt herself thrown against the wall behind her.

‘Oh, shit,’ she thought. ‘I was too slow!’ And she felt sorry she had sworn. Then she felt no more.

“Oh, please be alive,” she heard a voice say. “Don’t die,” it said in an almost hysterical state. Ann felt her body being slightly lifted and gently shook. She felt arms circle her body and a cheek pressed against hers. She still couldn’t respond and she couldn’t remember why she should still be alive.

Prosser lay her back down flat on the floor and put his face close to hers and said, “Please stay with me.”
Ann reached up and pulled his face down and kissed him gently on his lips and said, “OK, for how long?”

At first Prosser couldn’t react then he said, “You have on a vest!”
“Yeah,” she whispered, “Lucky for you,” and she grinned.

Prosser felt a sob rack his body. He couldn’t remember ever being so relieved in his life.

“Hey, fellow,” Ann said with a grin. ”I’ll make it up to you.”

The rest, as the old saying goes, is history. Detective Ann Barton and ace Reporter Gerald Prosser discussed love at first, second and third sights and agreed it was not only possible but had actually happened.

Detective Ann Barton was once again cited for extraordinary service and promoted from Detective Third Grade to Detective First Grade, foregoing detective second grade.

Gerald Prosser, ace Crime Reporter was awarded a Citation of Excellence in Reporting and offered the job of assistant editor (the next in line for editor) if he wanted it, which he didn’t. His story was, though he preferred a slower and more laid back style of life, he would make an exception to that by leaving Philly and moving to Tulla City, Ohio, the small burg where anything could happen and probably would, where BJ Lassiter was retiring from the news business and had offered the paper for sale at a very reasonable price to the right bidder. That bidder, it turned out, was Gerald Prosser, the man with the eternal fox grin plastered across his kisser.
Because:
The papers co-owner was one, Detective First Grade Ann Prosser, nee, Barton.

A while later here was,also, a little girl Prosser/Barton combination newspaper assistant publisher/Detective ½ grade Ann Prosser/Barton Junior.
And hopefully, a male child, another Gerald, was in the mixer.

And Ann got a late night call from a familiar 'voice', a call that simply said,” Bye-bye, Detective Barton; you’re on your own now.”

And all was well with the world.

Billy Thompson sat at his desk at the Helena, Montana Police Department, reading a copy of the Philadelphia Enquirer, about a Detective Ann Barton solving a murder case in Tulla City, Ohio, population fifty three hundred. A grin played around the corners of his lips and he motioned to the fellow officer, Ron Nun, at the next desk and showed him the article.

“I know this lady,” he said. “She’s from my past and, as much as I’d have liked to have gotten much, much closer to her, I don’t mind saying, I’m glad she’s in my past!”

The other fellow chuckled and said, “Boy, lookin’ at that body and platinum hair and those green eyes, I don’t blame you! I wouldn’t mind getting some of that myself!”

The phone rang on the other officers desk and he answered it.
“Officer Ron Nun here; can I help you?” He pressed a hold button on his phone and said,”Billy, it’s for you.”

Billy picked up the phone and said, “This is Officer Thompson; may I help you?”

A vaguely familiar voice said, “I understand a man was killed on the East side a few months ago. “
“Yes,” Billy said. “He was stabbed to death but we don’t know who did it yet. We’re still investigating.”

“I can tell you who did it,” the now all too familiar 'voice' said, “But you have to promise not to tell anybody how you found out. It has to be our little secret. Do you know what I mean? Hello, are you there?”

Yes, Billy knew exactly what the 'voice' meant but Billy didn’t answer. Billy wasn’t there at his desk. Billy was outside, moaning, mumbling to himself, running toward his car!

See you next time! JCA



This concludes my first book, A Detective Story." I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
And, who knows, there might even be another one in the works.
I hope you will send me an e-mail and let me know if you enjoyed this story. I will appreciate hearing from anyone!
Have a happy life! JCA Send E-mail to: jcadla@sbcglobal.net