Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison

Candace stood, so I did, too. She reached across and shook Bartlett ’s hand. “You’ve been a big help. Appreciate you talking to us.” She looked down at Rosemary. “Thanks for being straight with us. You’ve helped your friend.”

She started for the door, but I stopped in front of Rosemary. “I’ll have Evan call you.” I looked at Bartlett. “If that’s okay with you?”

He gave a short nod, and Rosemary almost smiled.

As Candace and I walked back to the college, I said, “If I had to deal with clown hair and pierced lips and that much attitude every day, I don’t think I’d have as much patience as Mr. Bartlett has-even though he seemed almost at the end of his rope.”

“Deep down she’s probably a good, caring kid,” Candace said. “You saw how she stood up for her friends. But now I want to talk to that campus cop, Patrick Hoffman. I still think it’s hinky that he helped Evan and then arrested him not long after. I’m betting President Johnson had a hand in that, no matter what Bartlett thinks. Yup, I want to hear what Hoffman has to say.”

But when we took the small path back into the parking lot, I saw we wouldn’t have to hunt down the campus cops. A uniformed man was standing, arms folded, staring at the Mercy squad car.

“No way. He is not giving me a ticket.” Candace started marching toward the man, and I had to jog to keep up.

But then the man turned and saw us.

Fear grabbed at my gut.

Those eyes. Oh my God, those eyes.

“Candace, stop,” I called, my voice cracking. “That’s him.”

She halted and looked at me, puzzled.

But my throat felt so tight, as tight as the day he put his hands around it, that I couldn’t seem to get any words out.

The look on my face apparently told her what she needed to know. She resumed her pursuit, even faster than before.

I saw something glint in the guy’s hand and shouted, “He’s got a-”

But before I could finish the sentence, the man quickly stabbed the right front tire on the squad car.

“Hey,” Candace shouted, her arms pumping as she picked up even more speed.

But he was on the run now, too.

She took out her gun but kept it pressed at her side.

I tried to follow but couldn’t keep up. We hadn’t run far before my chest felt so tight, I couldn’t get enough air. The sight of that man had frightened me, and I felt breathless and paralyzed.

Candace stopped briefly when she reached the car. She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them back toward me. “Lock yourself in the car and stay there. I’m going after him.”

I had no time to argue because she was gone in an instant, sprinting in the direction he’d gone, toward the administration building.

I did exactly what she said, but now my own fear was coupled with worry for Candace. I’d felt that man’s hand around my neck. I knew what he was like, how strong he was.

So I began a little mantra to calm myself. She’ll be okay. She has a gun. She’ll be okay. She has a gun.

But maybe he has one, too, I thought as I sat in the passenger seat, my legs drawn up to my chest. And then I realized I could do something to help. I pulled out my brand-new phone that I hardly knew how to use and dialed 911. The dispatcher seemed unruffled by my near hysteria or my gasping explanation.

She told me the call had come in to a location not in Denman but close by and that she would contact the local police. An officer would come to the college parking lot.

“No,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a nutcase. “The officer has to go after him. Someone has to help the Mercy police officer who’s chasing him. Her name is Deputy Candace Carson. She’s wearing a green and brown uniform.”

“And who is ‘him,’ ma’am?” she said.

“I don’t know. He’s wearing a gray uniform and has blond hair. She chased him behind the administration building, and where they went after that, I have no idea,” I said.

“Stay on the line until the officer arrives to help you,” she said.

“No, you need to help Candace-Deputy Carson,” I pleaded. “I’m locked in her squad car. I’m safe.”

“The caller ID says this phone is owned by Jillian Hart. Is this Jillian?”

“Yes. You have to help her. He might have a gun,” I said.

“She’s a police officer, you said?” the woman replied.

“Yes, but-”

“Then she’s well trained. She’ll know what to do. How about you? You said you feel safe where you are?” she said.

“Y-yes. I think so. But I’m scared for-wait. I hear a siren,” I said.

“Good. Stay on the line, Jillian, until the officer arrives.”

I wasn’t talking her out of sending the officer to me, so I did as she said and stayed on the line. When the squad car reached me, I saw it was the same guy we’d met earlier, Officer Dooley. He had his weapon drawn when he climbed out of his cruiser, but then he seemed to recognize me. He motioned for me to roll down the window. I did, and he took my phone and talked to the dispatcher. He seemed to be able to manage my phone better than I could because he disconnected without a problem.

“You okay aside from the flat tire?” he said.

“Deputy Carson is chasing down whoever slashed the tire. You should help her,” I said.

“I’m the only guy on duty, and they could have gone a dozen different ways. I got the word out to a state constable, though, and he should be here soon.”

“Please go after Deputy Carson. She went that way.” I started to point in the direction of the administration building, and that’s when the fist that seemed to be gripping my heart let go.

Candace was walking toward us. Strands of her hair hung loose, and her cheeks were red with exertion. When she reached the squad car, she stopped and bent, resting her hands on her thighs. Her breathing was rapid, and she nodded at her fellow officer. Between ragged breaths she said, “Thanks for showing up, man.”

“Are you okay?” I reached out the window to her, and she grabbed my hand.

“I lost him, damn it. Or more like I got lost.” She looked at the Denman officer. “Campus police wear gray?”

He nodded.

She squeezed my hand and let go. “You know one with blond hair and blue eyes? Strong guy?” she said.

“Yeah. That’s got to be Patrick. The rest of the campus cops are graying or bald. But are you saying he did this to your tire?” The officer’s expression said he didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Oh, that’s what I’m saying, all right,” Candace said. “My friend and I both saw him do it. We need an APB on him now. Can we use your cruiser to head to his place?”

“Wait a minute. I know Patrick Hoffman. He’s not into vandalism,” Officer Dooley said.

“He is if it means that with a flat tire I can’t follow him,” Candace said, her anger controlled but very apparent. “As of right now, he’s wanted for assault on this woman right here.” She pointed at me. “He attacked her in her home several days ago.”

Dooley shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to get it. You have to take me to his house now,” Candace said.

“The constable is on the way. Why don’t I call him to check out Patrick’s place?”

“Just do something. He’s getting away,” Candace said.

Dooley returned to his squad car while Candace reclaimed the keys and opened the trunk. I got out, too, but she waved off any help from me as she pulled the spare tire out.

She was mumbling to herself as she used the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts.

After making his call, Dooley saw what she was doing and hurried over to the Mercy cop car. “Let me do that,” he said.