Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

"That's what I suspected," the Sheriff asserted. "The bike, you said was lime green, how about the helmet?"

"Didn't find a helmet, but yeah the bike itself is kind of a lime green, popular a few years ago."

"Deputy Breland, is it the bike you saw?"

"I would have sworn that it was yellow, but it happened so quick, could have been this one."

"But you can't be sure?" Angelo asked, trying to get a confirmation or a denial.

"That's right, I can't be sure."

"So what you're saying is we don't have jack shit," the Sheriff said, sitting back in his chair and running his big hand through his hair.

"That's correct, boss."

"Either he's a criminal mastermind that's been able to really pull one over on us, or he's a pawn in some other criminal mastermind's game and we're all in the dark," he thought, very concerned that it must be the latter.

Tuesday morning came quickly; Blanche and Lillian took turns in the bathroom getting ready after Felix had his usual casual shower and bathroom time. Blanche especially avoided him and they had breakfast in the room. Caroline had been more than accommodating after the women explained the situation with Seymour and the court hearing at noon. Mrs. Muir even stopped by Blanche's room to offer her support and well wishes. Blanche talked with Ester before they caught the taxi for the courthouse. She was upset, but only because Seymour was being treated like a criminal, and those that knew and loved him knew it was impossible. She would hold down the fort with the high school students for the day, but would need Blanche in on Wednesday, the inspectors would be there and things should appear completely normal.

The two ladies sat on the second row of the courtroom assigned to Seymour's case. A few towns’ people were there but not as many as they expected. The Sheriff's Office had done a good job keeping the arrest under wraps until they had further proof that Seymour was indeed The Stalker. The courthouse was a majestic building, built just after the Civil War during the reconstruction era of American History. The courtroom itself was spacious. Deep, rich woods provided the seating, railings and judge’s desk and tables. A court recorder sat waiting near the front, a stenotype machine at her fingertips. A courthouse deputy stood by the door leading to the judge’s chambers.

At precisely noon, the door opened and a judge in black robes entered and took his seat above the audience. Seymour was brought in through a side door, his hands cuffed behind him and the diminutive Deputy Guest led him to stand behind a table in front of the judge. A tall, grey haired man in a dark, pinstriped suit entered through the same door and stood behind a table next to Seymour's.

"Must be the DA," whispered Lillian, pointing to the man in the suit.

The rear, heavy doors opened just before the proceedings were to get under way and Sheriff Lupo came and sat behind the ladies. He reached up and gave Lillian's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"That was odd," thought Blanche.

Within minutes of the court being brought to order, a stir of activity occurred at the back of the courtroom, causing everyone to turn to see what was going on. The doors suddenly opened and two-dozen people entered, Mrs. Ella Wild leading the way with administrators, teachers and students mixed, together in a supportive group. Thumbs up and other positive signs were flashed to Seymour, bringing a grin to his face.

Once things settled down and everyone found a seat, the DA spoke explaining the charges and the circumstances related to Seymour's arrest with a caveat that further charges were pending, but for now they wanted him held on the weapons charge. Behind the large desk the judge grunted and only rarely looked up from the documents before him.

"What are you looking for in terms of bail?" the judge asked.

"Judge, we had first anticipated $500,000, but after conferring with Sheriff Lupo we have agreed to drop the requested bail to $200,000."

"That is agreeable to the court. Bail is hereby set at $200,000 and can be taken care of with the court officials. Mr. Wood will be held over, pending further charges and possible trial. Mr. Mason, let me give you and your office a caution here. If you do not have significant evidence to place specific charges against this young man by Saturday, I will have no choice but to set him free and revoke the decision made today and the bail. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely judge," Mr. Mason said.

"Okay, court is adjourned, return Mr. Wood to his cell," he instructed the officer.

Seymour looked over his shoulder at the small support group seated behind him, offering a little smile showing his dimple.

The Sheriff left without saying a word to either lady but knew he had helped.

Lillian and Blanche huddled for a few minutes before going to the bank in an attempt to secure $200,000 for the release of Lillian's son and Blanche's love.

She watched the sunlight trickle into her bedroom, little by little raising a curtain of light along the wall until the room was fully illuminated. Lillian Wood spent the night in her own home but got little sleep. The image of her son, dressed in orange coveralls, hands cuffed behind his back, looped through her mind like an old movie reel. Yesterday had proven to be more trouble for the Wood family as the day progressed. The local media had finally gotten the word that an arrest was made in The Stalker case, but no charges had been specifically filed, yet her phone rang non-stop and an aggressive, wannabe reporter had shown up on her doorstep late the night before. This morning an assessor from the bank would be coming by to provide an evaluation on the farm. They wanted to help but didn’t know if $200,000 was a doable number based on current property values and the existing mortgage on the house and land. With all the stress and worries she remained surprisingly optimistic; the hand of the Sheriff had done much to calm the older woman’s fears.

Blanche had gotten up early, no sign of Mr. Unger but she still tried to stay within the agreed upon schedule and avoid him altogether, then dressed conservatively, grabbed a banana and left for work. She made a quick stop at the hospital to see how Jasper was doing. Rufus was sitting in the room, head tilted to one side, a rolled up jacket for a pillow. Both the men in the room were asleep. With each breath Jasper would expel a deep, vibrating concussion of sound that led Blanche to believe that his father must be deaf. Blanche had little time and felt bad doing so, but she gently shook the older Jackson, startling him until his eyes could adjust and make out it was his librarian friend. With outstretched arms he pulled her in for a tight good morning hug but did not speak. Blanche motioned for him to join her in the hallway.

“How is he doing?” she asked.

“Bout as good as we kin hope. Says he’s got a pain in da ass,” he laughed.

“I’ll bet he does. How much longer are they going to keep him?”

“Till tomorra, or was it taday? I can’t be sure, soon though,” Rufus scratched his head hoping it would improve his morning memory.

“I don’t want to wake him, sounds like he’s sleeping pretty good. How do you sleep with that snoring going on? I could hear him clear down the hall as I left the elevator.”

“It’s somethin’ turrible ain’t it. Slept in da same house wit him fer sa long, don’t think I kin sleep witout it,” again he chuckled, a twinkle in his eye.

“Would you let him know that I stopped by and I hope to see him soon? Could you also let him know that the young man they’ve arrested for possibly shooting him is the wrong man? I know him, and he could not have done it. I’ll explain to Jasper later, okay?” she explained.