Peter Grist - Flashback

“Yes, that just about sums it up really”. She smiled at his humour then sat briefly back at the computer and typed in a command to print the current page. Across at the other desk, the printer whirred into life and quickly spat out the front page that they had looked at on screen using two pieces of A4 paper printed landscape plus the next page of the story. She walked over and retrieved the pages from the tray and held them out for him.

“There you are Mr Saunders”.

“Ed, please, and thank you for this.”

“So, why are you in Ludlow… Ed?” He liked the way his name came gently off her tongue. They were standing close to each other as he reached for the copy from her hands.

“Computers, I sell computers to small businesses. I’m just finalising some deals around here before I head back home. Not very exciting I’m afraid.” She was staring directly into his eyes and he thought she seemed a little disappointed when he confirmed her suspicions about just passing through.

“So where is home?” She enquired.

“Originally New York but I live just outside of Cincinnati now.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home then. That makes me even more curious to know how come you are interested in the missing girl”.

“Tomorrow, I’ll come back tomorrow and tell you about it, depending on what I find out in this newspaper article, okay? But really, I have kept you way too long Mrs Saxon.”

“It’s Linda.” She let go of the paper and he folded it up and put it in his back pocket.

“Thank you Mrs Sax… Urr, Linda, thank you Linda.” He turned and strode to the doors. He paused briefly, gave the librarian a brief smile and was gone.

Linda turned to the computer screen and read the article about Grace Benjamin from start to back. When she finished she spent another ten minutes looking for a follow-up article on the girl, but couldn’t find one. Puzzled, she turned off all the computers and the printer, set the alarm, hit the light switch and locked the double doors behind her.

Ed glanced at his watch. It was nearly 7pm and he hadn’t eaten since leaving Westerville at 10am that morning. As if in response his stomach rumbled ominously. A quick change of priority moved the pain-killers from the drug store to the mornings ‘to do’ list while food intake moved up. He had seen a restaurant not far from the main intersection but he wanted something quick and easy. He headed away from the town square and away from his motel, back towards the direction he had first come into town, in real life and in his dream. It didn’t take long at all to find the McDonalds chain store and order a large chicken burger meal with a coffee to go. It was a small town and he figured even though he was walking, the food would still be fairly hot when he got back to his room. Little traffic passed as he walked back to his accommodation, the roads seemed to be permanently quiet. His left hand stayed in his pocket while his right hand carried the brown paper bag with his meal in. Just a few kids remained outside the malt shop smoking or texting while a few more played on arcade video games inside. None of them took any notice of him as he walked by although as a precaution he swapped the food to his left hand and kept his right hand free. Old habits die hard. He turned right at the intersection onto Homestead Road, passed the bar and the gas station and finally back to the motel. He walked onto the motel lot and paused momentarily when he spotted a police cruiser parked in the bay next to his Mercury. The white four-door Ford Crown Victoria had the obligatory black bull-bar on the front and a thick black stripe running the length of the car that held Ludlow in white on the front panel and Emergency 911 on the rear fender. It was still light enough to see that an officer was sitting behind the wheel, the bright red glow of a cigarette breaking the shadows. The driver’s window was wound partly down and a small, lazy trail of smoke drifted out into the night air. On the ground beside the patrol car window were a number of discarded cigarette butts and matches. With so many other empty spaces in the car park, it seemed odd that a police officer would park right next to his car. He whipped through the day’s events in his mind with a thought as to if he had done anything illegal. Except that he had stopped on the side of the road by the town limits, he couldn’t think of anything else that law enforcement would be interested in, and that hadn’t been illegal. He walked straight up to his door and put the key in the slot. As he turned it and pushed into the room with his shoulder, he heard the click of the cruiser’s door open. The compartment light came on, shining down onto a nearly bald head. Although he could see with his peripheral vision the officer in his grey and brown uniform stepping out of his car and placing his hat carefully on his head, Ed carried on through and kicked the door closed behind him.

No sooner had he placed his food bag on the table than there was a knock on the door. Ed opened the door to see the cop standing there, looking relaxed and friendly, a smile coming from the old face under the wide-brimmed drill-sergeant style hat but a smile that didn’t make it up to the officer’s eyes. They looked like two small black bottomless pits. “Evening to you, I’m Sheriff Rosen. Would you mind if I came in awhile?” The slow Texas drawl fitted the face perfectly. Without waiting for a response, he stepped past Ed into the dingy room, bringing a waft of stale cigarettes behind him. Rosen was a big man. Ed guessed he must have been nearly 6’ 3 in his black shiny boots, and weighed in at about 220lbs, but not much of that weight seemed to be wasted. The skeletal face under the hat had seen a lot of life, showing deep rivers and frown lines, the sun-damaged skin wrinkling as the police officer continued his smile; his teeth stained a dark yellow from thousands of cigarettes. Rosen looked to be near retirement age, if not over retirement age, but still not someone to be messed with. He reached up and slowly removed his hat then slowly ploughed his hand through his thinning grey flat-top buzz cut, every motion seemed to be measured and economical.

“I was just about to eat,” exclaimed Ed.

“Hell, don’t let me stop ya fella, ya’ll go on.” Rosen’s voice seemed as dry as the dusty car park outside. Ed opened the bag and pulled out a sealed cup of coffee, followed by a large bag of fries and lastly a burger wrapped in a card box.

“What can I do for you Sheriff; I’m not in trouble am I?”

“No Mr Saunders, you’re not in trouble, well, not yet anyhows.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked surprised. His appetite seemed to be disappearing quite quickly.

“I asked Sam at the reception of course. I like to know who I’m speaking too.” Ed made himself busy by taking the lid of his coffee then hunting around in the bottom of the bag for sugar, cream and the plastic stir stick.

“If I’m not in trouble… yet, how can I help you?” His hands were busy pulling the lids from the tiny cartons of creamer, pouring four of them into his drink.

“You just got into town and I hear you been asking around about a missing child, from way back, you an undercover reporter or something?”

Ed ripped the tops off of three sugar sachets and poured them into the cardboard cup. “No, I’m not, I’m a computer salesman, didn’t Sam at the desk tell you that too?”

“Of course he told me what you put down on your registration, but that don’t mean nothin’ now does it? Well, if you ain’t no undercover reporter then what’s yer interest in the girl?” Ed thought hard about how he could explain his interest in a missing child from forty odd years ago. He had wondered how he was going to explain it to Linda at the library too without sounding crazy.