The car rolled up to the cabin that was secretly
nestled
in the hills. Trying not bring any attention to the vehicle, Ike drove
within the speed limit and made no sudden movements on the road. The
cabin
had been deserted for years. Only a handful of people knew about
it. It was about 50 yards from a small secluded lake. Ike had driven
all
night and he was very tired. The pain in his arm had dulled a bit but
if
he let go of the pressure on his arm, the blood would run.
Upon arrival, Ike scavenged in the car for anything
that may be of some use. He found the nursing home woman's purse behind
the driver seat and emptied it out on the backseat.
He found a lighter with some money and useless credit cards. Nobody
would
believe he was a member since nineteen seventy-one. He also found a
pager and
an address book.
"Probably not enough time for a date right know."
Ike continued to go through the big pile of junk on the
backseat.
"How much stuff do women carry in these things?"
Finally he came across something of value. It was a
small sewing kit. Ike looked down at his arm.
"Well, if Rambo can do it, so can I."
The glove box was the next place that Ike tackled.
Not much of value there unless you wanted to take a trip to Wyoming.
There was a beautiful state map folded up neatly along with a
replacement light
bulb to one of the car's tail lights. He closed the glove box and got
out of
the car still trying to keep some pressure on his arm. He opened up the
trunk. It was empty except for a car jack. Ike slammed the trunk door
down in disgust.
"Typical woman!"
Ike walked toward the front of the cabin. It looked
dark and desolate. The door was locked but he remembered where his
mother had hid the spare key. It was under a rock over by a great big
pine tree
on the right side of the house. After finding the key, Ike unlocked the
front door and entered the cabin. Not a soul had been in the cabin for
years. It was in beautiful shape and would be a perfect place
to hideout from the police and then finish the job on Troutman.
The cabin had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a
bathroom and a good size living room. Ike walked directly into the
house and straight to the kitchen sink. He pulled out the small sewing
kit and found a tiny bottle
of rubbing alcohol under the sink. He opened the kit and removed a
needle
and a small spool of white thread. He pulled off a large length
of thread and tried, as best as you can with your blood spilling all
over
the place, to thread the needle.
After fooling around with that for a few minutes
and muttering a few hundred explatives, Ike opened up the alcohol
bottle
and poured a little of the liquid over the needle and then his hands.
He
turned on the kitchen sink's cold water and tried to clean out the
wound
as the sweat of pain continued to bead up on his forehead.
The pain was excrutiating as he inserted the needle
into his arm. In and out the needle turned. On occasion, Ike
felt a little faint but he was able to compose himself. After about
fifteen
minutes, he was all sown up. He stuck his arm under the kitchen faucet
and
rinsed off the excess blood from his arm. He walked into the bathroom
and
found a box of bandages and a roll of gauze under the bathroom sink. He
unwrapped one of the extra large bandages and placed it over the wound.
After
that was done, he rolled the gauze around his arm and taped it down
with
some duct tape.
After fixing himself up, he noticed that the
fireplace
had wood in it. He opened the flue and got the fire going by lighting
some
old newspapers with the lighter that was in the nursing home woman's
purse.
In a few minutes, the fire was warm and comfortable. Ike grabbed a
pillow
from the couch and curled up on the floor next to the fireplace. Ten
seconds
later Ike was fast asleep.
Inspector Troutman awoke a couple of days after
his confrontation with the ax. A nurse hovered over him.
"Where am I?"
The nurse gave Troutman a soft smile as she checked
his pulse.
"You are in Holmes Grove General, Mister Troutman."
Troutman looked around the room cautiously.
"How long have I been here?"
The nurse continued to look at her watch.
"Just a couple of days. You were pretty banged up.
It took
the doctors about eight hours to put your leg back together. You almost
lost
it entirely."
Troutman pulled back the blanket and noticed a huge
bandage wrapped around his leg.
"It was a good thing your partner called for backup
otherwise you may have bled to death."
"When
can I get out of here?"
The nurse finished with Troutman and headed towards
the room's door.
"A couple of days yet. Relax, work will still be
there when you get back."
Troutman exhaled deeply.
"But how many more people will die before then?"
Troutman was packing his stuff to go home.
He was being discharged from the hospital. But before he could leave,
the Police
Chief had a few questions for Troutman. With the death of so many
people including
several police officers, the search for Ike Crenshaw had reached a
critical
level and the Chief did not want any more losses of life.
"No Chief, this has gone way past the point of
becoming personal. I will do whatever
it takes to find Ike Crenshaw."
"Don't push me on this again Troutman. If you push
this issue, this may cost you your job."
"I have been investigating this case from the
beginning.
I have been attacked, lead on a wild police chase, had a house blown up
on me and have seen my partner killed right before my eyes.
I will not let go of this investigation."
"I was a bit leary of putting you on this case in
the beginning due to your personal involvement. Now, after all that
has happened, I wonder if I made the right choice."
"Give me another week. I'll get him."
"You have one week, Troutman. After that, you're
off the case."
"Thank you."
"But I have to warn you Troutman, if one more person
is found dead because of this boy, I will have your job."
"Don't worry Chief. If I can't find him in another
week, I'll resign."
A taxi dropped off Troutman in front of his house. He walked up to the front door and then inside. The room had been cleaned with virtually no signs of a struggle left in the room. After tossing the bag of clothes on the couch, he walked to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of root beer and closed the door. After twisting off the bottle cap, he wandered around the house thinking about the case and trying to figure out what Ike would do next. There was still a slight twinge in his leg as he walked. The stitches wouldn't be removed for another two weeks but his leg felt good. He wandered into the living room and saw the picture of Peg Crenshaw on his mantle. He stared at the picture and in an instant he had his answer.