Riverton Pt. 03

I assumed that I had cracked a joint in the water pipe and it was spraying water into the cellar but I didn't have time to worry about that. I had to get away from there before someone in the house heard the noise and came to investigate.

Moving as quietly as I could I ran parallel to the back of the house until I crossed the driveway and then I turned and ran toward the barn. I stayed as low to make it difficult for anyone looking out a window to see me. About halfway to the barn I ducked behind some bushes and looked back toward the house. I sat for a couple of minutes watching the windows and the back door for any signs of activity. Nobody came outside and I didn't see anyone looking out a window. Apparently, they had not heard the noise when the pipe broke or the hissing sound of the water spraying from it.

I began to move again, slowly, keeping to the shadows and using bushes along the way to provide cover. I made it past the barn and had gone about another two hundred yards when suddenly the whole area was lit up like day light but before any possible meaning for the bright light could register in my brain I was flying through the air. I landed face down in the weeds about twenty-five feet from where I had been and the only thing I could hear was a loud ringing noise in my ears. When I lifted my head I saw flaming objects falling around me but could not fathom what that meant. I rolled over and looked back toward the farm house but it wasn't there. All that was left was part of the foundation. The rest of the house seemed to be falling in burning pieces from the sky.

I watched in amazement, while my brain tried to make sense out of what had happened. The house was completely gone, the Lincoln Town Car and the Camry were both on fire and the Ford was tipped on its side. Looking at the devastation I just knew that there was no way anyone in that house could have survived an explosion of that magnitude. That's when the revelation came to me. I hadn't broken a water pipe with my foot; I broke a gas line. The hissing sound I heard as I escaped wasn't water spraying out of a broken pipe; it was the sound of propane gas escaping into the cellar. The propane being heavier than air would have pooled in the cellar until something triggered an explosion. All that propane just blew the house right off its foundation.

When I got to my feet I was dizzy and I felt aches and pains all over my body but I didn't seem to have suffered any serious injuries. My first instinct was to start walking back toward the house but I only moved a few steps before I realized that was the last place I needed to go. If I were caught in the area when the police arrived on the scene they would assume that I had blown the house up on purpose and was responsible for the deaths of everyone inside the house. To make matters worse, the evidence that would prove I didn't shoot Holly or Detective Olson I hoped was captured on my voice recorder had been blown away with Big Tony and his thugs.

"I'm fucked," I said to myself as I took one more look at the remains of the house and then I started to run and didn't stop until I got to the motorcycle. I put on the leathers, pulled the bike up and rolled it back through the gate out onto Rayburn Road. I drove cautiously back to the Riverton Secure Self Storage facility and let myself into my brother's storage unit. I could hear sirens in the distance as I lowered the door on the unit.

With the door closed I turned on the light and took off my leathers. I checked myself out in the wardrobe mirror. I was a mess. My face was filthy and I had several small cuts and scrapes on my and back and on the back of my legs and arms. Until then I didn't even realize that I had been hit by debris from the explosion. I was going to have to clean myself up before I did anything else. As much as I hated the idea I had to go back out to buy some supplies.

I got back on the bike and drove to a convenience store on Dublin Street and bought a twelve pack of bottled water, a roll of paper towels, bandages, peroxide, a topical antibiotic ointment and a bar of soap. When I got back to the storage unit I cleaned myself up as best I could with soap and water and then cleaned my cuts and scrapes with peroxide. None of the cuts were serious and they had already stopped bleeding. I put the antibiotic ointment on all of my injuries and bandaged the worst of the cuts.

I dressed in a clean pair of Jack's jeans and a long sleeve shirt from his wardrobe and then sat down to plan my next move. I couldn't go to the police station because I didn't know who I could trust. The more I thought about it the more I realized that my only option was to go to Detective Olson and tell him my story and hope that he would believe me.

Chapter 14 - Thursday June 12, 10:25 PM

Wearing a ball cap pulled low to hide my face, I walked from the storage facility back to the convenience store on Dublin Street and asked the clerk if I could use his phone book. I looked up the address for David Olson and then used the pay phone outside to call a taxi.

When the taxi dropped my off in front of Detective Olson's house I could feel the sweat dripping from my arm pits and running down my sides. I was thankful to see that there were lights on in the house as I stepped up onto the front porch. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out before pressing the door bell.

I was just about to ring the bell a second time when the porch light came on and a few seconds later the door opened. Standing in front of me was an attractive middle aged woman.

"What do you want?" she asked in a less than friendly manor.

"I am sorry to bother you at this hour but I need to speak with Detective Olson if he's here."

"Who should I say is here to see him?"

"Just tell him I am here to talk to him about the Holly Blanchard case."

The woman, whom I guessed was Mrs. Olson, closed the door and went back into the house. About a minute later the door opened again and I found myself staring at the barrel of Detective Olson's gun.

"What the hell are you doing coming to my house?" Olson said.

"I am here to turn myself in to you but I need to talk to you before you take me to the police station."

"Why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

"Because I didn't shoot my wife and I didn't shoot you and you need to know who did."

Olson pointed with the gun to indicate that I should come into the house. As soon as I stepped through the door he pushed me up against the wall and searched me.

"What's going on Dave?" It was the woman's voice coming from another room.

"It's just someone I need to talk to," Olson said. "Why don't you go up to bed? I am going to have to go down to the station after I talk with him. I probably won't be coming to bed tonight."

Detective Olson led me into his kitchen and told me to sit at the table.

"So, what is so important that you had to come here instead of going to the station to turn yourself in?"

I told Detective Olson the story, starting from the time I arrived at the Riverton Diner up until I arrived at his house. Actually, I didn't tell him everything exactly as it happened. My story was totally true and accurate up until I got to what happened on top of Parker's Hill. At that point I began to embellish the story.

"While Slim was watching me dig my own grave Porky told me that he and Slim were supposed to kill Holly and me and make it look like a murder suicide. He said that didn't work because I didn't come home when I was supposed to. He said that their boss, a guy they called Big Tony, paid off two Riverton police officers to help them make sure I don't live long enough to stand trial for shooting Holly. Then this Big Tony paid a male nurse at the hospital to give Holly an overdose injection of insulin sometime later tonight," I said. "Then, while I was looking for an opportunity to hit Slim with the shovel he stepped on a fire ant hill. When the ants attacked him I was able to knock the gun out of his hand with the shovel and make it into the woods on the backside of the hill.

"I hid out in the woods until dark and then went to my brother's storage unit at the Riverton Secure Self Storage. I changed clothes there and took my brother's motorcycle and drove down to Hannibal and checked into a motel so I could think about what I should do and get some sleep."

"I came back to Riverton tonight and hid out in my brother's storage unit until late this evening. Then I called a cab from the convenience store on Dublin Street and came over here."

I made no mention of having been at the Cheswick Farm. I did not want to be connected with the explosion that destroyed the house and most likely killed everyone inside.

Detective Olson, for his part, listened intently and took lots of notes. He asked several questions to clarify certain parts of my story but he gave me no indication of whether or not he believed what I was telling him. It was nearly midnight and I thought Detective Olson was through questioning me when he hit me with a question I was not expecting.

"How do you explain this?' he said. "The gun we found hidden in your garage was the gun used to shoot your wife and the only finger prints on the gun were yours."

I was stunned. "I don't own a gun and I didn't shoot my wife," I said. "I have no idea where that gun came from and I sure as hell don't know how my fingerprints could have gotten on it."

Detective Olson didn't comment on my answer he just said that he needed to call his partner.

"Can your partner be trusted?"I asked.

"Absolutely," was all he said.

Detective Olson used his cell phone to make the call.

"Hi Sarah, sorry to bother you this late but I need to talk to Bob.

"Have him call me when he gets out of the shower... Thanks Sarah.

"I had to sit through what seemed like an interminable five minutes of silence before Detective Olson's cell phone rang.

"Hey Bob. Thanks for returning my call so quickly.

"I need you to come over to the house.

"Rather not say right now.

"Okay thanks, I'll see you in ten minutes."

After that Detective Olson went out into the hallway and made a second call but I couldn't hear any of that conversation. When Detective Olson returned to the kitchen he said, "I am going to make a pot of coffee. It's going to be a long night."

I hoped that his not taking me to the police station meant that he was taking my story about the two cops on Big Tony's payroll seriously.

Chapter 15 - Friday June 13, 12:30 AM

It was almost 12:30 when there was a knock on the kitchen door. Detective Olson opened the door and admitted a tall thin man, about thirty years old.

"This is Detective Robert Barron." Detective Olson said. "Bob, this is Tom Blanchard."

"Coffee, Bob?"

"Sure," Detective Barron said. "Isn't he the guy that shot you in the parking lot at the diner?"

"He says no but I want you to hear the story from him."

Detective Olson looked at me. "Coffee?"

I nodded my head.

While he was pouring the coffee, Detective Olson explained to Detective Barron that I came to his house to give myself up because I had reason to believe that two Riverton police officers were being paid to make sure I would not live long enough to go to trial for shooting my wife.

"Mr. Blanchard I want you to tell Detective Barron your story starting from when you left work on Tuesday up until you arrived at my house tonight."

"What about Holly?" I said. "Someone needs to protect her tonight."

"That's been taken care of," Olson said. "Start at the beginning and tell Detective Barron everything."

"You want me to go all of the way back to when I left work on Tuesday?"

"Yes. I wasn't initially involved in this case, so I need to be brought up to speed." Detective Barron said. "Be as specific as you can with times and places."

So, I told my story again starting when I left work and was most of the way home when I remembered that I was supposed to pick up Holly's order at JC Penney's. I told him about what I found when I got home. I described in as much detail as I could, what happened in the parking lot at the Riverton Diner. I was very careful telling him what happened on Parker's Hill so that my story didn't differ from what I had told Detective Olson earlier.

Detective Barron listened intently to my story, often asking a question to clarify something I said. When I was done, detectives Barron and Olson stepped out into the hallway that led from the kitchen to the front of the house.

"You're not buying his story are you?" Detective Barron said. "A tall skinny guy called Slim and a short fat guy called Porky working for a guy they called Big Tony, plotted to kill his wife and him? But he has no idea why this Big Tony wants them dead. His story sounds like the plot from a cheap gangster movie from the fifties.

"The gun that was used to shoot his wife was found in his garage and it had his finger prints on it. On top of that you are an eyewitness in his attempt to shoot you. Let's just book this guy and get some sleep."

"I know the story is hard to believe but there are some parts of this case that bother me," detective Olson said. "First there is the gun. There was no record that Blanchard had ever owned a gun and the serial number on the one we found had been filed off. I just think that if he planned to kill his wife and he took the trouble to buy a gun on the street that he would have made sure that she was dead before he called 911. I would also think that he would have had a better plan for disposing of the gun than hiding it in his garage."

"You think the gun was planted?"

"Maybe."

"Then how did his finger prints get on the gun?"

"That I don't know," detective Olson said. "Then there was the bag from JC Penney's."

"What about it?"

"We found it on the sofa near the doorway to the kitchen. The bag contained lingerie and a receipt from the catalog department at Penney's. The time stamp on the receipt was Tuesday at 6:01 PM. We contacted the store and they verified that Mr. Blanchard picked up the order and paid with his Master Card. We have a neighbor who claims to have heard what sounded like gun shots at 6:05PM. So the time line doesn't work. He could not have gotten home from the mall in time to shoot his wife at 6:05."

"What about him shooting you at the diner?"Detective Barron asked.

"I only really saw the first shot and it looked strange to me. I never saw Blanchard's hand come up over the top of the car. The muzzle flash appeared to come from his arm pit. The impact of the bullets hitting me knocked me off my feet and I hit my head on a curb stone when I fell. I was unconscious until the ambulance came so I didn't see anything else. So the shooting could have happened the way he said it did."

"So you believe his story?"

"I think he might be telling the truth."

"You think the DA will buy it?"

"Fuck no. That tight ass wants to hang Blanchard. He wants to run for Mayor next year so a quick conviction would help his chances."

"You think putting a guy away for shooting his wife would help him that much?"

"No, but nailing a guy who shot a cop would."

"We are going to have to book him you know?" Detective Barron said.

I wondered if the two detectives realized that I had heard everything they said or if they even cared. When they came back into the kitchen, Detective Olson said, "Mr. Blanchard, we are going to have to take you downtown."

On the way out of the house Detective Olson stopped at the hall closet and got a hooded sweatshirt and told me to put it on. When I had the sweatshirt on, Detective Olson handcuffed me and led me out to Detective Barron's car.

When we got to the station, Detective Olson helped me out of the car and then he pulled the hood on the sweatshirt up to cover my head. It was quiet outside as we walked across the parking lot. It seemed so peaceful after everything I had been through the last two days and what I was about to go through inside the police station.

"We will be entering through the squad room so, when we get inside, keep your head down. Don't look up, even if you think someone is talking to you do not look up. Got that?" said Detective Olson.

"Got it,' I responded.

Going from the dark peaceful parking lot to the bright florescent lighting inside the noisy squad room made my eyes burn and my stomach roll. As Detective Olson led me across the room I heard someone say, "Hey Olson what ya got there, a fairy peeper or a flasher?" This was followed by laughter.

"Just some punk I caught him selling drugs out by the mall," Detective Olson replied. "I'm taking him upstairs to interrogate him."

The three of us crossed the squad room and got on an elevator. The elevator doors opened and Detective Olson pushed me ahead of him down a dimly lit hallway and into a dark room. Olson turned on the lights and closed the door behind us. The room was no more than ten feet by ten feet. There was a gray, vinyl top table in the middle of the room with a single chair on one side and two chairs on the opposite side. The floor and the walls of the room were almost the same color gray as the table. On one wall there was what I assumed was a two way mirror. The lone door, also gray, had a small window in it.

Olson pulled the sweatshirt hood off my head and guided me around to the side of the table with only one chair. He removed the handcuffs and told me to sit down. I sat down facing the two way mirror on the opposite wall. The drabness of the room did nothing to relieve my anxiety.

"Detective Barron has gone to call the District Attorney. He'll come over and you'll have to tell your story again. He'll decide if he wants to prosecute or if he wants us to investigate the story you've told us. Detective Olson and I sat without speaking for at least ten minutes until there was a soft knock on the door. I looked toward the door but couldn't see anyone through the window.

"I'll be right back," Olson said and then left me alone in the room.

I could see Detective Olson and Detective Barron and a third man standing outside the room talking. I wondered if that was the District Attorney. How could he have gotten there so soon?

End Part Three