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Chapter XXXIX pgs. 264-266
The solution was obvious. He’d go home. Tomorrow he’d call the sheriff. The alcohol would be out of his body by then. If she were alive, no harm no foul. If she were dead, he’d be distraught. “It’s all my fault. We had a fight, and she jumped out of the car.” Alex began practicing his story. “I started to follow her but it was dark, and she was running. She’d had a lot to drink, and she was stumbling about something terrible. ‘Keep away from me,’ she said. And she was taking awful chances running full tilt through the brush. I was afraid that if I kept chasing her she’d fall and hurt herself.” No−better yet – “she told me ‘if you don’t leave right now I’ll drown myself.’ She kept screaming ‘I’ll drown myself. I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t!’ She kept shouting it over and over. So I told her ‘Okay, have it your way. I’m leaving. You don’t have to run anymore.’ I said to her, ‘Call me tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up.’ I thought she’d be okay. There was a house just a few hundred feet down the road from where I left her. She was acting so weird and it scared me and I just wasn’t thinking very clearly.”
He saw it all. It was simple, really. He’d never be blamed. Maybe he’d answer a few difficult questions, but there’d be nothing more than that. And Alex sighed bitterly. “God, help me. I won’t do it,” he said. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed “911”.
They arrived in minutes−instantly, it seemed to Alex. First a lone patrol car with two cops. When Vivian didn’t answer their shouting, they called for backup. Several more cars arrived, then a search and rescue unit, and some volunteers with dogs. They set up floodlights bright enough to illuminate a football stadium, and began combing the area where Alex said he’d last seen Vivian. All this fuss seemed strange. Oh, he’d had plenty of fuss poured over his head during the last several years, but it was never because of something stupid that he’d done. None of these people even knew Vivian, and yet they searched as though she were someone important.
One of the first two officers drew Alex aside. He’s just a kid, thought Alex. Red hair, freckles; he could have been Opie.
“What happened here, sir?” the cop asked.
“We had a fight.” Alex wondered if the cop had a hidden microphone. And he wondered how much he was slurring the words. Was it obvious that he was drunk? He didn’t feel drunk. Suddenly everything was clear and amazingly simple. Vivian could be hurt. She could be in danger. Or she might be dead. Nothing else mattered. And that’s why people came with their dogs to climb through the brushy banks of the pond when they’d rather be sleeping. Because nothing else mattered.
“She stormed out of the car.”
“She stormed out?”
“No.” Alex stopped, shaking his head helplessly. “Wait a minute.”
“Take your time,” said the officer.
“We fought. I said, ‘maybe she’d rather walk.’ She said, maybe she would. So I pushed her out of the car.”
“Why did she say she’d rather walk?”
“Because I was trying to scare her.”
“Scare her?”
“I was…I swerved the wheel. The car fishtailed. I slammed on the brakes. I sent it skidding. It almost jumped the side of the bridge.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I was very drunk.”
The officer hesitated. He called over his partner. Then he began the words of the Miranda Rights. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right…”
Alex knew this was coming. They cuffed his hands behind him, ducked his head under the doorframe, and sat him down in the back of the patrol car. Alex wondered if he would regret his honesty after the liquor had worn off the next morning.
Chapter XXXIX pgs. 264-266
The solution was obvious. He’d go home. Tomorrow he’d call the sheriff. The alcohol would be out of his body by then. If she were alive, no harm no foul. If she were dead, he’d be distraught. “It’s all my fault. We had a fight, and she jumped out of the car.” Alex began practicing his story. “I started to follow her but it was dark, and she was running. She’d had a lot to drink, and she was stumbling about something terrible. ‘Keep away from me,’ she said. And she was taking awful chances running full tilt through the brush. I was afraid that if I kept chasing her she’d fall and hurt herself.” No−better yet – “she told me ‘if you don’t leave right now I’ll drown myself.’ She kept screaming ‘I’ll drown myself. I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t!’ She kept shouting it over and over. So I told her ‘Okay, have it your way. I’m leaving. You don’t have to run anymore.’ I said to her, ‘Call me tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up.’ I thought she’d be okay. There was a house just a few hundred feet down the road from where I left her. She was acting so weird and it scared me and I just wasn’t thinking very clearly.”
He saw it all. It was simple, really. He’d never be blamed. Maybe he’d answer a few difficult questions, but there’d be nothing more than that. And Alex sighed bitterly. “God, help me. I won’t do it,” he said. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed “911”.
They arrived in minutes−instantly, it seemed to Alex. First a lone patrol car with two cops. When Vivian didn’t answer their shouting, they called for backup. Several more cars arrived, then a search and rescue unit, and some volunteers with dogs. They set up floodlights bright enough to illuminate a football stadium, and began combing the area where Alex said he’d last seen Vivian. All this fuss seemed strange. Oh, he’d had plenty of fuss poured over his head during the last several years, but it was never because of something stupid that he’d done. None of these people even knew Vivian, and yet they searched as though she were someone important.
One of the first two officers drew Alex aside. He’s just a kid, thought Alex. Red hair, freckles; he could have been Opie.
“What happened here, sir?” the cop asked.
“We had a fight.” Alex wondered if the cop had a hidden microphone. And he wondered how much he was slurring the words. Was it obvious that he was drunk? He didn’t feel drunk. Suddenly everything was clear and amazingly simple. Vivian could be hurt. She could be in danger. Or she might be dead. Nothing else mattered. And that’s why people came with their dogs to climb through the brushy banks of the pond when they’d rather be sleeping. Because nothing else mattered.
“She stormed out of the car.”
“She stormed out?”
“No.” Alex stopped, shaking his head helplessly. “Wait a minute.”
“Take your time,” said the officer.
“We fought. I said, ‘maybe she’d rather walk.’ She said, maybe she would. So I pushed her out of the car.”
“Why did she say she’d rather walk?”
“Because I was trying to scare her.”
“Scare her?”
“I was…I swerved the wheel. The car fishtailed. I slammed on the brakes. I sent it skidding. It almost jumped the side of the bridge.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I was very drunk.”
The officer hesitated. He called over his partner. Then he began the words of the Miranda Rights. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right…”
Alex knew this was coming. They cuffed his hands behind him, ducked his head under the doorframe, and sat him down in the back of the patrol car. Alex wondered if he would regret his honesty after the liquor had worn off the next morning.
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