#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

Chapter 48

In the distance through the morning sun, Sarah could spot Zwicki's house approaching on her right. She had to take the little two lane highway past Willow Springs lake to get down to State Highway 13 heading south toward Little Rock. It had been an eventful week for the Netherbys.

Detective Flores spoke with Sarah and her parents from her hospital bed yesterday.

"I was so scared goin' out there myself," she had told them, "so I took that." She nodded toward a heavy, black vest on the far table of her room.

When she headed to John Zwicki's home on Friday, she had grabbed her dead husband Berto's flak jacket from his footlocker in their closet.

Mae Flores also confessed it was her habit to keep only two bullets in the cylinder of her .38, as most of the action the veteran police officer had seen since 1969, was the opening and closing of file cabinets. Zwicki had picked up her gun after all, and fired the last shot into her back, not her head, which would obviously have been the more practical choice for him.

"The gun just said 'click click' when it was empty," continued the detective, "and he just threw it at me and started after you." She pointed to a bandage on the back of her head. "Six stitches." She smiled and squeezed Sarah's hand. Her fingers were long, cold and dry, but strong, "I knew you'd get away from him, but child, I was so scared for you."

Detective Flores looked up at Sarah's parents.

"You got a good one here," she said.

"Yeah, too bad she's grounded until she graduates high school next year," her dad said. He wasn't kidding. Sarah was both grateful and surprised he had handed over the keys to his truck and allowed her to make this trip alone today.

Zwicki's house passed out of Sarah's view unceremoniously and disappeared in her rear view mirror. Just keep moving - she heard her dad say. She felt herself relax behind the steering wheel of the pickup as she made her way along the highway that cut its way through southern Missouri.