Even More of Chapter Four

Even More of Chapter 4

Chapter 4 picks up after the following

“Maybe the guy on the ground jumped up,” said Heavy.

“No, he wouldn’t have had time. I’m telling you, though, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The mystery is, what really happened, and why? Not only that, but the guy whose head was on the stump…I think he is still alive, but paralyzed.”

We looked at him without speaking.

“There’s a man named Johnny Cox,” he continued, “in the Hansburg Nursing and Care for the Disabled. He can’t move his arms or legs. Quadriplegic. The story is that he was paralyzed in a car wreck, but there are holes in the story. I think the axe was really dull but it broke his neck. He became a special project for the Mayor, to raise money to build a better hospital.”

“And why,” I asked, thrilled at my own voice, “do you think he was the axe victim?”

“Two days after the newspaper article about the Gregg house, that same Police officer showed up on TV at the scene of a traffic accident involving Johnny Cox. There was only one car involved. Johnny had drove at high speed into a concrete pylon that was holding up a bridge.”

“A pylon?” I asked.

“There was pylons holding up the overpass. He supposedly crashed into one.”

“Supposedly?” Should I be taking notes, I wondered.

“There is some reason to doubt it. First of all, there are fences and guardrails between the car and the post.”

“Post?”

“Pylon. It is highly unlikely that a car, at any speed, could get through the safeguards. And even supposing it did get through, it would be slowed down enough to crack the pylon, maybe, but for the pylon to collapse? That’s bullshit. Then, there are the lack of injury to other parts of his body. People who were close to him said he couldn’t have escaped broken bones, blood, and carnage from the broken windshield and metal crunched like an accordion onto a large concrete pole. His only wound was a gash on his neck. The gash veered from the back of the neck to the left side of the neck. Like the blade hit the bones hard enought to break his spinal cord, but too dull to sever his head. There are other things, too. I’ll remember if I quit trying to remember. Rhonda?”

“Yeah, it was something about the time line,” said Rhonda.

“This poor fellow, Johnny Cox,” I said. “Can we visit him? In the nursing home? May I have another dash of wine?”

“Of course,” said Rhonda. She smacked her cigarette pack to make at least one cigarette pop out. She caught the one that popped out the farthest in her lips and lit it with the Zippo. “To both questions. All in good time.”

“Sooner than we expect, I bet.” I couldn’t stop talking.