The Boaz Scorekeeper–Chapter 47

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Late Wednesday night, the 17th, before going to bed, I logged onto Facebook and reviewed John’s Page.  An hour earlier a post had been made to his Newsfeed. It included a photo of Franklin Ericson and Judith standing on the front porch of a small brick house.  There was a woman standing inside the house propping open the front door.  One could speculate that Franklin was handing the woman something.  A check?  The title of the post was, ‘always supporting John’s generosity.’  There was one comment to the post.  It was by Jesse Rickles and said, “thanks to the Ericson’s for their timely and generous contribution to my family’s needs.”

I assumed Franklin and Judith had concocted some crazy story and showed up with a check.  I would never know the amount of the check but that wasn’t the point.  It appeared they were attempting to fulfill the three ransom-note requirements.

Karla and I went to church on Sunday, the 21st.  Lewis was in town so Kaden was with him.  I never saw Walter nor did Wade or anyone else read an Ericson apology letter.  This wasn’t much of a surprise.

I spent most of Monday in the Cleburne County District Court in one of the longest preliminary hearings of my career.  It was a capital case, where wealthy-parents had hired me to represent their only son.  He was charged with killing his girlfriend and her ten-year-old son.  It was rare for me to be hired in a capital murder case.  Ninety-nine percent of the time these defendants cannot afford retained counsel.  In fact, these individuals were usually indigent and were appointed legal counsel by the Court with such representation paid for by the State of Alabama.

Tuesday morning, the 23rd, I arrived at the office before 7:00 a.m. and logged onto the Fidelity Bank’s Online Banking website.  A few weeks prior to abducting John I had created Edward Simmons.  Looking back, it hadn’t been that difficult to create a whole new identity.  I had been in Dallas, Texas at a criminal defense legal conference and sat by a woman (Katherine, not her real name) from Toronto, Canada.  She had recently moved there from Albuquerque, New Mexico.  Over the course of the three-day seminar we talked about our law practices, families, and generally about our lives. 

Her husband Carter (not his real name) was also an attorney who had been paralyzed from the waist down a few years ago in a hunting accident.  Carter no longer practiced law but accompanied Katherine when she went out of town.  The night before the conference ended I had dinner with Katherine and Carter at the hotel’s restaurant.  While eating, Carter appeared to get choked.  Katherine apologized and said this was routine.  She excused herself and Carter and wheeled him to the bathroom.  When they left, I noticed he had left a small bag on the table.  In it was his wallet which contained his U.S. Social Security Card, his Driver’s License, and a Toronto photo ID card. There were also several credit and insurance cards in the wallet. Carter’s passport was in the bag.  After my inspection, I returned the bag to where Carter had left it.  He and Katherine returned a few minutes later and we finished an enjoyable meal without another incident.

The next afternoon’s session ended early and as we walked out into the hallway of the large conference room, Katherine asked me to do her a favor.  I agreed unconditionally.  She said that Carter had been down, even depressed, the past several days and that she could tell that last night’s dinner and conversation had really improved his spirit.  Katherine asked if I would come to their room and visit a few minutes with Carter while she finished packing and before they took a taxi to the airport.

I told her I would be glad to and walked with her to their room.  I sat and chatted with Carter for fifteen minutes or so.  When Katherine had all their bags packed and setting by the door, she went to the rest room and Carter wheeled himself out into the hall. By then the hotel concierge arrived and started loading their bags.  Katherine came out of the bathroom and we walked with Carter down the hall to the elevators.  I walked with them outside the hotel and waited with them as the concierge loaded their bags.  I helped get Carter into the cab, shook his hand, and hugged Katherine.  She asked me to stay in touch and I promised I would.  Just as she was about to close her door she said, “oh, stupid me.  I forgot to turn in my hotel key.  Micaden, do you mind?”  I took her key and the cab drove off.

For a reason I will probably never know, I went back up to the seventh floor and went inside their room.  If I believed in miracles or even less supernatural interventions into our natural world, I would say it was God who directed my actions.  Inside their room was Carter’s bag sitting on a small round table in the corner of the bedroom next to the door leading out onto the balcony.  I took the bag knowing they were already gone and that it would be unlikely for me to find them if I raced to the airport.  I decided to call them but realized I didn’t have a phone number for either one of them.

Ultimately, I kept the bag with Carter’s identity.  I guess you know by now that Carter’s real name was Edward Simmons.

I entered Edward’s username and password and clicked on the ‘Accounts’ link.  I almost fell out of my chair when I saw the account balance was $2,000,000.  I had never been more surprised.  Or unprepared.  I realized then that I had not given very much thought to what I would do if the Ericson’s paid a ransom of any amount.  But now wasn’t a good time to start planning how to benefit the now-extinct Murray family.  Tina walked in and asked me if I had seen today’s edition of The Sand Mountain Reporter.