Stretch strode purposefully along a sidewalk toward the Tootville police station. A pair of dirty, clay-stained tennis shoes, laces knotted together, dangled from one of his casts. Yes, he was a man with a mission and he would not be denied. He marched up the steps that led into the station, awkwardly opened the door and with a look of great determination quickly crossed through the main office and past the Dutch door to where Captain McBust was seated at his desk. The peace officer, with an expression of surprise on his face, looked up from his papers.
“Captain, I have something I’d like you to take a look at.” Stretch tilted his body and the pair of shoes slid from the end of one of his casts onto the table.
The captain carefully lifted them by the laces and began to examine them with interest. “Converse. Size ten.”
“I found them in a trash can at school.”
Captain McBust gingerly ran his fingers along the sole of one shoe. Red clay flaked off and dropped onto the desktop. He touched the clay on his desk and then rubbed it between his fingers. This was the break he had been waiting for. “Son, do you know whose shoes these are?”
“Yes, sir,” said Stretch importantly. “They belong to Tommy Dinkle.”
___
In the Dinkle kitchen, Mr. Dinkle and Tammy were seated at the breakfast table. Mr. Dinkle, opting for the written news this morning instead of the on-screen updates of Dugan Dogood and Sheila Sniffit, had his head buried in the Tootville Gazette. Mrs. Dinkle, butter knife in hand, was at the kitchen counter, busily extracting burnt toast from a smoking toaster. Tommy and Timmy entered the kitchen, ready to start another day the right way with a hearty, nutritious breakfast. Tommy wore his pink daisy. Both of the boys had their blasters holstered at their sides.
“No hardware at the breakfast table,” said Mrs. Dinkle emphatically.
Mr. Dinkle lowered his paper. “Your mother’s right, boys. Set them on the counter.” The boys registered no protest and dutifully obeyed their father. The blasters on the counter, one real, the other a clever toy, looked identical. Tommy’s cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
A gruff voice snarled from the phone. “Good morning.”
“You again.”
“I just wanted to be the first one to express my condolences for the loss of your mangled dog.”
“What do you mean?”
“Check your front lawn.”
There was a click and the call disconnected. Tommy dropped his phone, grabbed one of the blasters and holstered it on the run as he raced out of the kitchen toward the front door. As he shot out onto the front porch he saw Watson lying motionless in the grass. “No!” wailed Tommy and sprinted toward his dog. It was too late. Kneeling by the inert form of his beloved canine companion, Tommy wept bitter tears. “I’m sorry, Watson,” he whispered, between sobs. “I let you down.”
Tommy remained oblivious as, sirens screaming, two police cars pulled up in front of the Dinkle home. Captain McBust and several armed officers jumped out of the vehicles and pointed weapons at Tommy, who still knelt, grieving over the loss of his dog. The wary captain approached Tommy carefully, ready for any surprises, but he knew his quarry was cornered and there was no way for him to escape. Victory was his but he hadn’t done it all just for himself. He had done it for all the poor souls everywhere who had lost good bowling partners. Tommy looked up and stared at Captain McBust with hatred in his eyes. “You!” he exclaimed.
Captain McBust said in a level voice, with his weapon drawn and pointed at Tommy. “Get off of that dog. You’re under arrest for murder.” Two officers grabbed Tommy and hauled him over to one of the squad cars, where he was frisked and read his rights. His blaster was confiscated. Then he was handcuffed and thrown into the back seat of one of the cars as his horrified family looked on from the front porch of the Dinkle home. Tammy, knowing that the whole neighborhood was watching, said to no one in particular, “This is so embarrassing.”
As the police cars pulled away, Timmy tugged at his mother’s skirt. “Mom, can I have his toys?”
___
Tommy stared morosely at a police officer through the bars of a jail cell. It was the same fat officer Tommy had met on his first visit to the police station. Behind Tommy, the cell was devoid of furniture with the exception of a metal bunk that was bolted to the concrete wall, a toilet and a sink. A small pillow and an olive green blanket adorned the bunk. The blanket overhung the bunk about eight inches. At the back of the cell was a window with bars. The rotund police officer, standing on the outside of the cell near Tommy, chewed on a toothpick.
“Okay, okay. I’ve been arrested and stuck in this rat hole. So, now what?”
“So next comes the trial, then the jury finds you guilty and you get your choice of a lethal injection or the electric chair.”
“Some choice,” said Tommy. “Suppose I’m innocent.”
“Suppose chickens grow lips and whistle.”
“You know, your Captain McBust is not quite the man you think he is.”
“Lay off the captain. A nutball like you who goes around carving up people and animals has no business even mentioning his name.”
The policman began to walk away but Tommy stopped him with a query. “Just one question. Where was Captain McBust on Wednesday night before the fire in the park?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just curious,” came the reply.
“He was with me here all evening up until the time he went out on the call.”
“What? That’s impossible.” said Tommy in disbelief.
“Just because you’re wacko doesn’t mean everyone else has to be, Tinkle.”
The officer walked away from the cell area toward the main office. Tommy called after him. “It’s Dinkle! Can’t anybody ever get my name right?” Tommy walked away from the cell bars and sat pensively on the bunk. The policeman had just eliminated the captain as the killer. Tommy was back to square one. Where had he gone wrong in his search for the killer? He pondered and then in a flash it came to him. “My name,” he said as the truth finally dawned on him. “How could I be so stupid? My name.”
The fat policeman walked through the door that led from the cell area and sank heavily down into his chair. He looked around and, seeing he was alone, put his feet up on his desk and threw his hands back behind his head.
“Hey, officer!” yelled Tommy. “You guys aren’t so smart, after all. I can squeeze through the bars on the window!”
“ Nobody has ever fit through those bars and nobody ever will! Nice try, kid!”
“Okay! Be seeing you! Bye!”
The officer sat relaxing, but the ensuing silence finally go to him. “Hey, kid! … Kid! … Oh, cripes.” The officer threw down his toothpick, got up and walked back through the doorway that led to the cells.
He approached Tommy’s cell and stared into it. The cell was empty! Quickly, the policeman pushed a button on the wall and the cell door clicked open. He rushed to the window and began to frantically shake the bars but they did not budge. Tommy dropped quietly to the floor from beneath the bunk. He had been holding onto the bottom of the bed and the overhanging blanket had shielded him from the eyes of the officer. Tommy rolled over on the concrete floor and came quickly to his feet. The fat policeman glimpsed him from the corner of his eye but it was too late. The years of wind sprints at the end of basketball practice now served Tommy well. Before the officer could even turn around, Tommy had sprinted through the cell door and slammed it shut behind him. The officer was now the one trapped in a cage. Screaming for help would do no good, because he already knew that he was alone in the station. He sat down on the bunk, pulled out his cell phone and began to dial a number. “The captain is going to rip my butt off for this,” he said sadly as he waited for the call to connect.
In the main office, Tommy quickly opened a drawer, retrieved his effects and warily exited the police station. Then he began to sprint toward the high school.