Act VIII           J.R. opened the driver�s side door and slid into the car, settling back on the bucket seat with a loud exhale of relief.  He was safe.  Jessup was securely tied up, and there was no longer a need to rush.  First, he turned to look into the rear seat and on the floorboards, hoping to find some bottled water, a bottle or can of soda, or a box of cookies, anything to fill the empty space in his stomach and soothe his dry throat, but found only the empty water bottle that he recognized as his own, a wadded up hamburger wrapper, and an empty paper cup.           Facing the front of the car again, he inserted the key in the ignition and turned it, feeling the power of the vehicle as it roared to life.  As the engine idled, his eyes sought out the gas gauge, and he observed it curiously.  The tank was nearly half full.  That was good; at least he would not run out before he reached civilization. A tape was protruding from the deck, and he pulled it out to look at it with a strange sense of curiosity.  It was a homemade tape, probably someone�s favorite songs, for it was labeled in handwritten script, 1960�s Rock.  It looked like a woman�s writing, he noted, with its small, precise lettering.           He opened the glove compartment to return the flashlight to its owner, and saw the car�s registration tucked into the small space, so he removed it curiously.  Trisha Bennett,� he read aloud.  Unless Trisha Bennett was a friend of Jessup and was aiding and abetting, it was obvious the car was stolen.           Shoving the papers back into the glove compartment with the flashlight, he closed the glove compartment and shifted the car into drive and depressed the accelerator.  The vehicle responded by moving forward, and he turned it back toward the highway.           Coming to a complete stop at the edge of the highway, he looked up and down the road to verify that no cars were coming.  It seemed a waste of time, given the total absence of vehicles on this road, but with his luck it would have been the one time a car was coming.  Through the open windows he could still hear Doyle Jessup shouting at him, pleading with him to come back and loosen his tethers.  J.R. ignored him, concentrating on the long ribbon of asphalt, then, deeming it safe, he pulled the car out onto the road headed west.           He accelerated quickly, eager to reach civilization.  A speed sign flashed past which read 55 miles per hour, and he automatically lowered his eyes to the speedometer.  He was traveling at 50 miles per hour, and depressed the accelerator a bit more, bringing it up to the limit.           Exhilaration surged through him as the wind whipped in through the open windows.  He was surprised that Barnaby hadn�t showed up yet, but he would stop at the convenience store and phone for help.  And buy a large drink to quench his thirst.           �Wait!  What was that?�  Betty called out abruptly.  Her head whirled around to look out the back window.  �Stop!�           Responding to the urgent request, Biddle immediately braked, and the car tires squealed in protest on the asphalt.  Barnaby pressed his hand against the passenger side dashboard to stop the forward momentum of his body, which threatened to send him to the floor.  The medkid slipped from the backseat between Betty and Wade Gordon, but the paramedic caught it before reached the floor.           �What is it?� Biddle asked.           �There�s something on the road back there.�           Biddle glanced up in the rear view mirror, observing the road behind them as the car idled quietly, but saw only the long stretch of highway that faded into the distance.  �I don�t see anything.�           �What did it look like, Betty?� Barnaby asked.           �I only caught a glimpse of it as we drove past, but it looked like some kind of mark on the road.  Maybe J.R. left it there as a message.  Back up!�           Shifting the car in reverse, Biddle drove backward until the large X came into view beside the car in the westbound lane.  �You�re right,� he said, looking down on it from the driver�s door.  �Someone has clearly been here, and logic suggests that someone is probably J.R.�  Putting the car in park, he opened the door and stepped out to view the letter that had been written in sandstone on the pavement.           All four of them quickly exited the vehicle and gathered around the mark, observing it with interest.           Barnaby looked up at Betty.  �Was this here yesterday when you came by?�           She shrugged.  �I�m afraid I didn�t notice.  It was getting dark, and I was looking off into the landscape searching for J.R.  I almost didn�t see it this time for the same reason.�           �Well, given the fact that no one ever travels on this road, I think it�s a pretty safe bet that it was him,� Barnaby said.  �The question is, why?�           Biddle walked slowly around the letter, examining it.  �Well, judging from the size of it, he wanted to make certain it could be seen, like a signal of some kind.�           �X marks the spot,� Betty mused.           �Yeah, something like that.�           �Think it could be seen from the air?� she asked, looking up.  �Maybe he put it there to make his location?�           �If a chopper was low enough, it could probably be seen,� Biddle replied.  �But if he was marking his location, then where is he?  Why didn�t he wait for someone to come and pick him up?�  He lifted his eyes to the clumps of brush just off the side of the road, then moved slowly toward them as if searching for something.           �What are you looking for?� Betty asked.           �Anything that looks like he might have --- �  He broke off suddenly, and stepped behind a clump of brush.           �What is it?� Barnaby asked with sudden alarm, realizing that Biddle had found something.  Was it Jedediah?  Had he crawled off the road badly injured?  �Is it Jedediah?�           Biddle emerged from the brush with the bicycle.           Betty felt her heart leap into her throat, instantly recognizing the familiar vehicle.  �That�s J.R.�s!�           Biddle placed the bike on the asphalt and knelt down to examine it for damage.  �Looks like he had a blowout,� he said, indicating the gaping hole in the front tire.  His eyes scanned the frame, noticing the dents and the scuffed paint, and his fingers reached out to touch one particularly glaring scraped area.           With somber expressions, the others crowded close to examine the damaged bicycle.           Wade, the paramedic, was shaking his head slowly.  �Traveling at a high rate of speed, a blowout could cause some pretty serious injuries, especially on the front tire.  When it locks up, it would typically send the rider over the handlebars.  I hope he was wearing his helmet and pads.�           �He was putting them on when I left him,� Betty told him.           �His equipment is here,� Biddle said as he stood up again.  He indicated the helmet that dangled from the handle bar by its straps.  The gloves and pads were tucked inside it.           �He couldn�t have been too badly injured, since he was cognizant enough to take them off and hide the bike,� Wade said.  �That�s a good sign.�           �You were right about him having an accident on the bike,� Biddle said to Barnaby.  �He put the X on the road so he could locate the bike again once he was picked up.�           �Looks that way,� Barnaby agreed.           �Okay, let�s get going,� Biddle said, glancing at his watch.  �That traffic jam on the interstate has put us behind schedule.�           �Yeah, can you believe that?� Betty asked.  �Of all the days to get stuck behind a six car pile-up!�           �What do we do about the bike?� Barnaby asked.           �I don�t think it�ll fit in my trunk, but I can strap it in with a bungee cord,� Biddle suggested.           After retrieving the keys from the ignition, Biddle opened the trunk of his car and lifted the bicycle in.  The handlebars and front wheel stuck out, but he used a bungee cord to secure it.  The helmet, pads, and gloves were placed beside it.           Then they climbed into the vehicle again and sped away again.           They had not gone far when Biddle noticed a sedan driving toward them.  It was not doing anything out of the ordinary and appeared to be traveling within the traffic laws, but the presence of the vehicle itself on the deserted stretch of highway seemed unusual, and attracted his attention.  He watched it carefully as it approached, and as the two cars passed, both drivers glanced at each other.           Biddle�s head instantly whirled around as the car passed.  �That�s J.R.!�  He immediately applied the brakes.           In the back seat on the driver�s side, Betty had also recognized the driver, and her head spun around for a better look.           Driving the other car, J.R. had also recognized the lieutenant, and slammed on the brake so hard that the tires squealed loudly and left twin streaks down the asphalt as they ground to a halt.  He opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement, watching as Biddle maneuvered the vehicle into a U-turn on the narrow highway and accelerated toward the now parked sedan.           When the car reached him, it screeched to a halt behind him, and all four car doors flew open as the occupants leaped out of the vehicle, instantly noticing that J.R. was a bit worse for wear.  When they reached each other, Barnaby placed a welcoming hand on J.R.�s shoulder, and was startled when his cousin uttered a grunt of pain as he shrank away from the gesture, his hand immediately going to the injured area.  Concern flashed across the older man�s face.  �Jedediah?�           �I�m okay, Barnaby,� J.R. assured him.  �Just a bit sprained and bruised.  My bike bucked me off at a high rate of speed.�           Barnaby�s eyes had fallen on the bruises that were beginning to form on his neck; bruises that faintly resembled fingers, and he reached out and gently lifted J.R.�s hair from his neck, frowning at the marks that completely encircled his throat.  �The bike didn�t cause these bruises.  Who did this to you?�           �Doyle Jessup!� J.R. told him.  �He tried to strangle me.�           Barnaby�s eyes snapped up to his cousin�s face.  �Jessup?  You mean the escaped convict?�           �Yeah.  The very same.�           Barnaby turned toward Biddle, who looked skeptical.  �Jessup?� the lieutenant asked.  �Are you sure?  We had witnesses who have seen him heading for Mexico.�           �Then he took a detour, because this is definitely him.  If I hadn�t seen his file on your desk, I wouldn�t have recognized him, but we were up close and personal, and I don�t mean in a friendly way either.�  His fingers automatically went to the bruise on his forehead.  �He hit me with a baton, probably taken from that guard he killed at the prison.�           Before he could say more, the paramedic approached him with his medkit.  �Here, let me take a look at those bruises.�           J.R. took a step backward, avoiding the paramedic�s hands.  �No, not here.  Jessup is tied up back at the Oasis.  We need to get someone out there to pick him up before he manages to get away.  All I had to tie him up with were a couple of bungee cords I found in the car.  I�d hate for him to escape again.�           �Bungee cord?� Biddle asked, surprised.  �Wait a minute.  Are you telling me that you captured Doyle Jessup?�           �Yeah.  I tied him pretty tight, but he was really struggling, so I don�t know how long they�ll hold him.  If you want to take him into custody, I�d suggest we not waste too much time.�           �And when we get there, you�ll let the paramedic take a look at you, right?� Betty asked, firmly.           J.R. nodded.  �Sure.�  He turned and started back toward the car, which was still idling in the road, but Biddle clamped a hand on his shoulder � fortunately, the uninjured shoulder.            �Where did this vehicle come from?� he asked, curiously.           �Jessup was driving it.�  J.R. replied as he turned to face him again.  �It belongs to someone named Trisha Bennett.  I think it might be stolen.�  A hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth.  �Are you going to arrest me because I left my driver�s license at home?�           �We�ll let it slide this time,� he replied with a wink.  �Extenuating circumstances.  Just don�t make it a habit.�           They dispersed, J.R. returning to the gray car, everyone else getting back in Biddle�s larger vehicle.  The lieutenant turned his car around first and took the lead, with J.R. falling in behind him.           Hey, they found my bike, J.R. thought, noticing the damaged bike that was nestled forlornly in the trunk.  It would have to be repaired before he could ride it in the race.           As they pulled into the parking area beside the restaurant, Biddle�s eyes fell upon the criminal, who was still struggling against his tethers.  �I�ll be damned,� he muttered.  �That�s Jessup, all right.�  He stopped the car near the awning, and turned off the ignition.           J.R. parked beside Biddle�s sedan, and as he got out, Biddle and Barnaby approached the escaped convict, one on each side, their hands resting lightly on their guns, prepared to draw them if necessary.  However, it quickly became apparent that J.R. had done an adequate job of securing him.  While Barnaby covered him, Biddle bent over to check the cords.           �They�re secure,� he said.  �He�s not going anywhere.�           �Please loosen these things!� he pleaded, feeling genuinely glad to see them.  �My hands have gone numb!  I swear, I ain�t gonna try nothin�!  Just loosen these ropes!�           �How �bout I replace the cords with handcuffs,� Biddle suggested.           �Please!  Yes!� the killed begged.  �Anything; just get these ropes off me!�           �First time I�ve ever had a criminal begging me to cuff him,� Biddle said as he removed the restraints from the cuff case on his belt.  He squatted down and placed the cuffs on Jessup�s wrists and fastened them securely.  Then he attempted to untie the ropes, but they were too tight.  �Idiot,� he muttered.  �You�ve struggled so much that you�ve tightened the knots.  You should have known better than that.  I�m going to have to cut them off.  Hang on.  I think I have a knife in my car.�           Jessup was in so much discomfort that he was actually near tears.  �Just hurry, please!  I can�t stand this much longer.�           Biddle stood up and walked to the trunk of his vehicle and reached under the bicycle for opened one of the cases of police equipment that was kept there.  He quickly located a knife, and walked back to the criminal.  It was apparent to all that he was in no hurry, but most of all to Jessup, who by now was moaning his discomfort.           Biddle knelt down beside him again and applied the knife to the rope.  After a few moments, the cords fell free.           Jessup flexed his hands.  �I can barely move my fingers!�           �They�re moving just fine,� Biddle told him as he slapped the cuffs on his wrist.  Then he moved to his feet, where he removed the cord that bound his ankles.           Then, with Biddle on one arm and Barnaby on the other, they hauled the criminal to his feet and escorted him toward Biddle�s car.  He was placed in the back seat, and Biddle put leg restraints on him to keep him from trying anything foolish.           �That man there!� Jessup said, gesturing with his head toward J.R.  �He assaulted me!  Hit me over the head with a club!  Damn near knocked me senseless!�           �And what have you done to him?� Barnaby snapped.  �Your finger marks are visible on his throat where you tried to strangle him!  He has a bruise on his forehead where you hit him with the club!  Don�t you get any ideas of trying to make an issue out of this, because I�m making sure his injuries are well documented!  You�re not going to get any sympathy from anyone, plus you�ll be doing extra time for assaulting him and for killing that prison guard.�           �He also killed a man in prison,� J.R. said.  �He confessed it to me, since he was planning to kill me anyway.�           �He�s lying!� Jessup shouted.           �We have you on the prison guard, Jessup,� Biddle told him.  �There were witnesses to that, and I�m sure a little negotiating could come up with someone on the inside who would be willing to tell us if they saw you or if you bragged to them about what you did.�           Jessup shut up, and with a scowl on his face, leaned against the backrest.           Barnaby took J.R. by the arm.  �You promised to let the paramedic have a look at you,� he reminded him.           J.R. nodded, submitting to his cousin�s gentle tug on his arm, and allowed himself to be led to the curb in front of the restaurant.  Wearily, he sank down on it.  Wade squatted down in front of him and as gently as he could, probed at the contusion on his forehead with experienced fingers.           �That is one nasty bruise,� he said.  �How hard were you hit?�           �Hard enough to knock me down,� J.R. answered.           �Did you lose consciousness?�           �No, but it was close.  It sort of paralyzed my whole body.  I couldn�t move for awhile.  You wouldn�t happen to have any water on you, would you?�           �Sure do,� he said, opening the medkit.  He withdrew a bottle of water from his kit opened it for her.  �Slowly,� he cautioned.  �I know you�re thirsty, but if you drink it too fast you�ll get sick.�           J.R. took the bottle, intending to take only a couple of swallows, but once the swallow reflex was engaged, he found it difficult to stop as well.  The water was warm, but it was wet and very refreshing, and he had swallowed four or five times before Wade finally grasped the bottle and forced it down.           J.R. grinned, sheepishly.  �I can�t remember ever being this thirsty.�           �You�re badly dehydrated.  I ought to put an i.v. on you, but if you sip slowly I think you�ll be okay,� Wade said, removing a small penlight from his shirt pocket.  �Look straight ahead,� he said.           J.R. forced himself to still while the paramedic flicked the penlight in his eyes, testing them for the proper reaction to light.           �Any nausea?  Changes in vision?  Headaches?�           �I had a headache for a while yesterday pretty much all day, but no, no problems with my eyes.  The only time I came close to hurling was when that scumbag was in my face, and I had to smell his rotten breath.�           �That bad, huh?�           �Like a dead skunk!�           Wade chuckled.  �That�s pretty bad!�  He clicked off the penlight and returned it to his pocket.  �Looks good,� he announced.  �Both eyes are equal and reactive, and I couldn�t feel any indications of a fracture.  You might have had a mild concussion, but there doesn�t seem to be any lingering damage.  I�d have your doctor take a look at it, though, just to be safe.�           �I will make sure that he does,� Barnaby said.           �It�s a well known fact that he�s got a hard head,� Biddle quipped.  To Barnaby, he said, �I�m going to call this in.�           Biddle got back in the driver�s seat and lifted the microphone from the police radio to notify headquarters that Doyle Jessup had been apprehended.            Barnaby joined him, and when the call was completed, Biddle said, �The car was reported stolen night before last by a resident of Palmdale.  She had been working late, and stopped for a stop sign on the way home when he pulled open the driver�s door, yanked her out, and then drove off.  She was lucky he didn�t take her hostage.�  He scowled at the criminal in the back seat, who looked away.  �I guess the sightings we had of him going south were incorrect, since he obviously took a detour.�  Biddle leaned against the car and watched while the paramedic examined J.R.�s sore shoulder.  �You know, Barnaby, your cousin solved three cases in one day!  The escaped prisoner, the stolen car, and the prison murder.  Not bad for a law student!�           Barnaby smiled.  �He never ceases to amaze me.�           Sensing Barnaby�s eyes on him, J.R. looked up and their eyes met.  Barnaby gave a slight nod, but no words were necessary.  The expression said it all:  Good job, Jedediah.                                                    Go to Act IX