Act IX           The examining room was quiet, so quiet that J.R. could hear the soft rustling of trousers and smocks whenever a member of the emergency room staff walked past the door, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the emergency room�s waiting area, where sick children wailed their misery, their parents complained about the delay, and sick or injured men and women demanded to know why it was taking so long to see a doctor.  In here, away from the chaos, the staff tended one patient after another, like a medical assembly line.  Occasionally, the air conditioner came on, filling the room with cool air, a welcomed relief from the heat he had endured in the desert.  The adrenaline rush that had carried him through his escape from Jessup had faded, and he had not realized until then just how tired he was.           He was seated on the vinyl covered examining table, legs dangling, posture slumped,  and eyes drooping with fatigue that had fallen over him so suddenly that he wanted to lie down on the cushioned table and allow it to consume him.  He did not really want to be there at the hospital emergency room, but the clinic he normally visited for minor emergencies would not open until tomorrow, for today was Sunday, and the paramedic, Wade, had insisted he be checked out immediately.           It had been hectic for a time at the Oasis.  Biddle had notified his staff that Jessup had been apprehended, and a team of investigators had arrived to take charge of the criminal and to search for forensic evidence in the stolen car.  Betty, Barnaby, J.R., and Wade had been driven back to the police station to pick up their vehicles, while Biddle brought Jessup in personally.  Betty�s car was still at the station, for she had ridden with J.R. in Barnaby�s car to take him to the hospital to be examined.           They had given him an examining room gown to wear while the technician took X-rays, and it was tied behind his neck, and draped over his lap.   It was soft and faded from the many washings it had seen during it�s presumably years of use.  The doctor had allowed him to keep his jeans and sneakers, but his shirt was lying beside him on the table in a crumpled heap, for he had not bothered to fold it.  A soft smile turned up the corners of his lips, recalling the time as a child when his shirt had been removed for a pediatrics exam.  Mom had carefully folded the small shirt as neat and tidy as she did her freshly washed clothes.  Perhaps it was that way with most mothers.           Before the X-rays had been taken, all of his sore places had been poked and prodded until he was determined to deck the next person who touched him.  Didn�t they have any idea how painful that was? he wondered glumly.  The doctor had even taken him by the arm and rotated his shoulder, a decidedly painful procedure.  J.R. knew the doctor was making sure it wasn�t dislocated, but he had been using it without too much discomfort, so that should have told them something.  Sometimes he was convinced that they wanted to inflict as much pain on their patients as possible.           Somewhere down the hallway, he heard the jingling sound of a telephone, rousing him slightly from his drowsy thoughts, and a moment later it was answered with the muffled voice of the receptionist.  It was impossible to make out the words, but she spoke with well practiced efficiency and generic politeness.            He was still thirsty, and had finished the bottle of water that Wade had given him at the Oasis.  The doctor had filled a paper cup for him, urging him to continue drinking to re-hydrate himself.  Without looking, he reached for the paper cup that sat beside him.  His hand felt like a lead weight, and the cup toppled over before his fingers managed to close around it.  Jolted awake again by the act of knocking it over, he snatched it up to keep it from spilling, but a quick look revealed that it was empty anyway.           With a yawn, he placed the cup back on the exam table and folded his hand into the other in his lap.  His mouth was uncomfortably dry and his stomach was grumbling impatiently to be fed, but that would have to wait a while longer.  All he wanted to do now was go home and sleep.           What is taking so long? he wondered.  He had waited an hour in the waiting room with Barnaby and Betty before being brought to the examining room, and the X-rays had been taken forty five minutes ago!  How long did it take to read them?           As if in response to that unspoken query, the door opened and the doctor came inside with a generic smile.  Typically, he offered no apology for the duration of time that had passed.  �Good news, Mr. Jones.  There are no fractures and no dislocations, just soft tissue trauma and a mild concussion.  You�re still pretty dehydrated, though.  It was tempting to keep you overnight for observation and i.v. fluids, but I think you�ll be okay at home.  Keep drinking fluids, preferably water and juice, to get yourself re-hydrated.  Avoid alcohol and sodas for a few days.  You can eat lightly; soup would be a good choice.  I think you�ll be feeling better tomorrow, but I�d like you to stay home from work for a couple of days.  Do you need a doctor�s note?�           �No.�  He did not go into the details of his employment, but he knew Barnaby would not object to a few days off.           �Okay, you can get your shirt back on, and get out of here.�           �Thanks, Doc,� J.R. said as he slid off the table.           �Here�s your paperwork,� he added as he placed the clipboard on the examining table.  �Take it to the receptionist up front, and you�re free to go.�  The emergency room physician then stepped back outside and closed the door, presumably to greet the next patient.            J.R. untied the strings at the back of his neck and removed the gown.  It was wadded up and placed on the examining table.  The tee shirt was quickly pulled over his head, and he picked up the paperwork that the doctor had left, and opened the door to the exam room.  There, he paused to look up and down the corridor, getting his directions straight.  Turning left, he made his way back to the front of the hospital emergency room and presented the paperwork to the receptionist, who informed him that the �distinguished gentleman in the waiting room� had paid his insurance deductible.           Betty saw him first as he came through the door into the waiting area, and placed her hand on Barnaby�s arm to alert him that J.R. had reappeared.           �I�m okay,� he told them as they joined him.  �Just some bumps and bruises.  I have to drink a lot of water and eat soup for lunch and supper, and he wants me to stay home for a couple of days, but I�m expected to make a full recovery.�           �That�s good news,� Betty said with obvious relief, and added with maternal authority, �You�ll take as much time as you need to recover from this.�  She cast a quick glance at her father-in-law, the employer of both of them, and said quickly, �I�m sure you agree, don�t you Barnaby?�           Barnaby lifted an amused eyebrow.  �I think I can spare a few days.�  Turning to J.R., he asked, �Do you think you�re up to answering a few questions?  I hate to ask you to do that, but Lieutenant Biddle needs some information about what happened out there, and we have to go back anyway to get Betty�s car, so he thought while we were there, we could stop by for a few minutes.�           J.R. sighed again and stifled a yawn.  All he wanted to do was go home and rest.  �You just had to call him and fill him in, didn�t you?�           �I know you�re tired, Jedediah, and I�ll take you home just as soon as you answer a few questions for Biddle.  He wouldn�t ask if it wasn�t important.�           J.R wasn�t so sure, but chose not to comment.  He and Lieutenant Biddle had gotten off to a rather shaky start that had continued over the years.  Although both wanted to believe the best of the other, certain incidents had aroused suspicion between them that was difficult to overlook.  They had gradually grown to trust one another, but even now they were occasionally a little snippy at each other.  He didn�t really feel up to going a round with the lieutenant today, but he understood that the detective wanted to put the case behind him.  So did he.   �Its okay, Barnaby.  If I fall asleep on my feet, just prop me up against the wall.�           Barnaby smiled fondly at his much younger cousin as they made their way out the door.  �Your father said that very thing to me once when we were young.  It was on this fishing trip that we were taking, and it was a tree instead of a wall, but I�m afraid I was a bit more enthusiastic about being there than he was.  When we went fishing, I always liked to get up before dawn . . . . �           J.R. tried to listen to the rest, but his foggy mind simply could not make sense of the words.  So he nodded and smiled at what seemed to be the appropriate places.           J.R. took the back seat of Barnaby�s car, and leaned his head back against the head-rest.  Barnaby was still talking about his fishing trips, but he had moved away from remembrances of Monroe and was talking about some kind of large mouth bass that had given him one doozy of a fight.  Warm drowsiness drew him into a soothing embrace, and Barnaby�s voice became a wordless drone.           Lieutenant Biddle was at his desk on the telephone when the three entered his office, and he gestured for them to come inside and sit down in the three chairs that had been arranged in front of him.  J.R. plopped down in the nearest one, feeling almost as if he could not take another step.  Betty sat down beside him, with Barnaby taking the third chair.           A few minutes later, Biddle hung up the phone.  �Thanks for coming by.  I know you�ve been through a lot, J.R., but I want to get this mess cleared up as soon as possible.  I just spoke with Booking, and Jessup is securely locked away.  He�s headed back to State Prison in the morning.�           �That�s good news,� J.R. said.  �Hopefully he won�t find a way out again. If ever a man needed to be permanently behind bars, that�s the one.�           �No argument there,� Biddle agreed.  He leaned back and spread his hands.  �So, what happened out there?�           �Well, if it hadn�t been for the blowout on my bike, he and I probably would have just passed each other on the road somewhere close to the Traveler�s Stop,� J.R. began, and he spent the next few minutes relating to them how he had set out on foot for the convenience store following his bicycle accident, and coming across Jessup stranded on the highway.  �I don�t know many men who don�t know a little something about cars, but this guy knew absolutely nothing!  My dad taught me the basics when I had to stand on the bumper to see under the hood!�           �I think that�s a typical bonding thing between fathers and sons,� Barnaby said.  �Hal and I used to tinker with the cars too, even when he was a small boy.�           �Jessup apparently didn�t have time for mundane things like that,� Biddle said.  �He was too busy getting in trouble.  Believe it or not, he came from a good family, had plenty of positive attention as a child, but was a bully from the first day he started kindergarten.  He started his life of crime in grade school stealing lunch money from the other kids, and eventually worked his way up to bigger things.  He spent most of his early life in juvenile correction centers, and then his adult life in jail for one thing or another.  The man has a record that would span the length of that highway you were on!�  Biddle shook his head, looking at J.R. with respect in his eyes.  �I still can�t believe you managed to overpower him and tie him up!�           �Well, I�m afraid I have to chalk that up to a lot of luck,� J.R. admitted.  �When he had me down on the ground, strangling me, the baton just happened to be right where it needed to be for me to find it.  If it hadn�t been there, I�d probably be dead right now.�           During J.R.�s account of his ordeal, Betty had placed her hand affectionately on his wrist.  �I should have stayed at the Desert Oasis longer, when I went searching for you last night!� she said, regretfully, giving his wrist a motherly squeeze.  �We couldn�t have missed each other by more than a half hour!�           �You�re forgetting one thing,� he told her.  �Jessup got there before I did, so if you had been waiting . . . �  He shuddered to think what would have happened.  �Well, let�s just say it would have put you in a lot of danger.�           �If he saw my car there, maybe he wouldn�t have stopped at all, just kept going down the highway.�           �That is a big maybe,� Barnaby told her.  �Jessup is not the kind to be scared off by a woman alone, especially when he had an agenda.  He�s a hardened criminal, and he�s capable of anything.�           �He had made some confessions to me when he was getting ready to kill me,� J.R. reminded her.  �He knew my testimony could get him extra time in prison, so he wouldn�t have let you stand in his way.�           �I called the owner of the car just before you got here to let her know that she can pick it up in a few days.  Our people will have to finish going over it first.  We know that Jessup was driving it, but we�ll need physical evidence for when it�s presented in court.  It�s too bad the car has been contaminated,� he added, turning his gaze to J.R.  �We should still find some of Jessup�s prints, but there are two additional set of prints to rule out.  The owner�s, and yours, J.R.  It�s going to take time to separate them.�           J.R.�s dark eyes darted to Biddle�s face and seemed to get even darker with mild resentment, feeling that he was being put on the defensive.  �I had no choice but to use that car to get away!� he said with an edge of anger in his voice.  �What was I supposed to do, sit there and hope that Jessup didn�t manage to untie himself while I was waiting?�           Biddle raised his hand to cut him off.  �We were on our way.  All you had to do was sit tight until we got there.�           �I had no way of knowing that!� J.R retorted.  �That guy nearly killed me, twice!  The only thing on my mind was getting away from there, to put as much distance as I could between me and him!�           Betty had been listening to the exchange with surprise, and jumped to J.R.�s defense.  �Why are you attacking J.R. like this?  He didn�t have many options!�           �I know that,� Biddle said.  �And I�m not attacking J.R.  These were rather unique circumstances, and I understand he had little choice but to use the resources that were available.  I�m just saying it would have been a lot simpler if standard procedure could have been followed.�           �That isn�t always practical,� Barnaby said in his typically quiet drawl.  He rarely raised his voice, but something about him always made people stop to listen.  �I know its extra work for your forensics team, but when you are in a life and death situation, sometimes you just have to do whatever is necessary.�           Biddle sighed heavily and rubbed his fingertips against his forehead.  �Look, I�m sorry if I�ve offended anyone.  That wasn�t my intent.  The Jessup case has been a tough one and the crime team wants to get as much evidence as they can in the hopes of putting him away forever.  That means collecting as much data as we can.�           J.R. shifted in his chair.  �I�m tired, Lieutenant, and my nerves are on edge.  I really just want to go home and get some rest.�           �Just a few more questions,� Biddle pressed.  �The car really isn�t as significant as his confession to you about killing a fellow prison inmate.  He actually confessed this to you?�           J.R. nodded affirmatively.  �Yeah, when he was preparing to kill me.  I guess he figured he didn�t have anything to lose, since he didn�t count on me getting away.�           �Well, what did he say?� Biddle prompted.           �Not much, really.  Just that they never figured out who killed him.  The guy must�ve been young, though.  Jessup called him a boy.�  He lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug.  �But then again, he called me �boy� too, so who knows?�           �No name?  Did he give you any other clue that we could go on?�  Biddle was clearly exasperated.  �We need to know the identity of that person he killed.�           �There can�t be that many people killed in prison by fellow inmates.  Surely the prison keeps records of incidents like that.�           �My people are looking into that right now, but a name or even a description would help speed things up.  Prison deaths don�t always make the headlines, and those that do tend to get buried on the back pages.  Think, J.R.  Did he say anything else about this boy or young man that would help us identify him?�           �No, he didn�t.  He didn�t say anything other than the prison officials never figured who killed him.  That�s it, Lieutenant; that�s all he said.�  J.R. stood up, abruptly, indicating that the interview was over.  �Look, you�ve got my statement, and I�m too tired to answer any more questions.  I can barely think straight.  Barnaby, will you drive me home?�           �We�re not finished yet,� Biddle objected.           �We are for now,� J.R. told him.  �Right now, I�m going home and I�m going to rest.�  Without waiting for comment from Biddle, he turned and walked to the door.           �Talk to him, Barnaby,� Biddle urged as J.R. turned back to face them, his hand on the door handle.  �He�s going to have to do this sooner or later.�           �Then it�ll have to be later,� Barnaby said as he rose slowly to his feet.  �Jedidiah will contact you in a day or two.  He�s been through a lot, John.  Cut him some slack.�           With little alternative, Biddle spread his hands in defeat.  �All right.  Just don�t wait too long, or we�ll be coming to you.�           J.R. gave him a long, wordless stare, then opened the door and walked out.           As the door closed behind him, Barnaby turned to his friend.  �John, Jedediah is not the enemy here.�           �I know that, Barnaby, but he�s a key witness � my ONLY witness, and he hasn�t given me all the information I need to wrap up this case.�           �He�s been through a terrible ordeal!� Betty told him.  �Can�t you see he�s exhausted?�           �I understand that, but I also know that events are best recovered while they�re fresh in a witness�s mind.  After time, things start to fade or blend together, and key pieces of information can be lost forever.�           �Jedediah is not going to forget the things you need to know between now and tomorrow.�           Biddle looked away, and Betty thought he looked ashamed.  �Barnaby, the governor wants to be re-elected next term, and he�s running on this �tough on crime� strategy that the public wants to hear.  He�s applying a lot of pressure on my department.  When Jessup first escaped, he thought we should have been able to recapture him right away, and when our leads didn�t pan out, he made sure the press understood it was our fault.  This isn�t anything personal against J.R., but try to look at this from my point of view; I need results fast to get the governor off my back.�           �Passing that pressure on to Jedediah isn�t going to get you the results you want.  He agreed to come down here to answer your questions, but putting him through the wringer isn�t fair.  He needs to rest for a while.  He�s tired, hungry, and dehydrated.  Give him until tomorrow, and he�ll be happy to answer your questions.  And an apology and an explanation from you might help.�           �All right,� Biddle finally relented.  �Have him come by first thing in the morning.�           Barnaby smiled.  �He�ll see you then.�  With a friendly wave of his hand, indicating that all was forgiven, he opened the door and he and Betty walked back to the front of the building, where they knew J.R. would be waiting.  They found him standing on the sidewalk just outside the door.           �Sometimes, I don�t think the lieutenant likes me,� J.R. said when they joined him outside.           �He probably thinks the same thing about you,� Barnaby replied.           �He was interrogating me like I was the bad guy!�           �Jedediah, I know you and John have had some problems in the past, but I hope you can put that behind you, even if that means you have to be one to take the high road.  I told him you�d be by first thing in the morning to answer some more questions.  The governor is on his back about this case.�           J.R. sighed, heavily.  Clearly he was not looking forward to more interrogations.  �All right.  Right now, I just want to go home.�           �I�ll follow, and I�ll make you some homemade soup,� Betty offered.           �Sounds good.           J.R. was so tired that he fumbled his key as he tried to insert it in the lock, and it nearly slipped from his fingers.           Betty took it from him.  �Here, let me do that,� she offered.           He mumbled his thanks and stood back while she inserted the key in the lock and turned it.  Withdrawing the key, she handed it back to him and pushed the door open, then stood back to let him enter his home first.           Ordinarily, he would have gestured for the lady to enter first, but he was too tired to remember manners and protocol.  Stepping inside, he tossed the key ring on a lamp table and made his way to the sofa, where he dropped onto it with a low groan of comfort as he sank deep into the softness of the overstuffed cushion.           Betty and Barnaby followed him in, and Barnaby pushed the door closed behind them.           �I�ll fix you some soup, J.R., then we�re going to let you get some sleep,� she told him as she went to the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator door to search for the items she would need to make some homemade soup, but came up well short of necessities.  The refrigerator had not been stocked in several weeks, so she closed it and opened the cupboard.  It was almost as bare, but the red and white label of a popular brand of soup adorned several cans at the back of the cupboard, so she picked up one and rummaged through the drawers looking for the can opener.  �I was going to make something homemade, but you don�t have any vegetables.�  She held up the can.  �Is chicken noodle okay?�           �That�ll be fine.�           �It�ll only take a few minutes to heat this up for you.�           �Thanks, Betty.�           An orange and buff colored ball of fur hopped lightly onto the sofa and stepped onto his lap, purring happily as it pressed its whiskered face against J.R.�s chin, genuinely pleased to see him.  After several minutes of greeting, Napoleon the cat walked a circle on his lap, seeking the most comfortable spot, then laid down and curled up.           Absently, J.R. stroked the soft fur, deep in thought.           �Jedediah, you seem a bit depressed,� Barnaby observed.  �Is anything wrong?�           J.R. sighed, heavily.  �I�ve just been thinking about what�s going to happen after I graduate law school.  I�ll probably get a job in the public defender�s office.�           Barnaby nodded his agreement.  The public defender�s office was the starting ground for many graduates to gain experience before moving into other areas of law.           �They�ve been looking at my grades and have already expressed an interest in me.  I was excited about it at first, you know, helping people who can�t afford to hire an attorney.  But now . . . �  He paused, shaking his head slowly as if disappointed.  �Now I�m not so sure it�s what I want.�           �What changed?� Barnaby asked.           �I won�t be able to pick and choose my cases.  I�ll have to take whatever cases they assign me.  What if I�m required to defend someone like Doyle Jessup?  Barnaby, I just don�t know if I can do it.  I don�t know if I can work as hard to get someone like that off as I could for someone I know is innocent.�           �It isn�t your job to judge them, Jedediah,� Barnaby reminded him.  �Your job will be to represent them in court.  Under our laws, everyone is assumed to be innocent until proven guilty.�           �I know that, Barnaby, but I also know that Jessup is guilty of the crimes he�s been accused of.  He even admitted them to me.  This incident has tainted my ability to be impartial, and the very thought of having to defend someone like him and treat him as if he�s innocent just makes me feel sick.�  He sighed heavily, feeling severely deflated and less enthusiastic about his career choice.  �I�m thinking about dropping out, Barnaby.  I could go to work full time at the office, take more of the load off you.�           �That is an option,� Barnaby agreed.  �However, this is not a decision to be made in haste.  Let me offer a piece of advice.�           J.R. respected Barnaby�s opinions, even if he did not always agree with them, so he listened carefully to the older man�s sage advice.           �You�ve invested a lot of time and money in law school.  My advice would be to go ahead and finish.�           J.R. looked away.  That was the answer he had expected.  But Barnaby wasn�t finished yet.           �When you graduate, if you feel the same way you do now, if you decide that a career as an attorney is not what you want, then you have some valuable knowledge to apply to your detective career.  What I�m saying, Jedediah, is that the agency will be here for you, if you decide it�s what you want.�           J.R. understood that there was more to Barnaby�s statement than just an offer of a job.  It was a family business, passed down from father to son.  But his son, Hal, had been killed years earlier, and in his quiet way, Barnaby was offering to eventually turn the company over to him if he wanted it.  �I appreciate that, Barnaby,� he said, sincerely.  �And you�re right; I shouldn�t make a hasty decision.  All right.  I�ll finish law school, and see where it takes me.�           �When the time comes, I�m sure you�ll make the decision that is the best one for you.  Being an attorney is a profitable career choice, but it isn�t for everyone.  Just take your time and think about it.�           �I will,� J.R. promised as Betty placed a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the coffee table in front of him, and the aroma immediately awakened his empty stomach.           Pushing the protesting cat from his lap, he leaned forward to pick up the spoon and sampled the hot soup.  Canned chicken noodle soup had never tasted so good.           �You need to make a grocery run,� Betty told him.   �You don�t have much to eat in there.�           �I know.  I�m waiting for payday.�           Barnaby reached for his wallet.  �If you need a loan, Jedediah ��           J.R. looked up.  It wasn�t often that his cousin made the offer of a loan, but he was independent enough to wave away the suggestion with his hand.  �Thanks, Barnaby, but I�ll make due with what I have until then.�           Barnaby removed his hand from his wallet and smiled.  J.R. had been given his fair share of the Jones family pride.  �Very well, then.  Payday is only a few days away.  Well, we�ll leave you to finish your lunch and get some rest.�           �Thanks, both of you,� J.R. said sincerely.           Barnaby and Betty made their departure, closing the door behind them.  J.R. finished his soup in silence, then reclined on the sofa, too tired to make his way to the bedroom.  Within moments, he was fast asleep with Napoleon napping beside him.                                                       Go to Epilogue