Mr. Chalk 5

5

The next day, Sergeant Forester walked through the steel metal doors of the morgue.

“God I hate this place,” was Sergeant Forester’s mantra every time he walked through those doors.

He has seen the aftermath of many shootings, beatings and car accidents but the morgue was the only place that really bothered him. The antiseptic smell of death, the chill in the air and the reduction of a person to a piece of organic material always bothered him.

Dr. Harper, the County’s forensic coroner, stood silently beside the remains of Lester Hawkins on the shiny stainless steel examination table. “Where to begin?” the doctor said quietly to himself.

“What’s that Doc?” replied Sergeant Forester.

Dr. Harper involuntarily flinched.

“Sorry Doc,” apologized Forester, “you were really deep in thought there.” 

“Jeezus,” said Dr. Harper clearly shaken.

After a couple of seconds, Dr. Harper motioned the Sergeant to come closer to the autopsy table. As the Sergeant approached, the doctor reached behind him and grabbed the preliminary autopsy report from the counter.

“Let me read you my findings so far Sergeant,” said Dr. Harper focusing on the report attached to the clipboard. “What we have here is Lester Hawkins,” read the doctor, “male, Caucasian, height 6 feet 2 inches, eye color blue, weight …” and then his voice trailed off. “Who are we kidding here?” said the doctor in obvious frustration. “We have a man on this table who measures 6 feet 2 inches in length, 12.5 inches in width and 4 inches in depth,” exclaimed the doctor. “We also have a man whose shape is now a rectangular solid complete with right angle sides.” The doctor turned and looked directly at Sergeant Forester. “How do you explain that?” asked the doctor.

“Well,” replied Forester, “even though we found the body outside the cell, we did find lots of human pieces, such as skin and bone and teeth and tissue in the cell ...”

“Yes, yes I’m well aware of that Sergeant,” interrupted Dr. Harper. “From the traumatic condition of the body you would expect such evidence.”

“What I was leading up to Doc,” replied Sergeant Forester “was the amount of human detritus found on the transfer slot in the cell door.”

“What’s a transfer slot?” asked Dr. Harper.

“I’m getting to it Doc,” replied Forester, “it’s just a name we use for the slot to transfer food into the cell or to handcuff prisoners without opening the door and,” emphasizing the last word for the full effect, “it measures 12.5 inches in width and 4 inches in height.”

The aftermath of that meeting between Mr. Chalk and Lester Hawkins is still discussed by the Dodd County police force. Lester succumbed to an unnatural demise while Mr. Chalk disappeared. How Lester died and what happened to Mr. Chalk is still an open case.

Mr. Chalk 4

4

The two Deputies and the Sergeant were standing by the front desk.

“I need you two out to Cedar Grove,” said the Sergeant. “We need follow-up info on those break-ins last week.”

“Got it!” replied Deputy Hartley eager to leave the station and Lester Hawkins behind.

“Let’s blow this pop stand,” he said as he gave a reassuring smile to his partner. His good mood was suddenly interrupted by screams coming from the holding cells area.

“What the …,” exclaimed Sergeant Forester as he spun around towards the sound. The screams, or rather the scream, was almost non-human. It was piercing and continuous.

“That goddamn Hawkins is killing the other prisoner,” cried Deputy Wilcox.

“Go!” yelled Sergeant Forester.

“Dammit!” said Hartley, “we should have put Hawkins in a separate cell.”

Wilcox and Hartley raced down the corridor to the holding cells.

Sergeant Forester stood at the front desk staring down the corridor towards the holding cells. It was deathly quiet. Forester was listening so hard he could hear the ticking of the wall clock.

“Hey,” yelled the Sergeant breaking the silence, “answer me!” No sound came from the corridor. The Sergeant reached for his keys and headed towards the gun cabinet behind the front desk. In an almost single motion brought on by experience and a rising fear, the Sergeant had a twelve gauge riot shotgun in his hands and was loading shells into the chamber as he headed towards the holding cells.

Sergeant Forester quickly moved to the cell and surveyed the scene. Deputy Wilcox was standing in front of the cell, motionless and totally transfixed by the body at his feet. Deputy Hartley was beside him, on his hands and knees, re-discovering what he had for breakfast that morning. The cell door was open and Mr. Chalk was gone.

Mr. Chalk 2

2

Earlier that day, Deputy Groves sat in his patrol car idly watching the traffic pass through his town of Florence, Florida. It had been oppressively hot the last few days as Groves parked by the main highway checking for speeders. He sighed and shifted his gaze from the radar monitor, towards the landscape in the distance. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, sighed again and continued to look down the road. A small four door sedan passed Groves, disappearing down the highway. In his heat induced state, Groves almost missed seeing it. He sat up and squinted through the windshield. “That car is missing its licence plate,” he thought.

“Finally,” said Groves to himself as he started the patrol car. He hit the siren and roof lights, slammed the car into drive and stomped the gas pedal. The urgency to accelerate the cruiser was not so much to apprehend the suspect but to create a breeze inside the car. “At last,” thought Deputy Groves, “fresh air.” His attempt at air conditioning was short lived, as he was soon behind the four door sedan.

The driver of the sedan moved to the side of the road, stopped and turned off his engine.

“So far, so good,” thought Groves as he got out of his car and moved cautiously towards the sedan. Glancing into the rear window, Groves saw a single driver and no passengers. Slowly the deputy moved up to the driver’s side window, his right hand on the handle of his service revolver.

“Good day sir,” said Groves to the driver, “do you know why I stopped you?”

The driver turned his head and looked up at Groves. “No,” the driver replied, “is something wrong?”

“You're driving a vehicle without a licence plate,” replied Deputy Groves, “and now I’m going to need to see some identification.”

“Why, I’m Mr. Chalk,” replied the driver, “and I’m so pleased we have met.”

Groves looked down at the smiling driver and slowly shook his head. “I’m gonna need more ID than that,” he replied and stepped back from the car door. “Please get out of the car sir,” he said motioning Mr. Chalk to exit the car.

Mr. Chalk opened the door and was now standing in front of Deputy Groves. His tailored suit and formal cut shirt were perfectly matched to his silk tie, diamond cufflinks and deeply shined shoes. The coordinates of the outfit fit Mr. Chalk’s frame perfectly as he stood patiently in front of Deputy Groves.

Groves studied Mr. Chalk standing in front of him. “It looks like you're on a business trip,” said Groves.

“Indeed,” replied Mr. Chalk, “in fact, I thought I was going to be late for my appointment, but now that you have stopped me, I should be there in ample time.”

Groves stared at Mr. Chalk. “That didn’t make any sense at all,” he thought, “the heat must really be getting to me.”

Ignoring Mr. Chalk’s last statement, Groves motioned for Mr. Chalk to turn around. “I’m placing you under protective custody. You’re not under arrest. This is just for your protection and mine,” said Groves. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“Certainly,” smiled Mr. Chalk as Deputy Groves handcuffed Mr. Chalk and walked him back to the patrol car.

“I need to check your pockets for identification papers,” said Groves as he leaned Mr. Chalk against the patrol car. “Do you have any needles or sharp objects on you?” asked Groves.

“I don’t carry anything in my pockets,” said Mr. Chalk, “my tailor told me it would bag the material.”

Deputy Groves carefully frisked Mr. Chalk and then placed him in the rear seat of the cruiser. “Just sit tight for a couple of minutes,” said Groves, “I need to check your vehicle.”

The interior of Mr. Chalk’s car was spotless. “This is too clean,” thought Deputy Groves, “even the glove compartment looks vacuumed.”

After thoroughly searching the interior, trunk and even the engine compartment, Groves returned to the patrol car and opened the back door.

“Ok,” said Groves to Mr. Chalk, “this is weird.”

Mr. Chalk looked up and smiled as Deputy Groves continued.  “You have absolutely no identification on you. Your car is spotless. Better than spotless. It looks like it just came off the show room floor and yet it has fifty thousand miles on it. I can’t find any personal identification, car registration, insurance or licence plates.”

“Why is that Mr. Chalk?” asked Deputy Groves.

“I like to travel light,” replied Mr. Chalk.

“I see you have a sense of humour,” smiled Deputy Groves. “With that keen sense of ha-ha, your gonna like it in our Dodd County Jail. It’s a regular chuckle hut.”

Mr. Chalk Chapter 1

1

Mr. Chalk’s appearance as a small man was not so much related to his physical size but more to his stature. He was a tidy man. His dark brown suit, caramel shirt, yellow tie and deeply shined shoes were perfectly matched. The proportions of the ensemble fit Mr. Chalk as if tailored for him.

Mr. Chalk patiently stared through the bars of his holding cell in the Dodd County Jail. His only view was the pale green wall across the common hallway that linked the line of cells together. The wall was dirty, the paint chipped and peeling from age and neglect. Occasionally the view was broken by the shuffle of detainees and police as they moved in and out of his vision. The noise, the smells, the sense of desperation that permeated the space was comforting to him. For you see, Mr. Chalk had an appointment.

Chapter 2 tomorrow.

B.