Chapter 17 — The Ultimate Crime

In the center of Duckens Field, the heat of the sun had subsided under approximately ten degrees, and the coolness of breeze began permeating the atmosphere of the small busy town. A moment which many of its occupants were thankful for; including Ella Bradshaw who had come into town that Saturday to see a medical doctor about getting rid of an unwanted belly – a consultation for an abortion. And who Dr. Smith had given four large pills and went on to informed her that within three days form then her menstrual cycle should return.

Leaving the doctor’s office, Ella went on to do some food shopping before returning home that day. Since, the house where she and her father was presently occupying, was quite practically empty when it came down to food, and a real decent meal was long overdue. Her grocery bag packed with eggs, cheese, rice, flour and couple parcels of chicken parts, the teenager found herself a cab, sat in the back of it, to make her journeyed back home.

Another forty-five minutes ride back home would certainly surprise her after the vehicle stopped at her yard gate. Because when her eyes glanced over into the yard, Mr. Marshall was seated on one of the veranda chairs and in some form of discussion with her father. She had spent little over five hours in the town of Duckens Field, and when she was leaving the house that morning, he was entering the yard at the same time, and now, he was still there.

Positioning herself to exit the cab which had three other persons on the backseat, Ella began scooting her bottom onto the seat to leave out of the cab. And suddenly, the passenger whom she was seated beside, started a commotion… she began exclaiming that Ella was leaving blood on the seat of the cab, and how the young girl was nothing but a nasty whore.

“Driver!” The passenger shouted angrily; “You can’t take me any further than here, with this mess lingering beside me! Or else, I won’t be paying you a single red cent for this ride!”

Immediately, the cab driver was jumping from behind the steering wheel and hurrying to the backseat of his car, to see the mess which Ella had left there on the backseat of his vehicle.

“Oh, my God young lady, you don’t know to put something under whenever your monthly business is coming?”

The cab driver ask vexingly.

Ella in a state of shame and embarrassment was totally shocked to see the amount of menstrual blood which had seeped out of her.

It was her mess… her blood and she was willing to clean it up. But with the taxi driver, cursing profanities at her, along with two of the other passengers seated in the back of the cab. Ella decided to pay the diver his required fare before lifting her bags from off the ground and began entering through the gate of her yard. While, sadly expressing to the driver that she will soon return to cleanse the spot where she had dirtied.

She wanted to walk past the two men seated on the veranda without expressing a word of hello to them, but, Mr. Marshall was not only her boss, but he had been very good help to her and her sibling so far. Even keeping Dion and Devon, her youngest brother and sister at his house at that present moment.

Therefore, she swallowed whatever hurt and humiliation she had been feeling presently, and boldly she stepped up onto the veranda and said good evening to both men.

She father, Christopher Bradshaw gave her a plain-blank hello and said not another word, while Mr. Marshall returned the greetings and went on to ask;

“It seems as if you have done some massive shopping in town today, Ella?”

“Not a massive shopping Sir, but just enough food to keep me going here and for lifting those buckets of baby stones for the rest of the week.”

Ella laid the shopping bag onto the table and began putting the chicken parts into the freezer when she hear Mr. Marshall saying out loud;

“Brought some food from the wife for you and your father, hope you’ll enjoy!”

Not even knowing, what it was he was making mention of, Ella shouted; “Thank you, Sir! I know, I definitely will!”

Leaving the rest of unperishable products inside of her shopping bag, Ella went straight for the shower, where she lingered under the sprouting of the running water for a long while. And neither did she had any intention of exiting from under there anytime soon, either.

It was now past twenty minutes since she had left out of the cab and entered inside of her house; giving those in the cab that she would be returning soon to clean up her blood from off the seat. And now there was an uproar taking place in front of her house, because of her ongoing delay.

But, once again, it was Mr. Marshall who would be saving grace of the day, after he and Christopher kept on calling out Ella’s name repeatedly, for her to come and take care of her bloody mess in the cab, and not getting an answer from her.

“Look from when, I have been outside here waiting on her to come back with a piece of cloth and clean up her fucking blood, from out of my car!”

The cab driver said with tempers flaring and saliva spewing for the corner of his mouth as if, he was hungry.

While the two passengers waiting inside the back of the vehicle began piggy-backing on the driver’s utterances, and one of them loudly announcing in a vicious tone:

“I didn’t know, this was my fucking destination for the day… I have my husband and children dinner to get home and prepare; and I don’t see like any of them is living at this fucking address!”

Calmly, Mr. Marshall returned to the waiting cab with paper towels from his truck, and began wiping away at the bodily fluid left inside of the car by Ella Bradshaw. But, the blood was already dry and caked onto the seat and needed some liquid re-enforcement to soften up the blood and then wipe away the spot.

Therefore, Mr. Marshall returned to his truck and hurryingly brought back with him, a bottle of Windex spray along with extra paper towels to finish the job. And as he sprayed and cleaned off the spotted area of blood on the backseat of the driver’s car, both women remaining on the backseat, started hawking, scorning and spiting, as though, they were in a state of gurgitation.

Ignoring them, Mr. Marshall sprayed and vigorously rubbed on the bloody spot, until it was completely gone. And upon bringing the driver’s attention to the seat of the car, that all was now perfectly clean, Mr. Marshall turn his attention to the women in the back, asking them, how many children they both had given birth to?

One woman said four and the other shouted five.

And with that admission, Mr. Marshall said;

“I seriously guess, either of you had never experience your period or your monthly cycle before or after giving birth?”

And with that statement, he slammed the door of car as if, he wanted to break it, and returned to his truck where he stored away his half bottle of Windex spray and paper towels. Meanwhile, the diver re-entered in position around the steering wheel where he angrily started his car and eventually sped away with frowning face.

Night soon approaching, Mr. Marshall decided to it was time for him to now leave the Bradshaw’s house. So, both men shook hands and while Ella’s boss shouted a haughty goodbye to her, wherein, she replied back; “See you on Monday, Mr. Marshall!”

But little did she know, her boss would be at her house first thing Sunday morning. Because, he and her father’s discussions on that same day were mainly about finalizing the resting ground for his common-law wife, Nella Bradshaw. A woman who had been into his life for over the past fifteen years, had five children together and who had seen eye-to-eye on most details in their family life.

Nonetheless, she was sleeping in the hospital ice-box for way too long now, the fees were adding up and it was time for her to lay still in her silent home.

Later that night, Ella had for dinner some of the food, Mr. Marshall had brought to the house early in the morning. Sweet smelling fry fish covered in onions and tomatoes, along with some underground grown staples to go along with it. And even though, she wasn’t keen on speaking to her father, she heated some of the food on the stove for him and brought it and placed it on his lap in his favorite plate.

Her presentation to him was far from being graceful, and neither did she cared about his feelings or even how he would react.

But consumed with pain and popping pills for it, having a hearty meal to eat before going to bed, he surely considered it a delightful gesture. And after having their meal and at the brink of darkness, both Ella and her father went off to sleep in their separate rooms.

As Ella laid in bed, Saturday night, she considered herself lucky.

Because, her menstrual cycle was flowing Niagara Falls, she had a job bringing in good money, and she had the Marshalls temporarily caring for her two younger siblings, Dion and Devon. With those pleasant thoughts of gratitude occupying her mind, the young girl, with all her struggles and troubles went off sleeping. A sleep which went uninterrupted until, bright and early Sunday morning when Mr. Marshall pulled his truck up in the yard and began honking at its horn.

Frightened from her moment of snooze, Ella sprang from the bed to her feet and started peeping through the windows to see who was there. She had already concluded that visitor or visitors must be there to ask questions about the missing police, Corporal Banks. But she soon learn that her conclusions were very wrong when she heard her father shouting out to the visitor that he would be tight there.

Skeptical and cautious, Ella moved from the bedroom to the living room where she could obtain and better view of what was outside in the yard. But soon she learn that it was only Mr. Marshall and went onto the veranda to express her morning greetings to him.

“Good morning, Mr. Marshall!”

Ella said loudly while waving her hand since the windows to the truck were wound up at half-mask.

Catching a glance of her hand, Mr. Marshall began winding down the glass window and greeting the teenager with a smile.

“How id Dion and Devon doing… are they behaving themselves?”

Ella then went on asking.

“They are quite happy!” He then blurted out; “And oh, before I forget, they said to give you this!”

Mr. Marshall turned to his seat and picked up a paper bag from beside him, beckoned Ella to come towards his truck and handed the paper bag to her.

“What is this?”

Ella questioned with a big grin on her face.

A grin that sparked a touch of something inside Mr. Marshall. To him, her smile always made him forget, about how cruel her heart could be.

However, he responded to her; “Open the bag and look!”

Bursting wide open the bag in her hands, Ella looked down into it and realize, there were a number of assortment cookies that were packed inside of the bag.

Wasting not a second, she dip one hand into the bag, brought up one of the cookies and then hastily shoved it into her mouth.

“Tell them both and your wife, I said thanks!”

Ella said with a pleasant smile.

Moments later, her father Christopher, could be seen, hurryingly coming through the front door of the house, looking presentable. But instead of asking her father where he was going, Ella turned to Mr. Marshall, and ask the inquisitive question.

“Where are you both going?”

She asked with eyes focus, expecting nothing, but the truth.

“Ms. Ella, we are running off to the hospital to finalize the date on which to put your poor mother’s body to rest. And then, probably, pay your brother, Philip, a visit in the jail house.”

Mr. Marshall responded with all sincerity and a heavy sigh.

It was a sighing which pulled at the strings to Ella’s heart, while she held a straight, as if his reply had in no way affected her. But, these were her main two ills and evils… killing her mother and wrongfully sending her brother off to prison. So her tongue jerked within the space of her mouth and she blurted out;

“Give Philip my love, please!”

Now, she started walking back to the veranda with her conscience severely crush, similarly to the why, she was crushing those cookies inside of her mouth. Crush conscience or not, however, she had no intention of coughing up the truth because, her mind was bent-set on never stepping a foot in jail, whether or not, she was guilty of the crime. And even with her conscience eating at her, Ella still wasn’t in the mood to fall into bed and mope over her wrong doings; she refuse of endorsing the feeling of self-pity. So instead, she cooked up a delicious meal with some of the food items she had bought in town the previous day. And then her focus went onto folding and finding a designated spot in her bedroom for her work clothing.

Meanwhile, at the hospital morgue, there was an uproar since they were preparing to give, Nella Bradshaw, a pauper’s funeral. Simply because, it was almost a month, and none of the staff there at the hospital, hadn’t heard a word from the dead woman’s husband or any other family members of hers, about when they intended on doing away with her body.

Arriving at the hospital morgue and seeing his wife’s body laid out on one of the dressing tables wearing a moo-moo dress with red, pink, and white make-up covering her entire face—making her look like a fat clown—caused Christopher to go ballistic, irate with the entire staff.

Most certainly, he didn’t care anything at all about respecting the dead or the living. As he went on and one about how they had his wife dress like she was going to partake in some form of carnival on her way to meet her god.

“Take this shit off my wife and go and put it on your damn mother!”

Christopher shouted at the workers in the morgue.

“Who is responsible around here?”

He went on to ask.

“I am!”

Answered a tall man wearing glasses and a large white coat.

Christopher, fuming all over his face, talking loudly and expressing all sorts of gestures while, quite damn serious about attacking the medical professional. But, he wasn’t any match for this tall and very strong looking, heck of a man. And glancing over his shoulders, he realize that Mr. Marshall had no interest whatsoever in partaking in this kind of a squabble. Being left alone without any backing—any support to defend the dignity of his wife—Christopher Bradshaw calmed himself down, and with watery eyes, he began questioning the manager of hospital’s morgue department.

“Why did you allow, your workers to paint my wife’s face like this… is she, Bozo the clown, or, is your make-up artist only catching her practice here on the faces of the dead people?”

Christopher ask upsettingly.

“Your wife’s face was badly damage during her attack, and because of this severity of the damages, the make-up artist thought it best to cover her entire face with a lot of the cosmetics we use here on the deceases.”

The manager calmly explained.

“Well you tell her to wipe it the fuck off her face, right now! Because she not going parading, in any mascaraed party!”

Christopher shouted angrily.

Quickly, the make-up artist grabbed her bottle of spay, large piece of sponge and with gloved hands, she began removing the make-up from Ms. Nella’s disfigured and bruised face. But soon as she was done with cleaning away the cosmetic from the decease woman’s facial area. Mr. Bradshaw frighteningly began exclaiming;

“No! No! No!”

“Cover her up back… please recover her face with the make-up… she is really dead, and God knows, too god damn ugly for me to look at, in her final hour here on earth!”

Clutching onto his chest, as though, ready to have a massive heart attack, Christopher sweating, turn to the make-up artist and ask;

“My dear young lady, where in this green world, have you gotten your stomach to carry out such a job?

But without commenting, the make-up artist continued on with the reapplying of the cosmetic to the dead woman’s face.

It was only in that moment, Mr. Marshall, who was standing out on the hospital corridor all this time with his thoughts, decided to step inside the room and say something.

“We would like to have her buried sometime this week, how much longer can you hold her body here for?”

Mr. Marshall asked sternly.

“Since, you want to take her body out of here sometime this week, give us a day, and we will hold her body here for you until then!”

The manager responded.

Immediately, Marshall and Bradshaw eyes met four, as they both began to determine which day would be best for them to see this matter through.

“Tuesday evening”

Said, Mr. Bradshaw.

“No! Wednesday would be a much better day!”

Uttered, Mr. Marshall.

“The grave diggers can prepare the ground tomorrow Monday, the priest can get the church ready Tuesday after seeing him today, and then, on Wednesday, it can all come together for the service and the burial.”

Mr. Marshall verbally concluded.

What both men had made this trip to the hospital for was now sorted out and finalize. And soon, they were bidding farewell the workers in the dead house, as they exited the chilly and humongous space. Taking a trip to the jail house, to see Philip was now in order. But, it had to go on the backburner for a while longer, if they truly wanted to done with the burial plans for his common-law wife, Ella Bradshaw.

All the men needed to hear now was an okay from the priest that the funeral service for his wife, could be held Wednesday evening at the church, and that would just about, fix all their concerns with that issue.

It was already midday, the church yard was practically empty, with only three cars parked in the rear of the church building, and the side doors to the four thousand square footed building, wide open.

Father Frank had already done with one morning service and was on his way to another when Bradshaw and Marshall showed up on the premises of the church.

Standing to the door of the rectory, and seeing a robust and a thin figure exiting the big red truck and coming towards where he stood, the man of the cloth shouted out at them; “Good morning, what can I do for you gentlemen today?”

It was more Mr. Bradshaw’s problem than Mr. Marshall, so tilting is head, he indicate to Mr. Bradshaw to speak his concerns to the priest.

“Good morning, Father!” Mr. Bradshaw said excitingly; “My wife needs to be buried this Wednesday evening coming up… that’s the deadline the hospital morgue has given me! Therefore, I would like your service and the space of the church for such, if no one else is before me with any such matters!”

“I was expecting you here sooner than this!” The Priest responded; “Because, the officer, Corporal Banks had come to me seeking some sort of charitable assistance because of the tragic dilemma of your wife’s sudden passing and who had also discussed; needing to have her body churched here!”

Hearing, Corporal Banks name being uttered by the priest, brought about an immediate outburst of sweat, from Mr. Bradshaw’s face and a sudden disappearance of saliva in his mouth. For minutes, it he stood there unable to say a word. As though, someone had taken a high power vacuum and sucked out every ounce of spit from his salivary gland.

“Assuming, you still need some financial assistance, you only need to pay five thousand dollars for the church and for me, to preside over the body; fair enough?”

Father Frank asked.

Christopher Bradshaw, still unable to speak, nodded his head.

“At around what time would you like for the service to commence?”

Father Frank then inquired.

But instead of giving an answer, Mr. Bradshaw held onto his neck with one hand and indicated with the other that he needed water or something to drink. An act which had frightened the man of god and almost had him sinning with his tongue in front of the ultimate sinner and the businessman.

“I just buried your daughter, soon your wife, and now you want to come and f**king die, right in front of me!”

The priest uttered with a restraint tongue as he quickly lifted his long white robe above his ankle and race into his kitchen to fetch a container of water.

In seconds, he was hurrying back with a cup in hand, squeezing Mr. Bradshaw’s mouth open and then pouring water into it.

Regaining the full use of his upper digestive system, Mr. Bradshaw offered many thanks to the startled priest and then finally uttered to his questions.

“Yes Father, that is fair enough!”

Mr. Bradshaw answered while making repeated swallows.

“Wednesday evening, two o’clock will be the announcement for the funeral service, the congregation will be seated by three, and by four o’clock, we all, should be at the graveside lowering your wife’s body into the ground.”

The priest analyze and concluded.

And with such conclusions, both men shook the priest hand and said their goodbyes.

Few seconds later, Marshall and Bradshaw were back into the truck and excitingly making their way to the police station to pay his son Philip a visit. Because he had come home from the hospital only to learn that his son Philip was taken away and jailed for practically beating a police officer half to death.

But, would their visit to the jailhouse find this wrongfully accused boy, there?

The trip from the church to the jailhouse was less than five minutes. And upon parking their vehicle, Mr. Marshall excited hasted inside the police station and then up to the information desk like he had done twice before. Soon, he began inquiring about the hardworking young man with the twisted face, by the named, Philip Bradshaw.

Seems like the only officer working at the moment, immediately grab the gigantic book and began combing through it with pen and index finger; searching for the name, Philip Bradshaw. And beside his name was written in red ink – temporarily out.

His father withdrawn from the enquiring procedures, stood off to the side of the information desk, allowing the Good Samaritan who had come into his family’s life to take charge of the inquiries.

“Temporarily out… temporarily out where?”

Mr. Marshall asked with an elevated voice.

Quickly, the officer around the desk, began perusing through the lines of the book in front of him, used for charting daily activities.

The readings were frightening… “Philip Bradshaw was rushed off to the hospital last night, after trying to commit suicide.”

The officer read loudly.

“Is he allowed to have visitors?”

Mr. Marshall inquired with a look of concern on his face.

“What is your relation to him?”

The officer questioned sternly.

“Well, I’m a friend of the family and this is his father standing right here!”

Mr. Marshall replied.

“That’s his father, standing there!”

The officer retorted.

“Yes, Sir!”

This is his father… Christopher Bradshaw!”

Mr. Marshall repeated firmly as he began pulling Mr. Bradshaw to his side.

Staring Mr. Bradshaw up and down, with a look of dreaded demise, the officer then spoke uncaringly, suggesting;

“I presume, you both can go there at the hospital and see him.”

“With all respect, officer, this is not a matter for you to presume! You need to tell us, if we’re allowed to go by the hospital to see him or not! Because I don’t want to drive all the way there only to be turned away!”

Mr. Marshall stated roughly.

“Yes, you can go and visit your son!” The officer commanded; “Wait a minute… take this slip of paper along with you!”

Writing his approval message for the visitation, on the slip of paper, the officer then slid it across the surface of the desk and into the open hands of Mr. Marshall.

“Thank you, Sir!”

Mr. Marshall exclaimed as be brought the slip of paper much closer to his gaze.

“Two male visitors for Philip Bradshaw/ father & family friend.”

The “4 X 6” slip of paper read.

Hurryingly, the men bolted from the police station, hopped into the waiting truck and then hasted away to the hospital to pay their visit to the teenage boy, who was now, suffering from severe depression.

As both men removed themselves from the parked vehicle, started making their way down the corridors of the mental ward, the encounter with Philip was far from pretty. His screams were many, his voice loud and powerful proclaiming his innocence, and the tears dripping from his face were quite heavy and many.

The pressures of admitting or taking responsibility for a wrong he had not committed, was too much for him to bear. Now, his mind was crack – his mental health became severely unstable, and the hospital staff had him tied up in a stiff-jacket, as he screamed his head off, jerking his body back and forth, declaring his innocence. And even after observing his father and boss, standing right in front of him, his scream and tantrum grew even more violent and louder.

Was Philip Bradshaw staunching mad, or, was he only pretending to be a lunatic?

His hand bounded behind him, his father went up to him and gave him a big embrace while apologizing for the ills he had done to him, hoping that such would bring him to a calm and soothing place. But instead, Philip nuzzled up his mouth against his father’s neck, as if to pleasantly grant him a kiss. He then suddenly, open his mouth wide clamping down hard on his father’s ear lobe, biting the whole god damn ear off; chewing it up and then swallowing it. Meanwhile, the nursing staff, other sickly patients and most visitors, franticly began screaming, and some of the nurses also started running away from their position The mayhem and chaotic scene was a frightening sight to behold. But one thing was for certain, Philip Bradshaw would never see the inside of a courtroom. But instead, that very same week, still tied up in a stiff-jacket, he was hastily rushed off to one of those public asylum houses to stay permanently.

As anyone could easily have imagined, Christopher Bradshaw left the hospital premises that Sunday evening in severe pain, with his head fully bandaged up and half of an ear beneath those thick white bandages. But his anticipation for doing good deeds on that Sunday seem to be getting from bad to worse. Since, he was now exhausted, tired, and anxiously returning home; expecting to find something decent that his daughter Ella had prepared for dinner.

Instead, he had returned home that evening to find a swam of men carrying large guns in hand, some dressed in uniform and others in plain clothing, standing over his daughter’s badly beaten body. Because, they were desperately trying to get a confession out of her pertaining to the whereabouts of Corporal Banks; and she wouldn’t budge.

But, would her father’s tongue goes flying and yapping away like a black bat on a full-moon’s night?

Exiting Mr. Marshall’s truck and seeing his daughter Ella lying on the graveled ground, Christopher Bradshaw firmly asked shouting;

“What the hell is going on here?”

But instead of being given an explanation to his inquires, one of the officers stepped up into his face, gun in hand pointed, and angrily questioned;

“What’s wrong with your fucking head, it’s covering in bandages?”

“My son bit my ear off!”

Mr. Bradshaw nervously answered.

“And where is your son at this moment?”

The officer ask with a gaze of hate and vexation upon his face and the gun jabbing into Christopher Bradshaw’s chest.

“At… at… at the hospital!”

Mr. Bradshaw answered nervously.

“So your damn son, is one of them who help you finished off the Corporal?”

The officer questioned with a mean look on his face.

Eagerly trying to gather his thoughts, fearing that his mouth might just slip, causing him to say the wrong thing, Mr. Bradshaw focused and carefully responded; “How can my son, finish off anyone and he has been under your charge and care for weeks now?”

Another officer quickly stepped into the midst of the two men’s conversation with his killing machine, pointing at the chest area of Mr. Marshall’s while seeking information about the suspect’s son.

“What is the name of your fucking son?”

He too asked, vexingly.

“Christo… sorry, I meant, Philip Bradshaw!”

Christopher Bradshaw answered sweating all over his body and shaking in his pants.

Eyes rolling, filled with furiousness and ready for blood, the gun nuzzles then suddenly drop downward, pointing to the ground. As, each officer’s thoughts began reflecting on who was in their care by the name of Philip Bradshaw. But such memories didn’t take that long to be retrieve, as another officer came forward from amongst them with full descriptions matching or corresponding with such a name.

“That’s the youth with the twisted face, who keeps on crying all fucking day long, that he is being wrongfully accuse and tried taking his own life last night!”

Came the description from another officer’s mouth.

“That’s him… that’s the one… he is my son!”

Mr. Bradshaw admitted.

Now, everyone had knowledge of who Philip Bradshaw is and came to the realization, he couldn’t be involved with the disappearance of Corporal Banks.

But the Bradshaw’s family were still the only ones who were known to have some serious plotting in order for his death. Because, they had gone as far as, digging a hole in the bushes to bury him there, dead or alive, therefore, all suspicions had led his colleagues to them.

Mr. Marshall was now leaning against his truck observing all the happenings taking place in front of him, but kept quiet, although, he was itching to say something on the Bradshaw’s family behalf. And also on the missing officer’s behalf as well. Since, they were all seated on this same veranda, Friday night, before he had left for his home. But when something like this same form of interrogation had taken place on the Bradshaw’s property, couple weeks aback; he clearly recalled that he was summand to keep his fucking mouth shut and mind his own goddamn business because, he wasn’t been spoken to or had been asked any question by the officers.

However, his skin was on fire now – quite adamant about telling the interrogating officers that the Bradshaw family and Corporal Banks had reconcile their differences; and either father or daughter wouldn’t or couldn’t have harm him even if, they wanted to.

Simply because, Christopher Bradshaw had just returned from the hospital couple days ago and was still in ill health… too physically weak, to carry out such an act of taking down such a gigantic man. A gigantic man who had a loaded fire arm in his possession. And his daughter, Ella, who has been working for him, was just too tired from lifting hundreds of buckets of stones all day, and then come home to murder a man of the law; a skillful man with a gun on his hip. It just didn’t add up to him.

Furthermore, Ella, a young girl who strongly despised her father, just wouldn’t have assisted him with such a cruel task, of murdering an officer of the law or anyone else, for that matter.

Mr. Marshall had it all calculated inside his head. But there it would stay until the agitated, high tempered and trigger-happy policemen had calmed down a bit and started subtracting the Bradshaw family from the murderous equation and ready to be on their way.

The officers were in a state of mental complexity and needed some more clarification on this matter before hauling anyone off to jail.

Ella was on the ground bleeding in more than one placed; between her legs and from the bruises the policemen had inflected upon her.

Christopher with his face, twisting in pain, was still standing in the middle of the angry policemen, repeatedly, explaining away himself to them, his drummed-up interpretation of what had occurred on his property, last Friday evening, soon after the sun had gone down to rest.

“I swear on the soul of the almighty!” He said; “This man can tell you, as soon as he drove off my property Friday evening, Corporal Banks followed right behind him!”

“We were all here in pleasant dialogue… our days of animosity has been over and done with and since my release from the hospital, he had been her numerous times to check on me.”

Christopher Bradshaw continued expressing.

All eyes were now strangely staring at Mr. Marshall, trying to get confirmation of Mr. Bradshaw’s version of his story, who still had been leaning up against his truck. But, he dear not open his mouth about this very serious matter until one of the officers came directly to his face and began soliciting an answer from out of him.

“So what have you to say about his confession, Mr. Stone Crusher?”

The officer questioned as he stood exactly in front of Mr. Marshall’s face.

“We were all sitting here in a cheerful and joyful cattery… nothing for anyone to get heated about or had caused any spirit of vexation between anyone. It was getting dark, and so I decided to leave for my home. I presumed, Corporal Banks followed shortly afterwards; especially since he knew, Ella has been lifting buckets of gravel all day long and needed to get to bed. Likewise, her father who is still in pain, recovering from his injuries and who is still on prescribe medication.”

Mr. Marshall answered in details, hoping, the officers would come to the same realization like he as.

But there was one little word which drew a cloud and had it hanging over Mr. Marshall’s statement. And that’s because he had stated;

“I Presumed, Corporal Banks had followed shortly afterwards.” Indicating to the cops listening, that he hadn’t seen exactly when Corporal Banks had left the front yard of the Bradshaw’s property.

“Did you see the headlights of his car has you drove out of her?”

Another officer asked, calmly but sternly.

“No, I didn’t see his car lights in my rearview mirrors, but I could tell, he was just as ready to leave out of here, as I did!”

Mr. Marshall spoke forcefully.

There were no signs or evidence of trouble around the Bradshaw’s yard. No bullet shells, no testimony of warning shots being heard, or no blood anywhere around the property, the officers started to believe they were at the wrong address. And with the strongest of the three Bradshaw relations, currently under lockdown… under the care of the town’s judicial office, the probing of the investigation was right back to ground zero.

All the officers were presently having the same thoughts as the man who owns the stone crushing company, neither father nor daughter could have committed such a crime in their physical conditions. And with the conclusions of such thoughts roaming around in their heads, the lawmen decided it was now time to exit the lush green property of the Bradshaw’s family.

The stones on the ground had become Ella’s pillow. And not only was she lying on the ground in pain, but she was dosing off into a deep sleep… not dead, but only sleeping. And as the officer jumped back into their vehicles, ready to vacate the home of many problems suspicions and chaos, they left the teenager, lying on the callous rocks, suffering silently in pain.

Unable to really believe what he was witnessing at the moment, Mr. Marshall asked shouting, with both hands raised in the air and heavy tears dripping from his face.

“Are you men, going to leave the young woman here like this in the dirt?”

Neither his words nor his cries for assistance were acknowledge but instead, totally ignored by the law enforcers. As though, the acts of brutally and mistreatment were quite deserving of her.

Thankfully, Mr. Marshall hadn’t left out of the yard before the officers and was still lingering around, waiting to see the outcome of this police interrogation and forceful action taken on the life of this teenage girl. And with the officers revving the engines to their vehicles, and one by one, leaving off the Bradshaw’s property, without even looking back to see about the condition of the young girl. Mr. Marshall knew then, he needed to step forward and help Ella up, from off the ground.

Singlehandedly, the man who had proven himself to be nothing but kindhearted and caring, aided Ella Bradshaw from off the ground. Laying across both his hands, he brought her to the large bedroom where he knew, she occupied since the very strange death of her mother. And there, he gently laid her down on the bed to rest while her father, stricken with guilt, nervously watched on, realizing how extremely close they both had come to the open jaws of eternal damnation.