Chapter 2 - The Red Folder On The Hood
“Search her right pocket, Miller,” Sheriff Walker directed.
The deputy’s gloved hand went into my breast pocket. He didn’t find a weapon, parole documents, or contraband. He pulled out a thick, waterproof plastic pouch containing my Department of Defense Common Access Card, my official Bronze Star citation, my deployment orders for Operation Inherent Resolve, and a crisp, laminated copy of my DD Form 214.
Walker took the cards. He walked over to the front hood of his patrol car, snapped on a heavy flashlight, and inspected the holographic eagle on the military ID. He tapped the chip. He looked at the serial number.
Then he pulled a mobile radio from his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is Walker. Run a federal verification on service record number Charlie-Oscar-Eight-Nine-Three-Two. Mitchell, Sarah E. Staff Sergeant.”
The street fell dead silent. Even the wind through the oak trees seemed to drop to a whisper.
My father came down off the porch, his slippers slapping against the wet driveway. “Walker, you know who she is! You coached her in Little League! Why are you running military numbers? Call the state penitentiary database! She did armed burglary four years ago!”
“David, get back on the porch,” Walker said without looking up from the papers.
“You’re wasting time! She could have an accomplice! Look at Holloway—he drove her here! He’s aiding a fugitive!”
Mr. Holloway finally stepped out of his truck, his wrinkled face set like iron. “Shut your lying mouth, David. I’ve known Sarah since she was seven. I drove her to the recruiting depot in Montgomery while you were telling the neighbors she ran off with a drifter.”
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Pastor Glenn stepped forward from the curb, his hands clasped nervously. “David... Eleanor... is there something you haven’t explained to the congregation? We raised fifteen thousand dollars over three years for Sarah’s legal defense and prison rehabilitation fund.”
My head snapped up from the truck tailgate. “You raised what?”
