helped Keith load Boyette into the rear seat of the Subaru. Fred Pryor walked from the direction of the creek and said, 'That was the sheriff. I finally got him, finally convinced him that we're for real, and that we've found a dead body in his jurisdiction. He's on his way.'
As Keith was opening his car door, Robbie approached him and said, 'Call me when you get to a hospital, and keep an eye on Boyette. I'm sure the authorities here will want to talk to him. There's no open investigation at this point, but that could change quickly, especially if Boyette admits he killed the girl in this state.'
'His pulse is almost gone,' the security guard reported from the rear seat.
'I'm not planning on standing guard, Robbie,' Keith said. 'I'm done. I'm outta here. I'll drop him off at a hospital, God knows where, and then hustle back to Kansas.'
'You have our cell numbers. Just keep us posted. As soon as the sheriff sees the grave, I'm sure he'll send someone to see Boyette.'
The two shook hands, not sure if they would see each other again. Death binds people in odd ways, and they felt as though they had known each other for years.
As the Subaru disappeared into the woods, Robbie checked his watch. It had taken about six hours to drive from Slone and find the body. If Travis Boyette had not delayed, Donte Drumm would be alive and on his way to a quick exoneration. He spat on the ground and quietly wished Boyette a slow and painful death. – During the forty- five-minute drive from the campsite, complete with at least four stops to ask for directions, Boyette had not moved and had not uttered a sound. He still appeared to be dead. At the emergency room entrance, Keith told a doctor about Boyette's tumor, but little else. The doctor was curious as to why a minister from Kansas was traveling through Joplin with a gravely ill man who was neither a relative nor a member of his congregation. Keith assured him it was a very long story, one he would happily tell when they had the time. Both knew they would never have the time and the story would never be told. They placed Boyette on a stretcher, with his cane, and rolled him down the hall for examination. Keith watched him disappear behind swinging doors and found a seat in the waiting area. He called Dana to check in. His wife had received his updates with a growing sense of disbelief, one shocker after another, and she seemed to be numb to anything new. Fine, Keith. Yes, Keith. Sure, Keith. Please come home, Keith.
He called Robbie and told him where they were at that moment. Boyette was alive and being examined. Robbie was still waiting for the sheriff to arrive at the site. He was anxious to hand over the crime scene to the professionals, though he knew that would take time.
Keith called Matthew Burns, and when Matthew answered, Keith began with a happy 'Well, good morning, Matt. I'm now in Missouri, where an hour ago we opened the grave and saw the remains of Nicole Yarber. Top that for a Friday morning.'
'So what else is new? What did she look like?'
'All bones. Positive ID, though. Boyette is telling the truth. They executed the wrong man. It's unbelievable, Matt.'
'When are you coming home?'
'I'll be there for dinner. Dana's freaking out, so I won't be long.'
'We need to meet first thing in the morning. I've watched the coverage nonstop, and there hasn't been a word about you. Maybe you've slid under the radar. We gotta talk. Where's Boyette?'
'In a hospital in Joplin, dying, I think. I'm with him.'
'Leave him, Keith. Maybe he'll die. Let someone else worry about him. Just get in your car and haul ass.'
'That's my plan. I'll hang around here until I hear something, then I'm on the road. Kansas is just minutes away.'
An hour passed. Robbie called Keith with the news that the sheriff had arrived and Roop's Mountain was now crawling with police. Two state policemen were on their way to the hospital to secure Mr. Boyette. Keith agreed to wait for them, then he was leaving.
'Thanks, Keith, for everything,' Robbie said.
'It wasn't enough.'
'No, but what you did took courage. You tried. That's all you could do.'
'Let's keep in touch.'
The state troopers, Weshler and Giles, were both sergeants, and after terse introductions they asked Keith if he would fill in some gaps. Sure, why not, what else was there to do in an ER waiting room? It was almost 1:00 p.m., and they bought sandwiches from a machine and found a table. Giles took notes, and Weshler handled most of the questions. Keith began with Monday morning and hit the high points of this rather unusual week. As he told his story, they seemed to doubt him at times. They had not been following the Drumm case, but when Boyette went public with his claim of guilt, and mentioned the body being buried near Joplin, phones started ringing. They tuned in, and they had seen Boyette's face and performance several times. Now that a body had been found, they were smack in the middle of a growing story.
A doctor interrupted them. He explained that Boyette was stable and resting. His vital signs were near normal. They had X-rayed his head and confirmed the presence of an egg-size tumor. The hospital needed to contact a family member, and Keith tried to describe what little he knew about Boyette's relatives. 'There's a brother in prison in Illinois, that's all I know,' Keith said.
'Well,' the doctor said, scratching his jaw, 'how long do you want us to keep him?'
'How long should he be kept?'
'Overnight, but beyond that I'm not sure what we can do for him.'
'He doesn't belong to me, Doc,' Keith said. 'I'm just driving him around.'
'And this is part of the very long story?'
Both Giles and Weshler nodded. Keith suggested the doctor contact the doctors at St. Francis Hospital in Topeka, and perhaps the little group could devise a plan for dealing with Travis Boyette.
'Where is he now?' Weshler asked.
'He's in a small ward on the third floor,' the doctor said.
'Could we see him?'
'Not now, he needs to rest.'
'Then could we station ourselves outside the ward,' Giles said. 'We anticipate this man being charged with murder, and we have orders to secure him.'
'He's not going anywhere.'
Weshler bristled at this, and the doctor sensed the futility of arguing. 'Follow me,' he said. As they began to walk away, Keith said, 'Hey, fellas, I'm free to go, right?'
Weshler looked at Giles, and Giles studied Weshler, then both looked at the doctor. Weshler said, 'Sure, why not?'
'He's all yours,' Keith said, already backing away. He left through the ER entrance and jogged to his car in a nearby parking garage. He found $6 in his dwindling cash reserves, paid the attendant, and gunned the Subaru onto the street. Free at last, he said to himself. It was exhilarating to glance over at the empty seat and know that he, with luck, would never again be near Travis Boyette.
Weshler and Giles were given folding chairs and took their positions in the hallway by the door to Ward 8. They called their supervisor and reported on Boyette's status. They found some magazines and began killing time. Through the door, there were six beds, each separated by flimsy curtains, all occupied by people suffering from serious afflictions. At the far end, there was a large window that overlooked a vacant lot, and next to the window was a door the janitors used on occasion.
The doctor returned, spoke to the troopers, then stepped inside for a quick check on Boyette. When he pulled the curtain by bed 4, he froze in disbelief.
The IVs were dangling. The bed was neatly made with a black walking cane across it. Boyette was gone.
CHAPTER 32
Robbie Flak and his little team stood by and watched the circus for two hours. Not long after the sheriff arrived and saw that there was indeed a grave site, Roop's Mountain attracted every cop within fifty miles. Local deputies,
