Chapter 18–Tuesday, 3:15PM

The lighting inside the 1 Stop was substandard. All florescent. Mostly dead. A few bulbs flickered toward the back. The green onion that stood behind the check out counter did not smile as the two officers approached. Herb smelled the rotting leaves rather than saw them. Green onions, he thought. Don’t they ever clean up? Dispensing with formalities, the chief got right to the point. “Where’s your surveillance equipment?” he demanded.

The onion said nothing for a good ten seconds. Finally, just before Herb reached over the counter and throttled him, the man spoke. “Down the hall past the ladies compost room.” He offered not one bit more. Just stared at Herb.

Herb stared back. He didn’t like the guy one bit. Didn’t trust him either. He turned slowly away from the counter still glaring. He bumped into Parsley’s sparse frame, nearly knocking him down. Without an apology, the chief stalked toward the rear of the store.

As he rounded the corner and entered the passageway, the stench hit him. It had obviously been weeks since the compost rooms had been tended to. It was awful. Parsley was gagging behind him. The chief held his breath and pushed through the door at the end of the corridor. Fresh air hit Herb’s lungs. The bright sunlight blinded him briefly. The door was an exit. “Bloody Mary!” Herb cursed under his breath as he turned and sprinted back down the hall.

Back in the store, Herb looked toward the counter. The onion was gone. Herb ran to the front door, bursting through it just as Monica was reaching for the handle. “Did you see an onion leave a second or two ago?” Herb asked breathlessly.

“No one’s come out since you went in,” she answered.

Herb did a quick scan of the perimeter. Nothing. He ran around the corner. Harry and S were walking along the back fence. “Has anyone run past here recently?” Herb shouted.

S turned to face the chief. “Oh, hi,” he said. “What did you want?”

“Have you seen anyone leaving the store this way?” Herb asked again, barely hanging on to his sanity. “A green onion!”

Harry spoke over his shoulder. “No, sir. But we’ve got an idea of your mystery caller’s escape route.” He turned toward Herb. “Come take a look.”

Without waiting for a response he turned about face and disappeared behind the building. S continued his southward journey.

“Parsley!” Herb shouted. “Find that green onion!”

“Yes, sir,” Parsley whimpered. He was tired and his shift should’ve been over ten minutes earlier. He wanted to go home. But he did what his chief asked. Herb saw him plodding off to the south just before he and Monica rounded the store’s back corner.

Harry was waiting for them. When they approached, he began his excited explanation. “This board,” he said poking at the third one from the corner, “is different than the others.” Harry pushed the bottom of the plank. It’s bottom shifted away from them. The top of the board nearly struck Herb’s head. “It has a pivot.” Harry said triumphantly.

S stuck his head through from the other side. “Come see what I found over here,” he said with a grin. Harry was through the opening quick as a flash. Monica followed. Herb’s ribs scraped a little as he passed through. He looked at the spot. A clear, sticky substance oozed from the scratch. He’d get a bandaid later. It wasn’t bleeding badly.

The others were twenty feet away gazing at something on the ground near a tree when Herb righted himself.

“What is it?” he asked as he walked up behind them. He did not need an answer. Tire tracks not more than a few days old scarred the ground. And next to them a partial root print or two. His caller’s root prints.

“Why aren’t there more prints?” Herb asked. “There aren’t any leading toward the fence.”

“Looks like he brushed them out,” Harry offered. “Must’ve missed these in his hurry to flee the scene.”

“I wonder,” Herb began, but he was interrupted.

“Sir!” came a voice from his radio. “I found that green onion.”

“Parsley?! That you?” Herb was surprised the man had found the runaway clerk so quickly. “Where are you?”

“I’m two blocks west of your location,” came the reply. “Hazel and Filbert. I followed the smell. Onions really stink when they’re sweating.”

“Hold him. I’m on my way.”

Herb looked at Monica. “This scene is yours,” he said and walked away.