Not knowing whether I might soon be charged, arrested and jailed pending trial, and without hope of my wave function collapsing into any familiar reality, there was no way I could continue working at The House or tolerate the apartment for that matter. Since I was the primary person of interest, the police restricted me to the county and made it a requirement that I inform them should I intend to travel. With nowhere else to go, I went to hole up at my Dad's place.

My anxiety was cirrus cloud level. I was trying to find my way around in a stuporous state of psychological disorientation, and to add to the mix, I was overcome with a massive case of survivor's guilt. That might seem odd. It certainly was to me, but nonetheless, the sense of it was a pitiless ache. The great chess match of being had me in check and I had no clue regarding my next move.

After a fitful night, the first morning at Dad's was excruciating. So filled with anxiety, it was as though I needed to be out of my skin. Not knowing what to do with myself, in desperation I went out for a walk. To my unexpected surprise, the walking seemed to offer a degree of relief. The mindlessness of the ambulation proved a dulling elixir of sorts. The exercise too served to calm my nerves and reign in my galloping thoughts. So numbed, I walked on and on. Much later, it was the exaggerated shadows of late afternoon that told me I had evidently continued walking throughout the day. A semblance of consciousness regained, I surveyed my surroundings in an effort to determine where I had arrived. It was then that I was introduced to the obviously identifiable black SUVs about to become my frequent companions over the next few weeks. Generally they came cruising by every ninety minutes. I was under deliberately intimidating surveillance.

Another of the advantages walking offered was an expenditure of energy enough to allow me some sleep at night, so walking became my obsessive activity. It seemed the only thing, the only thing, to do, each step a mundane comfort. Every morning I would head out and walk the whole day long logging mile after mile in large loops that lasted until dusk. By the third day of walking, I began occasionally acknowledging my accompanying keepers with a wave or mock salute. They were the only arrows I had in my quiver at the time.

One evening as I was about to begin my third week of walking, the telephone rang. My Dad fingered me over mouthing that it was Inspector Dulles. Heart sinking, I think I may've blacked out for a second. I missed taking the receiver from him and grabbed the chord instead causing the receiver to swing and bump against the wall. The Inspector identified himself and then said, "We made an arrest earlier tonight." That statement lowered me to my knees with one hand on the floor. Tears seeping into my eyes, I managed to eke out the word, "Who?" "Roy Romney," the detective said flatly. Just as I began to draw what would've been a possible breath of relief, the detective summoned me to appear at State Police headquarters in the morning. He explained he had scheduled me for a polygraph that was to occur a few hour's drive away in the capitol. Apparently, the police were not yet convinced that I had nothing to do with the murder.

It was eventually revealed to me that a bartender had witnessed a drunken Romney bragging about stabbing a woman who had refused him sex. Aware of the recent reports about the murder, the bartender regarded Romney's tale convincing enough to be worthy of a call to the police. On the basis of that call and a few other pieces of incriminating evidence, the police brought him in for interrogation. When questioned, he put up no defense and rather readily admitted to the crime. Since he had already been pegged as a potential suspect from nearly day one, I have no comprehension as to what the police were doing for two terrifying weeks and can only attribute their mind-boggling delay to gross incompetence.

https://youtu.be/4QBznYL8O8A