The witness.

About five miles from my home, on highway 21, the area’s best kept secret as it is fast and under-utilized all the way into the city, Is a small state park. Sandy Creek Covered Bridge. It indeed has a covered bridge, not necessarily an architectural masterpiece, originally built with only local labor and very modest funding. It has been restored several times.
Back in the early 1900’s this was on the main road north/south and provided covered, ice–free traverse over tiny Sandy Creek. When Highway 21 was built, this whole low section of creek crossing was bypassed, the thirty foot wide creek now crossed with barely a bridge, barely a notice.
Remnants of the original road remain, marked as ‘Dead End’ on the south side, the park itself lies on the north bank. To get to the park, you must exit off 21, take a right turn on to the old road and past the Goldman Fire Station. Except for a scattering of mobile homes, the fire station is pretty much all that’s left of Goldman, never more than small town, in fact a ‘Ghost Town’ according to Wikipedia. This old road follows the original bridge road, though once you enter the park there is a barrier blocking vehicular access. The barrier is/was a state-park style rough timber 10x10, about twenty feet log, heavily bolted to two incredibly sturdy rough 10x10 posts driven a mile or so into the ground. Mounted in the middle of the barrier is a standard size STOP sign. The actual parking lot, with no more than ten parking spots, is to the left of the barrier.
At the small, but tidy park you can walk up into the bridge and read the history of the construction and restorations. You can also read the graffiti with which local hoodlums have temporarily immortalized their existence, passions, and romances. You can also walk down to the creek, not much of a thing at this spot. Swimming is not banned, but is certainly warned against as there is no full-time Department of Natural Resources presence. The creek is quite alive with very small fish that the locals refer to as ‘bait’.
I walked around the park on a very hot early August afternoon on my way home from work. I was alone. No one else around at all. This was fine with me since I was only there for research. I needed to see if the rafters of the old bridge were exposed, yet secluded enough to suspend a corpse. (Don’t panic, the writer’s club I joined is sponsoring a ‘Mystery Short Story’ contest and I needed an exotic, but familiar location for a macabre crime scene.)
After checking the angles, the shadows, the architecture, and the exits, I stepped out of the bridge toward the parking lot. From this angle I could see straight out of the park and nearly a mile down the road past the fire station. What I saw, heard, this time was a bit unusual. A small, shiny, blue pickup truck was heading into the park at a significant speed. If I were to guess, I’d say forty five to fifty mph, though I cant be sure, but the engine was cranking out some noticeably high RPM’s. I didn’t have time to ponder the why’s and wherefores as to the intent of the high speed entry.
It got a little surreal here.
Surely he’s going to slow down, there’s nowhere to go. He can’t possibly make the hard turn into the parking lot at that rate, the truck’ll flip over… he’s not even slowing down.
Yes, he crashed through the barrier, splintering that big beam into three pieces, which flew to the left and right. That slowed him down considerably, though not completely. Doing some really fast and rough geometry, algebra, botany and physics, I sidestepped behind a stand of three mature oak trees. He might get through the barrier, but not even a loaded semi would have enough momentum to take out all of those old, hard trees.
He never actually stopped, though he did hesitate long enough for me to see that his windshield was not only shattered at the bottom, but caved in as well. There was no steam or smoke, or indication of an air bag deployment (I know this because the guy was still conscious… have you ever been hit by one of those things?) I did not notice much more, though I did find a side mirror and part of a grill a bit later.
He started to back up. It occurred to me that this man, alone in the battered truck, was not even going to get out to check the damage. He looked straight at me, for a few seconds. I could not make out specifics about him as I was looking through a spider web of broken glass from about fifty feet away, but I do know that he looked right at me since his expression changed a little as I started shaking my head and pointing to my holstered cell phone. He left anyhow.
As he turned around and drove away I had the lucidity to stare at his license plate and started repeating the number over and over to myself as he drove away, 348-NP5, 348-NP5, 348-NP5, 348-Nathan Paul 5, 348-Nathan Paul 5, over and over again till I got to my truck, to an an ink pen and a scrap of paper. I looked around, I was once again the only person at the park.
I 411’d the Sheriff’s office, reported the ‘non-emergency ’ (my choice since there were no injuries and the perp had already left the scene) to a deputy, who passed me over to a ‘dispatcher’. The dispatcher sitting in Hillsboro about three miles from where I was standing asked me the address for the park.
“The address for the park?” I was confused, and perhaps indignant. “It’s the state park, just north of Hillsboro, next to Goldman. “
The dispatcher was not satisfied. “What’s the nearest cross-street off 21 to the park?” He asked, as if I were a thousand unfamiliar miles away. I replied: “I don’t know the street names, I live here! It’s a state park, the only state park, with the only covered bridge in the county! Just tell the deputies that, surely they’ll figure it out!”
“Okay sir, I’ll try that, do you wish to be contacted?”
“No, that’s not necessary, You’ve got the guy’s license plate, he’s not going to be able to fix that damage very quickly, but I will stick around for a bit in case the officer arrives.”
“You don’t have to do that sir, but if you like, that will be fine.”
I had done my civic duty, reported all the important stuff to the proper authorities, left my contact information in case they needed to know more. But to just leave? I don’t think so! This was, without a doubt the most interesting thing that had happened to this cubicle dweller in a long time. I was the sole witness to an actual crime! I had the clarity of mind to gather and report accurate information! I needed closure! I needed an end to this wonderful story!
After an hour and a half of sweaty waiting, they never showed up. So I really never actually got a good ending …..