]
Camera shot of a small town baseball field. Two Little League teams are playing on the field. A cheer goes up as the batter hits a long fly ball into the outfield. The boy on second base tags up and heads for home, barely managing to slide into home as the teen-age umpire spreads his arms and yells “Safe!”
At the end of the street, a pick-up truck stops at the stop sign and Richard Kimble steps out of the passenger side. With a wave of thanks, he walks up the street toward town. Seeing the game, he stops to lean against the fence behind the dugout and watch. The batter cracks the ball, but an adroit play by the shortshop and a quick throw to first base brings the inning to an end. As the teams switch sides, Kimble watches the first baseman walk off the field and thinks of Stuart. He pulls a picture of his nephew from his pocket and stares at it with a look of sadness. Finally he slips it back into his pocket and turns away from the fence, bumping into a boy beside him who is watching the game intently. Apologizing, he continues his walk into town.
MINUTES LATER:
Walking down the main street of town, Kimble spots a “Help Wanted” sign in the window of a small restaurant and steps inside. The restaurant is almost empty at this time of day. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron is cleaning off the tables.
Approaching her, Kimble gestures toward the “Help wanted” sign and says, “Excuse me, who do I talk to about a job?”
The woman looks up from the table with a friendly glance and points in the direction behind the counter. “See Mike. He’s in the office.”
Kimble finds his way to the office. Mike, the owner of the restaurant, looks up from the paperwork on his desk. “Yeah, what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a job. I saw your sign.”
Mike looks Kimble over. “I need some help in the kitchen in the evening. Pays minimum wage. You still interested?” he asks gruffly.
“Sounds fine.”
“You got kids?”
With a puzzled look, Kimble answers, “No.”
“Good!” says Mike. “The last person I hired was always calling off because of sitter problems so I fired her. You can start tonight. Be here at 5, sharp.” He turns back to the ledger on his desk, in a gesture of dismissal.
Walking out of the office, Kimble approaches the waitress, who was discreetly listening to the conversation. "Don't mind him," she says, nodding at the office door. "He treats everyone like that. I'm Shirley Jackson." She holds out her hand.
"Don Anderson," says Kimble, shaking her hand. Hesitating, he adds, "I’m looking for a place to stay. Do you…?”
She interrupts him with a friendly smile. “I figured you were new in town. Sure, my sister Millie has a room she lets out to boarders and its empty right now.” Scribbling on the back of an order form, she hands him the paper. “Here’s the address.” Moving to the front door, she points up the street to the right. “Go up three blocks, then turn left toward the river. You’ll find it. You can’t get lost in this town!”
“Thanks,” Kimble replies and heads up the street.
A HALF HOUR LATER:
Kimble is unpacking his duffle bag in small, but clean room. Reaching for the window, he pushes it up to let in some fresh air. His gaze falls on a small playground below, partially surrounded by a mesh wire fence. A few children are playing on the swings, and a young boy is playing alone, throwing a baseball into the air and hitting it into the fence. Chasing after the rebound, he begins again.
Kimble turns from the window and reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve a piece of paper containing a phone number. He picks up the phone and dials.
CHICAGO, A LAWYER’S OFFICE
A
man reaches for the phone and listens politely to his secretary.
“You have a call, sir. I’m sorry, he won’t give his name. He said to tell you he was a friend of your brother.”
The lawyer looks instantly alert. “It’s fine, Barbara. Put him on.” Glancing at his watch, he adds, “And call Judge Tower. Tell him I’ll be a little late for our meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” the startled secretary answers, and hangs up.
“Hello.”
A hestitant voice responds, “Mr. Bowers? You don’t know me…I knew your brother…”
“Did you also just have a short visit with my sister-in-law, Ann?”
“Yes,” Kimble answers in relief.
“Ann explained the situation. Paul spoke very highly of you and kept me informed of your difficulties. I’d be happy to help you.” He hesitates. “You know, of course, that I have to recommend you turn yourself in…”
“I can’t do that. Not yet.”
“You know its dangerous for you. If you’re caught trying to escape, you could be…but you already know that.”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye. Helen wasn’t killed during a burglary. It was a kidnap attempt. The man who could testify to that was murdered by Charnquist. And I’ve unearthed evidence that both Charnquist and my father-in-law may be involved in diamond smuggling. I can’t stop searching until I find the truth. And I have to find Charnquist. He’s the only one left who knows the truth about what happened.”
“All right, Dr… We’ll do it your way. I’ll do my best to get you an appeal and a “Not guilty” verdict at a new trial, but I can’t guarantee you that the man who killed your wife will be brought to justice. If it’s vengeance you want, I can’t promise you that.”
“It’s not about vengeance. Or justice for Helen. Nothing can bring her back. I know that. What I want is my life back. I want to be able to walk down a street without looking over my shoulder. To be able to visit my sister and her kids whenever I want to. To practice medicine again.”
Kimble pauses as he looks out the window at the boy playing baseball, recognizing him as the boy watching at the ball field. “I want a normal life, with a wife and kids. I want to have a son and teach him how to play baseball, like my Dad taught me. That’s all I want.”
“I understand, ” Bowers answers, filled with compassion. “Ann gave me your sister’s number. Is there anyone else you think I should talk to?”
Kimble hesitates, thinking of Kari, knowing that's impossible. “Becca Ross. And Todd Young, a law student at Syracuse University.”
“All right. I’ll start there. Good luck. And stay safe.”
“I’ll keep in touch.” Kimble hangs up the phone with a surge of hope he hasn’t felt since meeting Kari. With a glance out the window at the boy below, still hitting the baseball, Kimble turns away and lies down on the lumpy mattress to get some rest, knowing he will be working late. He listens to the crack of the bat on the ball and drifts into sleep, dreaming he is a boy again, back on a baseball field in the suburbs of Philadelphia.