Manhunt. Volume 14, Number 1, February/March, 1966

“He sure did! If I’d been going a little faster we’d have gone right through the guard rail!” I was boiling mad because I knew one side of my station wagon was a mess where I’d scraped the guard rail. I got out of the car. There’d been very little traffic on the road and not a car was in sight now. I was examining the damage when I heard someone running through the gravel along the road. I swung my flashlight on him. Charles Henry Lane!

When the beam of my light hit him he slowed to a walk. Then I saw the revolver in his hand.

“Drop the light on the ground, Braddock. Good. Now kick it toward me.”

I wasn’t going to argue with a killer. I did as he said.

“All right, now. Get back in the car.” He opened the door behind me and got in too. “Now get this car back down the road. That’s fine.” He was holding the gun at Anita’s head. I prayed desperately for another car to come along but nothing was in sight. “Now drive forward, point the wheels toward the guard rail, and stop when I tell you.” He got out of the car now and pressed the muzzle of the gun against my temple as he opened my door. “Now put your right foot on the gas pedal and your left on the brake. Fine.” He looked to make sure I had the car in drive. I knew what was coming next. I glanced over at Anita. She was staring straight ahead and I knew she, too, knew what he was about to do.

“Now gun the motor. Faster, Braddock. Fine. So long, boy.”

With that he grabbed my leg and jerked my foot off the brake. But as he did so I drove my left arm into his face. At the same time Anita hit the selector lever throwing the car into neutral. Instead of hurtling forward we rolled a few inches and stopped. As I dived for Lane he fired. I heard the bullet strike the windshield and then I was on top of him. Lane was in good shape and desperate. But I was seventeen years younger and just as desperate. It was touch and go for awhile but I’d knocked the gun out of his hand when I dove for him and all he had to fight with were his fists. I stood up. Lane lay on the ground unable to move.

“I’ve got the gun, Matt,” Anita called to me. Then I heard a car coming down the road. I grabbed Lane and managed to drag him off the highway.

“Get that flashlight,” I panted at Anita. “I think he threw it in the back seat. Flag that car.”

But before Anita could get the flashlight the car was rounding the curve. I noticed that it was going awfully slow. They must have seen us at the same time for that big red flasher came on. I collapsed against the car as Clyde and Cal Lewis stepped out of the sedan. And then I had something else to think about as Anita flung herself into my arms.

“You know, Clyde,” I said later, “I’ve always thought pictures were important but I never thought one of my pictures would help solve a murder.” Anita squeezed my hand.

“I’m not surprised, Matt. I always knew you’d be a famous photographer. But I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to happen here, or in quite this way.”

We were all sitting in Clyde’s office, having a much needed coffee break. Charles Henry Lane, was safely locked up. There’d been no more fight in him when Cal slapped him awake and put the handcuffs on him.

“Okay, Clyde,” I said, putting down my coffee cup. “Let’s finish this up. When did you decide my idea wasn’t completely cockeyed?”

Clyde gave me a sheepish grin. “Not very long after you left. I knew it would take too long to get anything from the Army on Lane’s whereabouts during the war. So I checked the newspaper files, figuring Lane’s whereabouts would have been given there. Lane was at Camp Pickett, Virginia, from 1943 until he went overseas in ’44. So then I went to Cal with what I had.” He glanced at Cal. “Care to fill him in, Cal?”