I needed someone nearby.
Someone who could arrive quickly.
Someone who would believe me.
Then I thought of Harry Collins.
Harry was my closest neighbor geographically, though his farmhouse was about a mile down the road. We were not best friends, but we had known each other for years. He had helped me repair part of my roof after a storm. I had helped him build raised garden beds behind his garage.
Harry was direct, dependable, and not easily rattled.
More importantly, he had served as a police officer for thirty years before retiring from the Knox County Sheriff’s Office.
I entered his number.
My fingers trembled so badly that I had to type it twice.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I began to think he would not answer.
Then I heard his familiar voice.
“Hello?”
“Harry, it’s David. I need your help.”
There was an immediate change in his tone.
