As he stepped on to the sidewalk, he paused and, lifting his head, looked around the parking lot. His face turned in my direction and our eyes met. We held a gaze for a second, and then he looked away, as though he could not recognize me. The marshals on each elbow gave him a slight push, and he resumed his shuffle in the direction of the waiting van.

They swung off the sidewalk and out into the lot to walk around the back of the van to the other side, where the open door beckoned. At that instant came the harsh sound of squealing tires and the deep growl of a powerful engine. I looked over my shoulder just as a red pickup truck smashed through the steel gate of the lot and came roaring in with a crash. The truck sat high on massive tires, and it was gathering speed as it flashed across the lot. It was Junior Causey at the wheel!

I glanced back at Zimmer and his escorts. The marshals at his side saw the truck hurtling down upon them and dove away, leaving Zimmer transfixed where he stood. Several guns opened fire on the truck, but its momentum now could not be stopped. The irresistible force was about to meet the immovable object.

Zimmer ducked his head into his chest as though that would protect him. Men yelled incoherently while a half dozen pistols added to the cacophony. The front bumper of the truck plowed into Zimmer with a meaty smack, slamming him into the rear of the van and pinning him there. There was a loud crash of buckled and tortured metal and a small, short scream. And then everything went quiet and still, all except the hiss of a broken radiator.

Patricia and I ran forward as two marshals sprinted to the side of the truck, one covering with his pistol as the other jerked the door open. I looked inside. Junior Causey’s body lay slumped across the steering wheel. A third marshal ran forward. While two of them provided cover, the other officer pulled Junior from the truck and lay him on the ground. A quick glance was all I needed to tell me that Junior Causey had been shot dead.

I moved to the front of the truck. Zimmer’s shoulders and head were visible above the high bumper of the truck. As I approached, he turned his head in my direction and looked at me with vacant and uncomprehending eyes. His lips moved but no sound emerged.

And then a voice from somewhere nearby called out, “Oh my God! He’s been cut in two! His legs are lying on the ground!”