As we huddled together wondering about all this, Richard strolled out of the police station. He came over to us and compassionately asked, “Are you guys alright?”
What kind of question is that? How could we be “alright?”
“No, not really,” I explained. “We have never been in this kind of trouble before.”
Richard attempted to console us by saying, “Well, there’s no evidence of criminal intent here that I see.”
My spirit instantly lifted with his hopeful comment. Then he ruined it all by following, “But, of course, I’m not the prosecutor.”
He certainly could have left off that last part for my sake.
Having worked in prison ministry before, I couldn’t help but wonder if our missionary work would end by me visiting Lydia in prison for the next 10 years.
We caught a later flight to NY, but it was the most worrisome weekend of my life.
Since Chris, the Civil Aviation guy had given me his card and had said to call him with any questions, I decided to do just that.
Returning to Indy on Monday, I called him.
“I’ll meet you at the coffee shop there in the airport,” he agreed.
As we talked with Chris we asked what he thought would REALLY happen to Lydia.
He smiled. Chris was a Christian. He explained, “My dad is a pastor and has always pastored churches in need. I knew the other day what you guys were going through and I felt for you.”
I really appreciated Chris’s kindness and understanding but he hadn’t answered my question yet. What’s gonna happen?
“Well, if there are no criminal charges, there are still possible civil charges that could be pressed.”
“What are they?” I inquired.
“Well, there could be prison time, but more than likely you would get off with just a fine,” he stated.
“How much?”
“Up to $7,500 per violation, he said.
Quick calculation—could be 20 years in prison and $15,000 (“just a fine?”! Not the retirement I had hoped for, for sure!)
It helped a lot that Chris told us he expected that Civil Aeronautics would opt for only a letter of warning. “But,” he said, “You will for sure get that much. Don’t let this happen again.”
When things lightened up a bit we asked Chris how many knives were confiscated in a day at Indy. He said, “Oh maybe fifty on a normal day.”
He quickly followed, “But of course, most of them are 3 or 4 inches long—not 13 and a half, and 15 inches like yours!”
Our meeting with Chris ended with us feeling a lot better, but still super worried about the summons.
We told no one of our plight. Not even family and close friends. We just told our family who received our Indiana-addressed mail for us, as nonchalantly as we could, “Hey if you happen to get anything from a police department or federal office, just send it on to us.” Nothing more was said.
Eleven months went by and no summons had come.
But every time we traveled through the Indy airport for the next several months, we would see the same Officer Charlie walking around our gate area. Coincidence? Surveillance maybe?
And then it came. A letter from the Indianapolis Airport Police. Was this it? The court summons?
“Dear Mrs.Hines,
We were cleaning out our evidence room here at the police station and we located two large knives we believe belong to you. You are free to come by and pick them up.”
Whoohoo! Returning the evidence means no trial. No trial means no felony conviction. No felony conviction means no sentence. Whoohoo! No letter of warning ever came from the FAA either! It was great NOT to hear from Chris.
Soon afterward I made a trip to Indianapolis. Walking into the airport police station I asked for the “knives.”
“When were they left here Sir,” asked the young desk officer.
“October 14th,” I replied, with no hesitation. (That’s one date I will NEVER forget.)
“Were you forced to leave them here?” he further inquired.
“Yes, Sir.” (Never have passed out free machetes to anybody before—duh!)
He thumbed through the log book.
“Oh, that was October of last year, “I clarified”
“Oh yes, here it is, “he said.
About that time the other officer came out of the evidence room with the two machetes.
“Here you are, Sir,” he said, slapping them down on the counter.
Those stupid machetes had cost me my peace of mind for over a year. I wasn’t about to simply grab them and walk back through the airport terminal. Uh-uh.
“Uh, do you have a paper bag or something I can put these in?” I requested. “I don’t want to set off any alarms when I walk back through there.”
A nearby female officer took her bag lunch out of its sack and handed it to me.
“Thank you, Mam, I really appreciate it.” (She didn’t know the half!)
Guess what—those machetes are NOT part of any curio display of ours anymore.
And, thank God, I didn’t have to start a new prison ministry—visiting my wife!
A year later, I saw Officer Charlie in the airport. I walked up to him and expressed my appreciation to him for his professional manner in handling the arrest of my wife. He remembered the incident and knew we were missionaries.
“I’m glad everything came out alright,” he said. “A lot of people don’t’ know it, but I am the missions treasurer at my church and I write support checks to eight missionary families every month.”
“Cool,” I thought. “Want MY prayer card?”
