The Dummy Line Page 14

  Jake was impressed with her mental fortitude. She saw her boyfriend severely beaten, successfully eluded a violent attacker for miles, and at the moment she was about to be raped, her attacker was shot in the head. Certainly a tough night for anyone, much less an eighteen-year-old girl.

  Katy was glad to have Elizabeth along. Although she noticed that Elizabeth was wearing her dad’s shirt, she didn’t say anything. Elizabeth’s presence was comforting to her. She had never seen her dad scared before, but Katy was pretty sure that he was, and that frightened her.

  Jake’s right arm was getting numb. He stopped, stood Katy on a dry oak stump, and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Elizabeth caught up, and Katy scooted over on the stump to make room for her to sit down. Jake pulled out his map and unfolded it. He shined his flashlight on the girls to make a quick assessment. Katy squinted. She had a bad scratch on her forehead that she hadn’t said anything about. Elizabeth had a swollen eye and a bad bruise on her cheekbone. Jake noticed that she was shaking and cold. He didn’t have any more clothes to offer her. His plan was to make their way to the Little Buck Field where they could get warm and rest in a shooting house. He touched Katy’s scratch and brushed off some dried blood.

  “Dad, I wanna go home.”

  Elizabeth simply nodded her head. Jake understood.

  “I do, too, girlfriend. Let’s rest here for a few minutes; then we’ll go straight for a place to hide out.”

  When there was no response, Jake immediately clicked on the light and said, “Hey, girls…look at me. I’m going to get us outta here, I promise.”

  They both nodded. Jake rubbed Katy on the top of her head and smiled assuredly at Elizabeth. He then studied his map. Checking his compass, he confirmed their location. We’re traveling southeast, so we must be here, he thought, pointing confidently to a spot on the map.

  “Are you cold, Elizabeth?”

  “I’m OK,” she replied.

  “You can have my gloves,” Katy offered.

  “Thank you…no, you keep ‘em.” She smiled at Katy.

  “Let’s get moving. Come on. We’ll warm up as we walk,” Jake said, squatting for Katy to climb onto his back.

  Tiny was beginning to think clearly and was feeling better about the situation. Reese hadn’t seen what had happened. He believed that Johnny Lee’s killer had also killed Sweat. To get out from under this, I’ll tell Reese how the guy took me and Sweat by surprise and that they fought hand to hand and that I chased the girl and before I could get back, the guy shot Sweat. I’ll come up with something to say about the boy and the Jeep and tie it all together.

  Tiny looked hard at Sweat’s body and saw all that was bad about his own life and his future. He was at a crossroads. This was his chance to change course. He started back toward his four-wheeler, proud that he had stopped the rape and murder of the girl but hating that he’d had to kill Sweat.

  After climbing onto the four-wheeler, he sat a moment, thinking. I’ll load up, then just drive away from all of this mess and start over. Reese won’t even know where to look for me. I got thirty-eight hundred dollars cash money in an old mayonnaise jar—my startin’-over money. I’m done. Tiny clicked the lights on, started the engine, and headed back to his truck and a new beginning.

  As the four-wheeler’s headlights reflected off his truck, Tiny eased back on the throttle. He shifted into low, lined up the tires on the ramp, and goosed the throttle. The engine revved and the machine slowly crawled up the ramp into the back of his truck. Switching off the ignition, he stood up and looked around. Something was different. Oh, shit, the Jeep’s been moved! Tiny’s heart stopped. It wasn’t blocking the road anymore. If Johnny Lee’s killer had escaped, Reese would be furious.

  “Shit!” he said aloud.

  He quickly slid the ramps into the back of the truck and shut the tailgate. Just drive right out of this screwed-up situation. After climbing into the truck, he slammed the door and reached for his keys. They weren’t in the ignition. Shit!

  He got out and raked all the trash from the floorboards. Still no keys. He checked under the seat, feeling with his hands. He reached up on the dash, grabbed his flashlight, and clicked it on.

  He found a knife he hadn’t seen in over a year, a screwdriver with interchangeable bits that he had been certain Sweat had stolen from him, but no keys. He looked in the side pockets on the door and in the drink holders, but he knew they weren’t there. There were only two places they could be…in the ignition or on the floorboard. Dammit!

  Although a professional criminal, Tiny didn’t know how to hotwire anything. He was stuck, and this was supposed to be his getaway—his freedom ride. He wanted to scream. He also wanted to cry. He walked over to the Jeep and opened the door. He reached for the ignition. It was empty. Tiny’s heart sank.

  Tiny figured that Sweat’s keys must have fallen out of his pants when he and Tiny fought. He stuck the flashlight in his pocket as he walked to the truck. He dropped the tailgate, pulled out the aluminum ramps, and set them in place. After backing down the four-wheeler, he headed to look for a needle in a haystack.

  Anxious and frustrated, Reese stood silently on top of a stump, listening for anything that could be Johnny Lee’s killer. Reese had never been caught poaching and was rarely even seen. He could tell when someone was approaching by the way the sounds of the woods changed. He took great pride in his predatory skills. He knew he had the advantage. But he could not hear anything. No running, limbs cracking, no voices.

  Reese shifted his weight and reached for a cigarette. His lighter fired up on the first try. After a long drag, he blew smoke up into the night sky. He thought about Sweat and Tiny. I can’t wait to hear this story. Sweat’s an idiot, and Tiny ain’t too far behind or ahead—as the case may be.

  A barred owl hooted in the bottom off to Reese’s right. Owls are awesome hunters. Tonight, more than ever, Reese wished he could glide silently through the trees and see in the dark. He finished his cigarette and mashed it out on the pine tree in front of him. I’ve gotta cut his tracks, Reese thought, grabbing his rifle. He then slipped off silently through the thickest woods in the county.

  “Unit One to Base,” Ollie said with frustration, leaning back in the bucket seat of his Expedition. He dreaded making this call and the added burdens that surely would follow. There were just too many unanswered questions. Ollie hated unanswered questions.

  Several seconds slowly ticked by before Martha responded, “Go ahead, One.”

  “Have you learned anything from the parents that I need to know?”

  “No, not a thing,” she replied.

  “How’s the Tillman kid?”

  “No change.”

  “Call Hale County and get them to have Sheriff Marlow call me on frequency four,” Ollie said flatly, weary resignation in his voice.

  There was a long pause. Martha understood Ollie’s reluctance to involve other jurisdictions. Sheriff Marlow was arguably the most respected sheriff in western Alabama. He had been in office for almost thirty years and had run unopposed in the last three elections. It was widely known that he could make things happen and that he was a close, personal friend of the governor. The problem was that Marlow always came to the party with an attitude and a hidden agenda.

  “Absolutely, Ollie. Hang on.”

  Martha O’Brien dialed the Hale County Sheriff’s Office. A young man whose voice Martha didn’t recognize answered on the second ring. The rumor was that Marlow let trusties answer the phones, cut his grass, clean his fish, and do various other personal jobs. She explained who she was and that Sheriff Landrum needed Sheriff Marlow’s assistance. She could hear him jotting down names and instructions.

  “I’ll see what I can do…it’s three fifteen in the morning, you know,” he said condescendingly.

  Martha erupted. “I am well aware of the time. This is urgent or I wouldn’t be freakin’ callin’! Now, get me Sheriff Marlow.” She mouthed the word “idiots” to herself and let out a d
eep breath. Martha O’Brien was constantly amazed at others’ incompetence. She had zero tolerance for it and for them.

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied, respectfully this time.

  “Sheriff Landrum will be waiting on frequency four,” she said, lighting another cigarette.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, then hung up and began cussing.

  She hung up the telephone and then pushed the radio microphone button.

  “Sheriff?” she asked, “I expect he’ll be calling you any minute.”

  “Thank you, Miz Martha.”

  “Anything else?”

  Ollie thought he heard a trace of sympathy in her voice. “I may need you to call Tuscaloosa…I’m thinking we’ll need a helicopter. But wait till I talk to Marlow. Stay in touch with the Tillmans and Beasleys, and radio me if there’s something I should know.”

  “Ollie, listen to me. You find that girl,” she pleaded.

  “Yes ma’am…let me change channels. I don’t want to miss Marlow,” he replied, then leaned down to adjust his radio. Ollie couldn’t decide how Marlow would react.

  Ollie looked at his watch, rolled down his window for some fresh air, and settled into his seat. He thought about the pistol and the role it might have played in this crazy scenario. The camp looked sinister in the dark shadows created by the maze of floodlights. R.C. was in his vehicle trying to run down the pistol’s serial number. That would take some time, unless it was stolen. Somewhere there was a missing girl. He hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a high-profile case that put him under the microscope.

  A gruff voice crackled over the radio. “Hale County Unit One to Sumter County Unit One.”

  “Unit One here,” Ollie responded and thought, OK, here we go.

  “Ollie, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

  “Sheriff, I’ve got a situation over here that’s really got me worried.” He gave him an abbreviated account of Mick’s phone call and the camp house. He quickly explained about finding Tanner Tillman and that Elizabeth Beasley was missing. The girl was his priority. Sheriff Marlow said that he knew Zach Beasley—Zach did his taxes. Ollie tried to be concise yet stress the uncertainty of it all.

  “Ollie, this is serious. I agree that we should concentrate on the girl…let me get some deputies over there and we’ll start canvassing. It’ll take an hour,” Marlow replied, staring out his bedroom window.

  “Sheriff? I was wonderin’ if we should call in a ‘copter to search at daylight?” Ollie asked.

  “The closest one’s in Tuscaloosa, and I know it’s broken down. If the National Guard wasn’t in the Middle East, we’d get one of theirs. I tell you what…I might call the governor to see if he’d dispatch his helicopter. Let me get there; then we’ll make a plan. Remember last time?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’ll have my deputies call your office for directions. I’m on my way, son.”

  “Thank you,” Ollie replied, feeling an immediate sense of relief. Help was coming, and Marlow hadn’t been arrogant or uncooperative.

  R.C. was standing by Ollie’s door nodding his head in agreement. “A helicopter could do a fast search of this area.”

  “True, but the more I think about it, the more I think they’ve left. Why would they hang around? And where? It’s cold, wet, and muddy out there. They had to leave. That may be why the truck’s tag was missing. Trying to buy some time,” Ollie explained.

  “You’re probably right. Unless it’s teenagers, and then they may not have any place to go.”

  Ollie nodded. He hadn’t thought about that. “Any word on that gun registration?”

  “They’re gonna call back,” R.C. explained.

  “R.C., I want to find that girl. I’m afraid…I can’t even go there—we just gotta find her, and fast.”

  “I know. I feel the same way…but where do we start?” R.C. threw up his hands in frustration.

  “That’s the problem. We could tie up all of our manpower in the wrong direction.”

  Ollie pulled the radiophone out of his pocket and studied it. “This might be our ticket. If we could get them to disclose their location or at least give us a clue.”

  “You’re right…or…it might tip ‘em off and make ‘em run.” R.C. shook his head in confusion.

  They looked at each other and then at the phone.

  As the trio approached a small creek, they stumbled upon an Indian mound. Any other time, Jake would have been excited to explain to Katy the significance of this site. Jake loved Native American history and over the years had found a number of arrowheads while planting food plots. It always amazed him that the last person to touch the artifact had been an Indian.

  Jake, needing to rest, found a spot to set Katy down. Elizabeth stumbled up, leaned against a tree, and slowly lowered herself to the ground. He looked at them both. Katy was still terrified, and Elizabeth looked like she could be going into shock; he wasn’t sure. Jake sat down between the girls. He checked the safety on the shotgun then laid it at an angle across his lap.

  The words of Conway Twitty’s song “That’s My Job” kept going through Jake’s head. He was doing his job—everything he could to keep Katy safe. He breathed in deeply.

  “Y’all OK?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Katy said tiredly.

  Elizabeth just grunted. Jake could tell that she was just going through the motions.

  “Elizabeth, tell me about yourself,” he asked, trying to distract her. “Do you go to school?”

  “I’m a senior at Sumter Academy. I’ll probably go to The University of Virginia this fall,” she said flatly. There was no emotion in her eyes or voice.

  “I guess you live around here somewhere?” Jake asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

  “In Livingston.”

  “What does your father do?”

  “He’s an accountant.”

  Katy joined in. “Do you play sports?”

  “I played softball until the tenth grade, but not anymore,” Elizabeth answered.

  “I play softball and basketball,” Katy said proudly.

  Elizabeth managed a small smile. Jake thought, Maybe she’s holding up. Katy seems to be calming down, too.

  Elizabeth looked off in the distance, then back at Katy. “I’m a cheerleader,” she said; then, looking squarely at Jake, she added, “And my boy…my boyfriend plays football.” Elizabeth burst into tears.

  Katy looked at her dad with a sad, bewildered look, and he shook his head at her, signaling that it was all right.

  “Elizabeth, I’ve been thinking about him. After I get y’all safely in a shooting house, I’ll go get him,” Jake remarked assuredly.

  “No! You can’t leave us…they can track us…please, don’t leave!” she said in a panic and added hopefully, “We’ll go with you!”

  “OK, OK, I won’t. I won’t leave y’all,” he promised. He placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder to comfort her, but he was thinking how he might be able to turn the tables on the rednecks and become the aggressor.

  “Listen to me—both of you. We’re gonna get out of here. But we have to really push ourselves. We’re all hurtin’, tired, and scared. Katy, you have to do everything I say…immediately, no questions. Elizabeth, I know you’re worried about your boyfriend, but right now, you have to think about helping yourself first. You can’t help him right now. Since he’s a football player, I’m sure he’s a strong, tough guy. I have a plan. It’ll get us out of here. Y’all understand? Helpin’ yourself helps us all; that’s how it works. Got it?”

  They both nodded in agreement. Jake didn’t have a plan yet, but he was going to get these girls out of there even if it killed him.

  Turning to Katy, he wrapped his arms around her and looked her in the eyes. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I do,” she answered and hugged him.

  Jake kissed her cheek and held her tight. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  “Is your boyfr
iend in love with you?” he asked Elizabeth. She smiled slightly. With enough light, he might have seen her blush.

  “Yes sir, he is,” she responded with a smile.

  “Well, think about that…that’s a good thought,” Jake said, standing. “Let’s go,” he said as he stretched. “It can’t be much farther.”

  “Dad?” Katy asked.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Mom’s gonna kill you when we get home.”

  Jake smiled and said, “I know.” If someone doesn’t beat her to it.

  Larson drove as fast as he could to Johnny Lee Grover’s trailer. All local law enforcement knew his address. The sheriff’s department had spent years watching Johnny Lee, who was suspected of drug manufacturing, possession, distribution, and other crimes. He had no apparent means of legitimate income.

  It had only been about six months since the last time Larson had been to Johnny Lee’s place. The sheriff’s department had received a call concerning gunfire. Larson had been the first to arrive. There were two naked teenage meth addicts in the backyard shooting a .22 rifle into the woods trying to kill the “tree people.” At the sight of Shug, both kids cooperated. Larson found it sad how they insisted the trees were full of people who wanted to kill them. As he was loading the junkies into the police cruiser, Johnny Lee stepped out of the trailer and thanked him. He said that he couldn’t sleep with all the noise. Larson knew the kids had bought the drugs from Johnny Lee; he just couldn’t prove it. The boys were only sixteen years old.

  Larson cut off his headlights about two hundred yards from Johnny Lee’s double-wide. As he eased closer to the trailer, he saw a black Tahoe or Suburban backed up to the front door. Larson didn’t recognize it but was certain it wasn’t Johnny Lee’s. Then he saw the small orange glow of a lit cigarette on the front deck of the trailer. Larson decided to pull up and ask a few questions. He told the ever-licking Shug, “Achtung,” as he flipped on his headlights and braked to a stop. The guy sitting on the front steps was blowing smoke rings.