Killer Exposure

by Jessica R. Patch

  Greer was beginning to think the same thing. “I’m not ready to throw in the towel yet,” she said as she felt along the back of the bench that housed the pull-out couch.

  Locke grunted.

  “That wasn’t a barb, Locklin.” She wasn’t subtly alluding to him throwing in the towel at some point in regard to Lin.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything personal right now, Greer. I want to try and keep focused on this one thing. This one enormous thing. I can only handle one enormous thing at a time, okay?”

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  Locke popped up, eyes wide as if a lightbulb had lit up his brain. “Where’s the pull-out storage compartment?” He sprang out the door and hauled it to the back end of the camper. “Bingo.”

  Greer stood at a distance. “You think they forgot to look in there? I’d look there first.”

  He opened the hatch, then shoved his hands inside the cubby area, feeling around. He knocked on the wall. “Aha!” His crooked grin lit up his face, creased his dimple in his right cheek. With a little force and a grunt, he ripped off a panel and tossed it on the ground. He shined his cell phone’s flashlight inside. “Bingo times two, baby!” He hoisted a large rectangular metal box from behind the false back. He dug in his pocket and retrieved a pocketknife. After a little finagling he had the box unlocked.

  Greer hurried over. “I can’t believe it. You did it.”

  “Amazing how I can surprise you.” He gave her a knowing look but she batted it away. She couldn’t take a chance on him, couldn’t risk her heart or Lin’s even if deep down she desperately wanted to. Over and over all she could hear were her father’s words, and a fresh wave of excruciating pain and horrible terror swept over her. If she could get over the fear... But she’d tried. She’d recited scriptures about God being a Father to the fatherless. About perfect love and how it cast out all fear. And yet...she continued to battle the paralyzing fear.

  “Hands up,” a husky, rough voice said. From behind the other side of the camper a large masculine figure aimed a gun on them. “Don’t think about getting wise, either. Hands up now or I’ll shoot.”

  Slowly Greer raised her hands. Locke followed suit. Now would not be a good time for him to give in to his impulsive side.

  “You, slide that box over and don’t be funny about it or I’ll put one in the boyfriend. I may do that, anyway.”

  “That seems rude,” Locke quipped.

  Greer shot him a dirty look. Now was not the time to be cheeky, either. She slid the box over.

  “Toss the guns. Both of ya.”

  Locke sighed and chucked his gun. Greer followed suit. “Now, get inside the camper.”

  He wasn’t going to take her? Wasn’t going to shoot them both right here and now, with no one around? This couldn’t be the serial killer. But who was it?

  Greer inched toward the camper with her hands up and Locke moved in front of her, shielding her as they backed into the camper and closed the door.

  “I don’t like this guy,” Locke mumbled and locked the camper door, peering through the filmy window.

  The guy snatched the box and darted behind the camper, then sprinted toward the carnival. Greer busted out of the camper, grabbed her gun as Locke grabbed his and they raced after him. They had to get that box. It held the key to the killer and to the murders, but the thief had vanished into the sea of campers and games. Greer stomped her foot and cried out. Not again. “That was our one advantage.” She balled her fists and clenched her teeth.

  Locke came to her side. “I know.” No encouragement. There was none to be had right now. They were losing hard and fast. Glancing up, he whistled. “But that wasn’t the serial killer. We’d be dead if it had been. That was someone who wanted evidence.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. We gotta find that box!”

  “Not right now. We need to move. Thunderheads are scrolling fast.” On cue, hefty gusts of wind smacked against them and the sky suddenly blackened. They rushed to the truck and jumped in.

  “Locke, it’s Jerry.”

  Locke pressed the button on the radio. “I’m here, Jerry.”

  “Damaging winds and possible tornado spotted in the Rolling Hills area again. I’m gonna need you to jump on it.”

  “Roger that.” Locke looked to Greer. “Care to—”

  Greer’s cell rang and she answered. “What’s up, Adam?” Adam, who wanted to keep the fact a serial killer was after her a secret.

  “We need all hands on deck. Funnel clouds were spotted about fifteen miles south of Magnolia Trailer Park. We need help evacuating them to the shelter.”

  Guess he’d been called in after all. “Okay. I’m on my way.” She hung up. “I need a ride to the station. I can’t go with you. But I’ll be fine.” She buckled up as Locke drove from the lot, the wind shaking the truck.

  Trees swayed and the weeds in the fields on either side of them were flattened like pancakes. “Just be careful. Call me when you’re done and everyone—including yourself—is safe.” Locke tightened his grip on the wheel and peeked at the sky. Rain broke through the nebulous clouds. He switched on his wipers and turned on his lights. “Where’s the shelter?”

  “About a mile from Magnolia. State money provided funds to build several throughout Alabama. Basement and small room with a ham radio. Someone from search-and-rescue volunteers to man it.”

  “I wish more towns had them. I read about Tennessee providing funds for shelters, too, and one in Mississippi.” Locke pulled up at the station. “Please be safe. The weather and...other things going on... I—I gotta go.”

  “I gotta stay.” Wasn’t that their lot in life. She was staying behind and he was always leaving. “I’ll be safe.” She jumped out and raced inside. She grabbed a Jenkins County Sheriff’s Department raincoat, slipped into a pair of rain boots and donned a deputy ball cap. Ben rounded the corner in his uniform and raincoat and hat. “What are you doing here?”

  “Adam said all hands were on deck.”

  “They need to be. Follow me. We may have to evacuate with cars, too. First Community Church has drivers and vans ready to go.” He tossed her the keys to her deputy’s car.

  Greer caught her keys and followed Ben. Rain poured in stinging drops as Greer raced to her car, flipped on her lights and squinted at the road in front of her. Most of the roads were clear of drivers, but not debris and limbs and branches.

  She made her way to Magnolia. A tree was down at the front entrance. She drove around to the east side and hit the radio. “This is Deputy Montgomery. Request location to clear.”

  “Northeast quadrant,” Ben called back. “Not everyone wants to go willingly.”

  “Roger that,” Greer said and pulled slowly to the northeast side of the trailer park. These homes were death traps and most residents were elderly or disabled citizens. Some single mamas with small children. “I don’t see any evacuation vans. ETA, please.”

  “Two minutes,” he said over the radio.

  She parked and jumped out, her rain boots landing in a deep muddy pothole. She trudged to the first trailer and knocked. When it opened, a woman with a cigarette and a baby on her hip scowled. “Officer?”

  “Tornado has been spotted about twenty minutes away. We’re evacuating. Gather up some belongings, one bag, and we’ll get y’all to the shelter. When you see the van pull up, get in.”

  The woman nodded, then Greer went to the next door and the next. Most residents complied, though they didn’t have pleasant words about the weather. Neither did Greer. Rain didn’t let up. Thunder cracked so loud, Greer felt it in her chest, and the lightning was blinding. Bikes, tricycles, cheap lawn chairs blew from one yard to another. Greer ducked as a whiffle-ball bat blew straight for her.

  Trailers rocked like boats in a tempest and the sparse yards flooded with muddy water.

  Folks w
ere making a run for it and climbing inside the two fifteen-passenger vans that had pulled up. Looked like more than one church was coming to the residents’ aid.

  “How you looking, Greer?” Ben asked.

  “Two trailers left. One van has already exited the park.”

  “I’m on my way behind the evacuated residents on the south side.”

  “Right behind you,” Greer said and sprinted to the second-to-last trailer. No one answered and she moved on to the last one.

  “Go away,” a shaky, elderly voice called.

  Greer hit the radio button on her shoulder again. “I need the resident’s name for two-thirty-one Apple Blossom, Magnolia.”

  Dispatch answered. “Hazel Camco. Seventy-four. Widowed.”

  Greer knocked again. “Ms. Camco, there’s a bad storm. Possible tornado. We’re evacuating. It won’t be for long. Please come with me.”

  “No.” The door opened. “I’m not leaving Fifi or Peppy.”

  The smell of cat urine and kitty litter whacked Greer’s senses and did a number on her gag reflex. “I’m sure Fifi and Peppy will be okay. I’m worried about you.” A huge limb cracked and fell onto the roof of the trailer next door and the door swung open, barely hanging on its hinges. Greer grabbed her ball cap and mashed it farther onto her head. “Ma’am, please.”

  “I’m only coming if my cats come.”

  Great Scott! “Okay.” Greer stepped inside the meager home. Might smell like cats but the place was meticulous. “Where are they?”

  “They’re cats. And scared.” She tossed her a frown. Great. Greer did not have time for a game of feline hide-and-seek. After an eternity of searching and four scratches, along with a whole lot of irritation, Greer had the woman and her fraidycats rounded up and in the van. She waved them off and dashed toward her car. The van stopped and honked.

  Greer splashed through the muddy potholes. Limbs were down in front of the van. She and the driver moved them and then Ms. Camco hollered out the door, “I need my purse. It’s on my kitchen table. I have to have it! It has my medication!”

  Oh, this woman. “I’ll bring it to the shelter.” She turned to the driver. “All y’all got to go. Now. Get safe. I’ll be right behind.”

  She darted for the trailer. Greer was drenched from head to toe, but she’d grab the purse and do one more sweep. Lots of parents left their kids—some of them very young—in order to go to work. One might be hiding and afraid. The wind pressed against her and she had to lean into it to move forward.

  Suddenly, she was knocked to the ground.

  ELEVEN

  Had something blown into her? Greer opened her eyes.

  The killer! Dressed from head to toe in black. Black hood and ski mask. Greer went for her gun, but he held it up. “Looking for this?” he asked in a husky whisper. He slung her gun across the yard. “You won’t need that.” He unclipped her radio and chucked it, too, then he pulled his knife and held it to her neck. “No one to hear you scream.” He grabbed her hair and dragged her through the mud and into Camco’s trailer.

  Greer screamed and tried to grab onto anything, including the door frame, as he hauled her up the two stairs. She kicked and wailed. But the park had been evacuated. The storm was loud and obnoxious. And she had no way to call in help.

  He must have followed Locke and Greer from the carnival to the station, then tailed Greer here, and waited. Bided his time until he could have her alone. Or he had a police scanner and had guessed she might be here.

  Inside, he slung her onto the couch. The man was impressively strong, but Greer wasn’t going down without a fight. As he lunged on top of her, she kicked him square in the chest. All that kickboxing had given her thighs some power. He lurched backward and she sprung up and raced for the door. She needed to be out in the open. This place was too narrow.

  If she could get to her car...

  The killer growled, cursed and grabbed the back of her jacket, ripping the light fabric down the middle. She fell back against his chest and elbowed him in the sternum, but she knew she’d never make it outside, and if she didn’t do something...she’d end up like those poor other women. Greer had read the reports, knew exactly how they’d died.

  She spotted Ms. Camco’s knitting on the cabinet by a cold cup of tea. She grabbed one needle as his arms came around her and he hauled her back into the living area. Greer thrashed and reared back her head, preparing to butt him, but he was too quick for that and he threw her to the ground. Her head slammed onto the floor, jarring her. His black gloved hand wrapped around her throat. As he brought the knife out with his other hand, she plunged the knitting needle into his shoulder. He wailed.

  She wiggled free, jumped up and leaped out the door.

  His roars sent shivers down her spine. If he wasn’t infuriated before, he was now. Greer slogged through the mud and puddles, hurdling lawn furniture, grills and other sorts of outdoor equipment as well as fallen limbs and branches as she raced to her car.

  By now he was right behind her. Her pulse pounded and her hands shook uncontrollably. She made it to her car and jumped inside, locking the door. She went to crank the engine but the keys were missing.

  She glanced up.

  He stood in front of her car dangling her keys in one hand through the rain-blurred windshield. In the other hand he held a throwing knife.

  No. No. No.

  Greer’s doors were locked, but she couldn’t stay in here forever. She searched the car for her rifle, but it must still be in lock-up. She hadn’t had time to sign for the release of it—protocol before each shift. When she glanced up, he was gone.

  The windows were beginning to fog. Her heart galloped at breakneck speed. Where did he go? Did he leave? Was he waiting? Her breath came in shallow pants as she darted her gaze around the perimeter, but she was almost blind to everything outside the car now.

  Rain pelted on the roof.

  The wind howled.

  Click.

  She snapped her head toward the passenger door. The lock had popped up. She squealed and leaped over, smashing it down. He was toying with her, crouching down low. She held her hands on the lock and tried to look below, to see him. Fear filled every vein in her body, rocketing through her.

  Click.

  She gasped and jumped back over to the driver’s side, smashing down the lock and holding it. How long could she play this game? Was he creeping along the ground back toward the passenger side? He’d know not to mess with the backseat or he’d be stuck inside.

  At some point, he’d win. Get inside. Get her out. She had to swallow the terror and go on the offensive. She slowly slid over to the passenger side, trying not to rock the car or give away her location inside. If he was crouched low, then he couldn’t see her, either. When he unlocked the door, she made her move, and instead of relocking it, she thrust the door open, hoping to knock him down and make a break, but he was crouched on the back-passenger side, so the door missed him completely.

  He snatched her by the coat collar and yanked her out. She grabbed a handful of sludge and slung it in his eyes, then sprung to her feet and raced across the mud. Lights flashed ahead and she froze, looked back.

  The man in black had vanished.

  “Get in!” Locke called.

  Locke! She’d never been more thrilled to see him. She raced toward his truck and jumped inside. “I thought you had to go?” She fell against him and he wrapped his strong arms around her, squeezing.

  “I do what I want, remember? And I wanted to check on you.”

  He smelled like rain and soap. Like safety and promise.

  “Funnel never touched down.” He pulled back, cradled her face in his warm hands. “What happened?”

  She’d tell him. She would. But right now, she needed to catch her breath and simply feel the security of being in Locke’s presence, his arms. Greer fell again
st him and he held her until her breath steadied and she could explain what happened. “I need to find my gun and radio.”

  “Greer, I’m so thankful you’re a tough, brave woman. A fighter. I don’t think my ticker can take much more.” He groaned and sighed, combing his hair with his hands. “Okay, let’s get your gun and radio. I called Jody on my way over to check on them and Lin. They were in the storm cellar at Tori’s.”

  “Good.” She’d check on Hollister, who she’d begged to go back home. But he insisted on getting Mama’s stuff cleared out and the garage organized. Greer read between the lines, though. Hollis wanted to be nearby for Greer’s sake. She had no doubt he was safe.

  They hopped back out in the thunderstorm and found her gun and radio. She called in she was safe and heading into the station. Back inside Locke’s truck, he eased from the road that cut through the middle of the trailer park.

  “Did he say anything to you, Greer?”

  “Nothing of importance. I didn’t recognize his voice but it felt like he might be masking it, like I said before. Batman-ish.” Greer leaned her head back against the seat. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck. “He’s strong. Really strong, Locke.”

  Locke handed her a bottle of water. “Here.”

  She drank deeply, nearly half of the bottle, and sighed. “Take me back to the station. I need to give this information to the sheriff. Fill out a report.” She shook her head. “If I’d have come in to work as a deputy, not been taken off duty, I’d have checked out my extra weapons from the locker for the patrol car. I was helpless inside there.” She fisted the side of the door. “Makes me so mad.”

  Between debris in the road and limbs and full-on trees blocking them, it took almost forty minutes to get back to the station. They ran inside since the rain hadn’t let up. The winds had slowed down. According to Locke’s satellite they were now at ten miles an hour, not seventy. Inside, Ben stood with a cup of coffee. His eyes grew wide. “I knew you were wrangling cats, but you didn’t say they were lions.”