Part IV
The Mountain Road
65
By dawn, Isaacs’ property was saturated with law enforcement officials. Jackson couldn’t be sure someone hadn’t heard the gun shot and figured it was better to call it in himself. That way, at least, he could control the narrative.
Before he called 9-1-1, he’d told Bear to gather everything that they’d brought, take it back to his Suburban and leave. Then, he reported to the dispatcher he’d arrived at Isaacs’ house wanting to ask him some follow-up questions when he’d heard a gunshot. He was worried, so he broke open the door and eventually found the body.
Within half an hour, the first sheriff’s deputies were on scene. In two hours, a pair of detectives arrived. None of them particularly believed Jackson was telling the whole truth, but they didn’t have the evidence to prove otherwise. When Detective Bailey heard that State Police were assisting with a dead body identified as Jeff Isaacs and that a Jackson Clay was being questioned, she called a colleague at Division III Headquarters to keep an eye on him as a favor to her.
“I don’t know what’s going on down there, but I know this guy and he didn’t do anything like that,” Bailey had said over the phone, “Don’t let those inbred mouth breathers down there fuck it up.”
That was when Jackson met a beefy State Police Detective by the name of Donald Butler. Detective Butler had blonde hair cut into a flat top with a mustache that stopped being stylish several decades ago. Whenever he wasn’t poking holes in the Sheriff’s Office Detectives’ theories as they questioned Jackson, he’d stand no less than 4 feet away from him, working his way through a meaty paw filled with sunflower seeds, spitting the shells onto Isaacs’ pristine lawn.
“Don’t think he’ll mind now,” Butler had quipped when he caught Jackson looking at him funny for doing so.
Jackson was sitting on Isaacs’ front porch stairs waiting for the deputies to give him the okay to leave when a silver unmarked police car pulled up. The driver’s side door opened and out stepped Detective Angela Cole who immediately locked eyes with Jackson.
“Great,” Jackson said at the sight of her.
“You know her,” asked Detective Butler.
“Yeah, she’s not going to be happy,” Jackson answered, “Better spare yourself on this one.”
When Detective Cole approached him, Butler didn’t move to step in this time. Cole took one step up, then placed a foot on the second. Standing over Jackson, her figure eclipsed the early morning sun.
“Good morning,” Jackson said.
“What the hell happened, Clay,” Cole asked, clearly unhappy.
Her raised voice caught the attention of a nearby deputy who went to step in before Detective Cole showed him a badge and a look that told him to get lost.
“Well,” Cole said, “I’m waiting.”
“I don’t know, go ask Isaacs,” Jackson replied.
“You really want to get smart with me now,” Cole asked.
“What do you want me to say? I came down to ask the guy some questions, and heard a gunshot. The guy shot himself.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Cole. He wasn’t real talkative when I got to him.”
Detective Cole pulled off her mirrored aviator sunglasses and leaned into Jackson’s face.
“You’re the only one in the house with a dead body,” Cole said, “Look around. These guys want you for this. You need a friend right now, so I’d start talking.”
“Do you think the tough cop bit is going to work on me, Cole,” Jackson asked.
She stood up straight, tucking her glasses into the neckline of her blouse as she looked around.
“What were you going to ask him about,” Cole asked.
“Olivia,” Jackson answered.
“What about her,” Cole asked.
Jackson nodded up over towards the sheriff’s deputies.
“You really want to do this here,” he asked.
Detective Cole looked up and noticed one of the Sheriff’s Office detectives listening keenly to their conversation. She stepped back off the steps and motioned with her head for Jackson to follow her over to a quiet corner of the yard. The Sheriff’s Office detective began to follow when Detective Butler stepped in front of him and asked him if he’d done a number of things he very well knew the detective had.
“Her case,” Jackson said once the two of them were far enough away, “She was close in age and looks like Sara Beth. Probably also abducted by a stranger. I wanted to know more about her case, to see if there were parallels.”
“And this came to you in the middle of the night,” Cole asked.
“I’m looking for a missing girl,” Jackson replied, “I’m not exactly keeping office hours.”
“If you’re going around asking about girls that have been gone for years, I’m guessing you’re not much closer to finding Sara Beth.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“So, you have a lead.”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, cut the shit, Clay. Are you on to something or not?”
“I told you, when I know something solid, you’ll know. I can tell you this, being tied up here answering questions for a bunch of Barney Fifes isn’t helping.”
“Look where you are, Clay. Dead bodies don’t just show up every day around here. They’re going to hit this case hard.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that every minute I’m here, I’m not out there looking for her.”
Jackson began to walk away when Detective Cole grabbed his arm.
“I’ll see what I can do about speeding things up,” Cole said, her voice calmer.
Jackson looked at her a moment and then nodded in thanks.
“If you need information on Olivia Cole’s case, I can call Bailey and see what State has in its files,” Cole said.
“Forget it,” Jackson said, as he continued walking, “I got what I needed. If you want to help, get me kicked loose.”
Detective Cole stood there, watching Jackson walk back to the house, wondering what he’d meant by he’d got what he needed.
66
A little before noon, the Augusta County Sheriff’s Deputies finally let Jackson go, at which point he headed directly to Bear’s house. As he drove south, he couldn’t help but take unexpected turns and run the occasional light, double checking that no one got the idea to follow him from the scene, whether they be Lokos, police, or anyone else.
As he drove, he thought about the position he found himself in. Not only were the Lokos undoubtedly after him now, but at least one police department suspected he had something to do with a man’s death, and a detective from another probably felt he wasn’t being completely honest about what he knew about an abducted minor. A clear way out of the mess didn’t immediately come to him. But he wasn’t worried about himself, he was worried about Sara Beth.
Jackson pulled into Bear’s driveway. Bear had his truck backed all the way up to his front porch and was unloading the arsenal he’d brought with him to Isaacs’ house.
“Well you’re here and not in handcuffs,” Bear said as Jackson walked over, “I’ll take that as a good sign.”
“They’re not buying what I told them,” Jackson replied, “But they can’t prove anything. Not yet, anyways.”
“Well that’s less than good,” Bear asserted.
“Least of our worries, at this point. You got my SIG Sauer?”
“Over on the seat there,” Bear said.
Jackson fetched the gun off the seat as well as his leg holster. He strapped the holster to himself, then checked that the magazine was still full before sliding it back in and cocking the gun to put one round in the chamber.
“We expecting company,” Bear asked, watching him load up.
“Right now, I don’t know who’s coming around that corner,” Jackson answered.
Bear paused for a minute, then placed one of the rifles he was unloading by his side.
“Is Si
las’ phone with my stuff,” Jackson asked.
“Should be,” Bear replied.
Jackson went back to the Suburban and found the phone and its battery tucked in the middle seat. He’d turned off the phone and taken out the battery in case the Lokos tried to locate it somehow. He put the battery back in and turned the phone on.
Once it booted, Jackson went back into the Telegram app. He opened up the Secret Chats and scanned them again, looking for another mention of Sara Beth Parker perhaps by someone else. The user 3vang3l1st, the first message he’d seen last night, had either become impatient or paranoid and had told Silas to forget any arrangements. That’s one life potentially saved, Jackson thought.
None of the other private chats seemed to mention Sara Beth, but they all seemed to be clients, not fellow Lokos. Perhaps Silas communicated with other members another way, he thought, and went back into the phone’s contacts. He was scanning the contacts for Solomon or any other name he recognized, when a call flashed across the screen. It was an unknown number.
Bear heard the phone ring, and came around the truck looking at Jackson. Jackson looked up at him, then swiped the green phone icon and put the phone up to his ear.
“Mr. Clay,” said a voice on the other end, “It would appear you have something of mine.”
67
The voice on the other end wasn’t like Silas or the other Lokos Jackson had talked to. It was smooth and even-toned. Eerily calm.
Jackson put the phone out in front of him and put it on speakerphone so that Bear could also hear.
“You mean this phone,” Jackson supposed.
“That would be it, yes,” replied the voice.
Jackson stared at Bear, contemplating something in his head.
“Don’t you mean I have something of your brother’s,” Jackson said before pausing, “It is Solomon, isn’t it?”
An amused chuckle came back on the other end of the line.
“Quite the detective, we have here. You are sharp, I’ll give you that,” Solomon Ash said.
“Ain’t a pussy, neither,” Bear barked at the phone.
“Ah,” Solomon said, “This must be the human sasquatch my men have been chasing around the woods.”
Bear inhaled, about to give Solomon Ash a piece of his mind, but Jackson held up a hand, telling him to stop.
“I wanted to thank you, by the way, for taking care of Mr. Isaacs,” Solomon continued, “He was a loose end I had been meaning to tie up. Imagine my surprise when I found out the guy giving me all these headaches had done it for me.”
Jackson’s grip tightened on the phone, wishing it was Solomon’s neck. Jeff Isaacs by no means was a saint, but he’d been preyed upon by the Ash brothers, promised false dreams of the family he’d lost. If Isaacs’ grief had propelled him down such a dark road, it was Solomon that had given him the initial push.
“I’m not the good Samaritan type,” Jackson said, “What’s in it for me if I give you back the phone?”
“What would you like,” Solomon asked.
“You know exactly what I want,” Jackson replied, “Where is she?”
“Ah, yes. The girl you’ve been asking around about. That’s a lot to ask for just one phone.”
“I could always turn it over to the authorities. I’m sure they’d be interested to learn what you all have going on out there in the woods.”
There was silence on the other end. Solomon Ash didn’t say anything.
“Cut the crap, Ash,” Jackson said, “We make a deal for the girl or I’m in the car driving this phone over to the Richmond FBI Field Office.”
The silence lingered a moment longer before Solomon Ash spoke.
“Alright,” Solomon said finally, “What do you propose?”
“We meet,” Jackson answered, “Today.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately it’s going to take me a bit of time to gather what you want,” Solomon replied.
“Tomorrow then. Sun up. That gives you plenty of time.”
“Alright. First thing tomorrow. And where is this exchange supposed to happen?”
Jackson thought quickly. He needed a place someone like Ash would be comfortable with but a place where he had the edge.
“The mountain road,” Jackson said looking at Bear, “At the two limestone boulders south of your compound.”
“Fine, that’ll work,” Solomon replied.
“You bring anything more than one truck, we don’t have a deal,” Jackson said, “You bring Sara Beth Parker alive and unharmed. Then you’ll have your phone.”
Jackson ended the call before Solomon could agree. It was non-negotiable. Jackson put the phone down and slid it into his pocket.
“There you have it,” Jackson said, “We have a meet.”
He stepped around Bear and continued to unload weapons from the back of the Suburban. Bear came around the side of the truck, watching him work.
“Buddy, I hate to state the obvious,” Bear began, “But there ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell they’ll give her up. She’s seen too much. She knows too much.”
“He needs the phone, he’ll bring her,” Jackson replied, “Then it’s up to us to get her out of there.”
Bear didn’t say anything. Instead he just looked at Jackson, seemingly uncertain. Jackson felt his wary stare.
“Listen” Jackson said, “This is what it’s come down to. This is the play. You’ve seen how this has all gone. We’re running out of time. It’s this or she doesn’t come home. This has to work.”
Bear nodded and patted him on the shoulder.
“Alright,” Bear replied, “You say this is how we do it, this is how it’ll get done.”
Jackson nodded and smiled.
“So,” Bear said, unloading the last two guns, “What’s next?”
“It’s going to be a tough one tomorrow,” Jackson said, “We better rest while we can. We’re on the move tonight.”
68
Cole sat at her desk at the Harrisonburg Police Department headquarters, staring at an empty cup of coffee. She was thinking about that morning and her conversation with Jackson Clay when her partner, Detective Sean Doherty, walked up and knocked on her cubicle wall.
“What’s up, Sean,” Cole asked.
“Thought you’d like to know two fed looking types just walked in and sat down with the boss,” Doherty answered.
Detective Cole stood up and peered over her cubicle wall. Indeed, two men, one in a navy suit and one in a gray one, were seated with her superior, Lieutenant Mike Ingle. As they spoke, Lieutenant Ingle pointed in her direction and the two men looked over. Detective Cole shrank down into her office chair.
“You think this has anything to do with your field trip to Steeles Tavern this morning,” Doherty asked.
“I don’t know,” Cole said, “But I’m going to find out.”
As she left her desk and walked down the aisle that split the Major Crimes Unit in two, the men were stepping into the conference room just off of the Lieutenant’s office. Ingle was flipping through some papers when he looked up and saw Detective Cole approaching.
“Ah, good,” Ingle said, “Angela, you’re just who I was looking for. You mind stepping into the conference room for a minute?”
“For what,” asked Cole, suspicious.
Ingle held open the glass door for her without answering her question.
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” he said.
Reluctantly, Detective Cole stepped in and took a seat opposite the two strange faces at the table, who paid her no mind until Ingle made a formal introduction.
“Gentlemen, this is Detective Angela Cole,” Ingle said, “Angela, these are Special Agents Frank Rivera and James Blair with the ATF.”
“The ATF,” Cole echoed, surprised.
“That’s right Detective,” said Agent Rivera, “Angela, is it?”
“Detective Cole will be fine, thank you,” replied Cole.
“Angela,” Lt. Ingle said, displeased with her tone
.
Agent Rivera held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Detective Cole got the feeling she was being worked over as if this was an interrogation.
“Okay,” Rivera said, “Detective Cole, do you know a Jeff Isaacs?”
“You obviously know I do,” Cole replied, “So why don’t you cut the bullshit and get on with it.”
“Cole,” Ingle admonished again.
She shot the Lieutenant a look.
“No, it’s okay, Lieutenant,” said Agent Rivera, “Detective Cole, we’ve been investigating a group that calls itself the Living Order of the Kingdom of Solomon. LOKS for short. You may have heard of them.”
“I’ve heard of them, yes,” Cole replied.
“We’ve suspected for some time that they were into a number of nefarious things,” Agent Rivera continued, “Mostly from our end, we were looking at them for possession and distribution of illegal firearms and explosives. A criminal informant of ours said there might be something more going on, though, mainly human trafficking.”
“Human trafficking?”
“That’s what he said. He was a low-level guy we were able to flip on a methamphetamine charge. His name is Cliff Bridges.”
Agent Blair slid the man’s mugshot across the table.
“Do you know him,” Agent Rivera asked.
“No, I don’t,” Cole replied, looking up from the photo.
“He was supposed to check in with us this morning,” Agent Rivera said, “But he’s been radio silent. He’s never missed a check-in. Now, he’s six hours overdue and counting.”
“I’m sorry your man hasn’t checked in with you, but what’s this all got to do with me?”
“Isaacs. How do you know him?”
“I’m working – I worked a case of a teenage girl. Abduction off the street. He ran a non-profit that helped families of taken children. He’d been helping the family of the girl that was abducted.”
Agent Blair slid another photo across the table. The photo, clearly a surveillance photo, showed Jeff Isaacs meeting with two men, both of whom looked familiar.
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 24
