by Jacki Moss
“Here’s your money, sweetheart,” he said, slamming a ten-dollar bill on top of the thirteen-dollar ticket. “Keep the change.” The waitress decided she’d rather pay the difference out of her pocket than deal with him about it. She took the ticket and the ten-dollar bill to the register, watching him make his way out of the restaurant and back to the restroom area to make sure he wasn’t behind her.
Once he was out of sight and earshot, she took three dollar bills out of her purse and started to ring up the ticket. The manager stopped her, telling her she didn’t need to pay the difference. “I’m just glad he’s leaving,” she reassured the shaken waitress.
Chad took command of the handicapped stall in the restroom. He set his bags down toward the back of the stall and wet down some paper towels to wash up. Then he changed shirts, just in case the police were looking for him using the description of his clothes when he left the hotel. He also pulled his almost-shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail and tucked it down the back of his T-shirt, both for comfort and to change his looks. He pulled on a camo ball cap and, finally, he brushed his pristine teeth.
After Chad visited the little boy’s room and transformed himself into what appeared to be a student just backpacking across the country, he went to the truck fueling stations, looking for drivers. “Hey, buddy, you headed toward Kentucky?” he’d shout up to a driver as he banged on the door of the truck.
Finally, a trucker said he was headed to Memphis. That was in west Tennessee, a long way from his home in east Kentucky, but it was a good start. It would get him out of Lincoln, Nebraska, immediately, and on the other side of the Mississippi in a couple of days, Chad thought. “That will be great,” Chad responded.
“Clyde,” the trucker said, motioning to the other side of the cab. “Hop in.”
“Chad. Thanks. I can head home to Kentucky from Memphis, and Nashville is right on the way. I’ll make a stopover and conduct some unfinished business with my record label,” he told Clyde, as he hoisted his bags into the truck and pulled himself into the passenger seat.
“You a musician or a student?” Clyde asked, going through the gears as they pulled out of the parking lot toward the interstate.
“Musician. Van broke down on the interstate. You like bluegrass music?” Chad asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then you’ll know my family, the Overstreets. We practically invented bluegrass music,” Chad bragged.
“Overstreet. No, can’t say I know ’em. What are some of your songs?” Clyde asked.
“Well, never mind. People who are really into bluegrass know us. You’ll be hearing about Chad Overstreet soon, mark my words.”
Chapter 18—Brat BOLO
While Leigh and Cafton headed over to the downtown precinct to debrief Chief Heckle on their theory, Detective Ketchum was calling Leigh’s home telephone. Meanwhile, Bynum was calling Cafton’s and the label’s phones, trying desperately to reach him. Ketchum and Bynum had the same thing in mind: to warn Cafton he believed Chad killed Dangcat, was nowhere to be found, knew the authorities might be on his trail, and could seek revenge on Cafton.
Ketchum, after first leaving a basic message on Leigh’s answering machine for her to call him, decided to call back and be more specific, more urgent. “Leigh, Jake again. Sorry to blow your phone up calling, but this is serious. I have a firm ID on my vic here. It’s Willie Dangcat. That kid, Chad Overstreet, the one in McCooter’s opening act, has most likely been linked to the murder. You and your boyfriend need to be careful. I’m gonna put out a BOLO on Overstreet and wrap up some details back in Nawlins, and then I’m headed to Nashville. Call me when you get this message. And be very careful. He’s a real psycho.”
Bynum’s message on Cafton’s phone was similar. “Caf, that detective showed us a horrible, horrible photo of Dangcat. He’s dead, Caf. That’s the detective’s victim, whose head he has. It’s terrible. And Chad, when Chad heard the detective wanted to talk with all of us again, he split before the detective got here. Now we know why. The detective has a BOLO out on him. He said we would probably be okay here. But he can’t say the same about you, Caf. You have to make yourself scarce until they get Chad in custody. You know he’s unhinged, and he’s probably who has been making those phone threats to you and firebombed the café. He’s got nothing to lose now, and he blames you for all his troubles. Watch out. Carry your gun. Get Leigh and Dagwood safe. Stay somewhere else. Call me when you get this message and let me know you’re okay.”
Even though they were not aware of Ketchum and Bynum’s dire warnings, Leigh and Cafton were already on edge. “So what do we think happened? We need to make sure we are not overreacting.” Cafton knew he was so emotionally involved with Dangcat he might let his fears override his judgment. He needed Leigh’s cool head to level him out right now.
“No, we are not overreacting. There are clear indications that all lead to Chad having something to do with Dangcat’s disappearance,” Leigh said, writing a list in her steno pad as she talked and Cafton drove. “And we also know that the longer Dangcat is missing, the more likely it is something terrible has happened to him. The sooner we get someone on this, the sooner we can get to Dangcat. So, no, we are not overreacting.”
“Okay, then. We need to let Heckle and the TBI know our thinking. Then they can compare it with what, if anything, they found out from the fingerprints,” Cafton agreed, taking a deep breath. “Let’s streamline what we know and make it easier to relate. Go.”
“First, abduction. Chad most likely abducted Dangcat, since there is no evidence of a struggle or violence in Dangcat’s car. The abduction should put the case in the FBI’s jurisdiction,” Leigh said. “Second, motive. Chad was pissed at Dangcat for cutting him out of the record. Third, threats. Chad is most likely the person who has been threatening you and who firebombed your house, so you may be in danger. Fourth, immediate danger. Chad could possibly be a danger to Bynum, as well, so we need to get on the horn to him, and get Ketchum to provide some protection for him until Chad is taken into custody. Make sense?”
“Yes. Spot on. We’ll go talk with Heckle, and then go back home and start making calls from there.” Cafton liked and needed structure. Making a firm plan of action relieved his sense of being out of control.
Leigh and Cafton walked up to the precinct desk and asked the receptionist to announce them to Heckle. “Captain, Mr. Merriepennie and Ms. Gilmer are here to see you.” Cafton and Leigh sat down on the metal bench in the lobby, figuring they would have to wait a while.
“Caf! Boy, get in here!” Heckle bellowed and motioned from down the hallway behind the reception desk.
Once he saw Leigh and Cafton were headed his way, Heckle turned around and headed back down the hallway toward his office. They scurried like children to keep up with him. By the time they covered the gray linoleum hall to his office, Heckle was already behind his desk, which looked like a paper avalanche had just been released on top of it. “Take a load off,” Heckle said, gesturing to the two metal chairs in front of the desk.
“How ya doin’, Leigh?” Heckle nodded in her direction. “Didn’t expect to see you two together.”
“It’s a surprise to all of us, I guess,” she answered.
“Glad y’all came in. I was gonna call you, Cafton, once I stomped out a few fires here. We got some prints from Dangcat’s car. Well, the TBI got some prints,” he said, sneering like an ex-lover scoffs at the mention of the other woman.
While Heckle looked through the haystacks of files for the Dangcat folder needle, Cafton jumped in. “Jake, we have some information that may shed some light on this, as well. We went back to the car…” Cafton said.
“Whoa, you have information for us and the TBI?” Heckle interrupted. “Why don’t you just step off and let the professionals handle this, son?”
“But we…” Cafton tried to interject.
“But we what? We think we know more than the professional law enforcement?” Heckle spat back, mo
stly as a dig on Leigh’s venerated status as a damn good private investigator.
“Yes. In this specific instance, yes,” Leigh said, giving Heckle a withering glare.
Heckle leaned back in his chair, crossing his beefy arms on his chest. He rarely conceded authority or territory, but he had known Leigh long enough to respect her, as best Heckle could respect anyone. “Alrighty. Shoot, Sherlock.”
As Leigh related the list of findings, Heckle sat up in his chair and leaned forward, taking notes on a piece of paper in the file folder. “Mmmm-hmmm. Yep. Uh-huh,” he mumbled as Cafton and Leigh talked and he wrote. He drew lines and connections and arrows, obviously filling in some of the holes in his case.
“We are going back home after this meeting to call Ketchum and Bynum and get them up to speed,” Cafton wrapped up. “Does any of this jive with your investigation?”
“As a matter of fact, it does. It most certainly does. And by the way, good work.” Heckle’s voice softened. “It certainly fills in some of the blanks and will help bolster our theory of the case. We found some fingerprints in Dangcat’s car, but it will take weeks to get a hit back on them from the national database. Now that we know Overstreet is the prime suspect, we can just go to the source to see if we have a match, once we find him.”
“Everything seems to be falling into place,” Cafton said.
“Yeah, and we have more information coming. We had the recovery team drag the quarry. They didn’t find a body, but they did find Overstreet’s car. Confirmed the tag and VIN. It’s in the garage right now. The lab boys are going over it. So far, it looks like it has a lot, and I mean a lot, of blood. Signs of a struggle—footprints on the passenger side of the dash and the floor mats slid up and under the dash with some force. That was a puuuuurdy, high-dollar sports car. Now it’s a giant paperweight. Worth next to nothing. Not reported as stolen. It would have to be something really desperate going on to make someone dump it in the quarry,” Heckle surmised.
“I’m afraid we know what happened,” Cafton said, squeezing Leigh’s hand.
“Yeah. So let’s get moving on this. Is Overstreet still on tour with Bynum?” Heckle asked.
“As far as I know. The New Orleans detective was going to meet with them this afternoon to question them again. He doesn’t know about this information connecting Chad to Dang’s car,” Cafton explained.
“I’ll let Ketchum know about it when we get to a phone,” Leigh added.
“Jake Ketchum? From New Orleans?”
“Yep, that Ketchum,” Leigh confirmed.
“I haven’t talked with Bynum since their meeting, but I’ll let you know what I find out once I talk with Bynum,” Cafton offered.
“If the kid gets spooked, he might bolt, so we need to just assume he could be on the run.” Heckle might have been a bubba and profoundly lazy, but he knew his job. “I’ll reach out to the TBI with this new info. They will put out a BOLO on Overstreet here in Tennessee and in Kentucky. I’ll let Ketchum know to do the same, if he hasn’t already.” Heckle closed his file and put it under his arm. “Meanwhile, Caf, you need to be on yer toes. If he is on the run and thinks he is in deep shit, he might come after you. In fact, considering what he has probably done to you already, ya know, the calls and firebumbing, he will have no qualms about finishing you off.”
Heckle walked Leigh and Cafton to the precinct exit. “Remember our agreement. When I catch this nutcase and save your life, you’ll sign me!” Heckle slapped Cafton on the back in what he felt was a deal closer, almost sending Cafton into a face plant down the brick stairs.
Sophie met Cafton and Leigh with great exuberance when they opened the front door to Cafton’s home. “Where’s your partner in crime, bouncy girl?” Leigh asked Sophie. Leigh looked around the room for Dagwood, who was stretched out along the back of the burgundy Victorian settee in the main listening room of the café. The pillows were in disarray, looking like he and Sophie had finally settled down there while Leigh and Cafton were out sleuthing. Leigh loved up Sophie enough to get her to settle down and go join Dagwood on the settee.
“Looks like I have a message,” Cafton said. “I’ll take care of this before I call Bynum. Then you can check your messages. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” Leigh said, sitting on the settee and benefiting from more lovies from Sophie and magic circles from Dagwood.
Cafton listened to Bynum’s message and immediately called Leigh over. “You have to hear this,” he said, rewinding it for Leigh to hear. Cafton sat down on a bar stool next to the phone while he absorbed the confirmation of their worst fears, Dangcat’s death.
Leigh put her arm around his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, babe. I know this has to be devastating. The only thing we can do now is help find his killer. And we will find him. I’m going to check my messages.”
Leigh listened to her messages while Cafton started a pot of coffee for them. “It’s all coming together. Ketchum is sure Chad’s the guy; Chad is AWOL, and Ketchum also has a BOLO out on him. He reiterated we need to be careful. Everyone concurs Chad is psycho and you’re his next target.”
“That concerns me for us, and for my folks at the label, as well,” Cafton added. “I think they are going to get an unexpected paid vacation. I just need to figure out why. The timing isn’t right to tell them about Dangcat until we can support them through it. But if Chad goes after the label, I want them out of harm’s way.”
“How about a week off to do some volunteering in the community?” Leigh proposed. She knew Cafton so well already.
“Perfect! Just perfect!” Cafton agreed. “I’ll call them and let them know.” Cafton called the label and nonchalantly let them know what he wanted them to do. They were not surprised. Cafton had given them days off before to help with charities of their choice, so they didn’t suspect anything was out of the ordinary.
Cafton turned to Leigh. “This lunatic doesn’t know you, but when you’re with me, you are in danger. Maybe we should keep some distance until Chad is in custody.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Leigh frowned, looking like Cafton had gone batty. “Like I would run away when you’re in trouble. Not just ‘no,’ but ‘hell no!’ Sophie and I are here to stay.”
Chapter 19—A Bump in the Road
The six-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip from Lincoln to Memphis took about ten hours, trucker’s time, driving straight through, peeing in a soda bottle time. Chad and Clyde chatted about anything and everything as the miles ticked away, and all the while, in the back of his mind, Chad was planning his strategy to take out Cafton. Got to cut off the head of the snake, he thought. Dangcat was just one snake in the nest, but Cafton—Cafton was the head.
Maybe I will even take out the whole nest, he smirked to himself. As usual, Chad’s selfishness never even considered the potential destruction of the careers of Bynum or even his own brothers. They were just unavoidable collateral damage in his war against the injustice perpetrated against him. The world revolved around him. Others didn’t have value or deserve consideration in Chad World.
Four hours out from Lincoln, Chad was frustrated and bored listening to Clyde’s colorful tales of the highway. Well, not listening. Chad didn’t really listen to anyone. He appeared to listen in a conversation while he formulated his brilliant response, waiting for the other speaker to shut up. Or, when he would get tired of waiting, he’d just interrupt, or talk over them. Tonight, considering Clyde looked like he was a mixed martial arts pro, Chad gave the illusion of listening and refrained from interrupting. He was fully capable of adult behavior, but he simply chose not to engage in it most of the time.
Finally, though, Chad had all he could stand. “Dude, mind if I get some Zs? I’ve been on the road a while, and I’m about to crash,” Chad interrupted. He was exceedingly sleepy, but more importantly, he wanted time to think singularly about his plot to exact revenge on Cafton.
Clyde was somewhat perturbed at Chad’s request. He enjoyed having someone to talk with in person instea
d of on the squawky C.B. radio, someone to break up the boredom of the road and to keep him awake. He, too, had been awake a long time; in fact, he was way past his legal driving period, and for longer than his log book showed, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it to this stranger, just in case he was a plant by the authorities. Clyde was hell-bent on getting to Memphis before the ten-hour mark, because if he did, he would get a hefty bonus under the table from his company. “The least this sumbitch could do in exchange for my giving him a free ride is stay awake,” Clyde steamed inaudibly.
Despite his plan to stay awake and scheme, when Chad pulled his ball cap down over his eyes he instantly fell fast asleep, exhausted from his earlier rants. When he awoke, it was dark outside. The truck’s instrumentation panel very dimly illuminated the cab enough for Chad to glance over to see Clyde’s silhouette: trucker hat, pug nose like he had been a sub-standard boxer at some time in his life, and a lit cigarette dangling precariously at a ten-degree angle, just an inch or so from his wild, unkempt beard. Chad had noticed with some amount of alarm during the previous hundreds of miles that the drowsier Clyde was the more narrow the cigarette-to-beard angle became. Several times, he had become anxious that Clyde might set his beard on fire and they would end up being an eighty-mile-per-hour inferno streaking down the interstate. Cause of death: self-immolation. He laughed to himself, thinking about Clyde’s death certificate.
Riding high above the cars on the road, Chad had a clear view of what appeared to be an endless ribbon of roadway in front of them. A few pairs of taillights dotted the black ribbon from time to time, but they were quickly a memory as the intent trucker overtook and passed them one by one. The blackness of oncoming lanes on the other side of the grass median was occasionally interrupted by pairs of tiny, bright lights that disappeared like bubbles beneath the stillness of a bayou swamp. He felt the rumble of sixteen wheels underneath him, grinding out the miles.
