by KJ Kalis
Before Chief Bartlett could answer, the alarms overhead went off again. Randy leaned his ear to his shoulder so he could better hear about the call, “Van in a ditch on the side of the road in an area of flooding,” the dispatcher said. “Passerby reports one individual in the van. They tried to help him out, but the man was unresponsive.”
Randy turned around and got back in the ambulance, waiting for Bill. From behind him, he could hear the scurry of boots on the floor he’d mopped earlier, the other guys up and out of bed, climbing inside of the fire truck. As Randy closed the door, he heard Chief Bartlett yell, “Let’s go!”
Bill got back in the ambulance and shook his head, “And I thought maybe we’d have a chance to at least have a cup of coffee before the next call. I guess not.”
Randy shook his head a little bit. Keira was right. Staying busy was helping him. He glanced down at his phone. Keira had texted him while they were at the hospital, “Everything’s okay. Stay at work.” That was all she said. He sent her a message back, “Love you. Things will be okay, I promise.” How he could say that he wasn’t sure.
As he drove, following behind the fire truck, the chief’s SUV behind him, Randy’s mind slipped back to Lexi. Where was she? The surge of adrenaline at dealing with the elderly man had taken his mind off of the issues in his own house, but only for a moment. Was Lexi outside somewhere in the storm? Was she lost? Cold? Randy shook the thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not with the storm raging overhead and someone trapped in a vehicle. He needed to focus.
Randy leaned forward, squinting at the road ahead of him. The driving rain made it hard to see even with the bright flashing lights of the fire truck ahead of him. Screeching with every swipe, the wipers on the ambulance whipped back and forth in the downpour. The rain hadn’t let up. Randy gripped the wheel a little tighter, easing the ambulance back a bit. Based on the location, he thought they were close, but it was so hard to see in the rain and the wind. It wasn’t as if Tifton’s streets were lit anyway, and especially not where the van had been reported. He breathed a silent prayer that somehow the person had been able to pull their van out and leave the scene. Otherwise, it was going to be a couple of hours of misery in the wind and the weather.
“There,” Bill said, pointing. The fire truck in front of them slowed and Randy narrowed his eyes trying to see through the rain. All he could make out was the back of a white van, tilted off the side of the road. The caller had been right -- the drainage ditch was full and running over the road itself.
“All right, let’s go see,” Randy said, throwing the ambulance into park and pulling the hood of his jacket up over his head. Stepping out of the ambulance, the driving rain immediately attacked his face, droplets running down his cheeks. Randy lifted his hand and pulled the hood down a little lower on his forehead, trying to make out what he could see in front of him. The other firefighters ran ahead of him, in full turnout gear, the reflective tape on their pants and jackets glowing in the headlights from the ambulance and the fire truck.
Chief Bartlett pulled up behind the ambulance and stood with Randy and Bill, his white fire helmet one of the only bright things in the stormy evening. “We might have to winch this one out.”
Before Randy could respond, he saw one of the other guys motion for him and Bill. It was policy for the paramedics to hang back while the firefighters secured the scene and did the initial assessment. Randy and Bill would do the same for any of the other paramedics on days they were assigned to the fire truck. “Over here!” Randy heard a voice, muffled by the rain, calling out to them.
Randy took the lead, striding over to the van. “What’d you have here?”
“Looks like this guy spent a little too much time at the bar tonight and thought his van was a boat,” the firefighter said. “Smells like alcohol. You guys want to get him out of here and we’ll winch the van out onto the road?”
Just as Randy was about to respond, the man in the van started to stir. “Finally!” he muttered. “I’ve been sitting here forever!”
Randy stepped back as the man in the van managed to get himself out, wading through what had to be about two feet of water. At one point, the man nearly slipped and fell, but one of the firefighters extended his hand as he managed to scramble up the bank. “Sir, why don’t we go over to the ambulance and take a look at you?”
“Naw, I’m fine. I’d just appreciate it if you could winch my van out of the ditch. I’ll be on my way then. Gotta go to work in the morning.”
Randy squinted at the man, looking at him, the rain running down his face. He was large, well over six feet tall. Everything about him seemed to be square, from his head to his shoulders to his hands. He stood out in the rain like it was a perfectly sunny day, never even blinking or wiping the water off his face, seemingly content to get drenched.
Chief Bartlett walked over, “Sir? Are you okay?”
The man nodded, “Yeah, I was just telling your boys that I’m fine and good to go. Just need a bit of a pull out of the ditch.”
“Well, while we get your van out, why don’t you head on over and sit in the back of the ambulance. At least you’ll be dry.”
The man nodded, more agreeable to the Chief Barlett’s suggestion than Randy’s. Randy and Bill followed the man over to the ambulance. As the man climbed in, he sat down on the bench, ducking his head under a row of storage cabinets that held medications and equipment. He sniffed the air, “Sorry about the alcohol smell,” he said, wiping his hands down his pants. “I stopped and got a couple of beers, but the guy next to me at the bar managed to spill. Got whiskey all over me. Nothing a little wash won’t take care of, but sure doesn’t smell good.”
Randy nodded. At least that explained the strong alcohol smell coming from the man. Whether it was true or not, Randy wasn’t sure. He could only go by what he knew. The man wasn’t slurring his speech, was able to climb out of his vehicle just fine and didn’t stagger as he walked. They could call the local police department, but with the storm raging overhead, the chance that they’d get here in the next couple of hours was small. Resources always ran thin during a tropical storm. “How many drinks did you have?”
“Aw, just a few,” the man said. “I’ve been sitting in that van for the last couple of hours. I’m good to go, don’t you worry about me.”
From outside, Randy could hear the noise of the fire truck being moved, the hydraulics activating as they got ready to put the winch on the van. A couple of minutes later, Randy heard a creak and then a scraping. From experience, he knew that was the van being pulled up and out of the ditch. “Well, I’m guessing they got your van out of the ditch if you want to go take a look.”
The man hadn’t said anything more after their initial conversation. He just got up and climbed out of the back of the ambulance, right back out into the pouring down rain. Randy followed him, giving Bill a little nod.
The man stepped into his van and turned the engine. It hesitated, but then started right up, the wipers slapping back and forth on the windshield, pushing the rain out of the way. “Thanks for the help, boys,” the man waved, slamming the van door behind him. Randy saw the shadow of something fall to the ground as his door shut.
Randy stood and watched for a second, the taillights disappearing into the dark, and then looked down at the road where he thought he saw something. He hoped it wasn’t the guy’s wallet. Whether the man made it home in one piece or not, Randy wasn’t sure. There was no reason for them to hold him, though. Getting whisky spilled on you wasn’t the same as drunk driving.
Randy looked down at the spot where the van had been parked when they got it out of the ditch. He wiped the driving rain off his face as he walked toward the spot where he saw something fall. Something pink caught his eye. It wasn’t a wallet. Curious, he tilted his head to the side and knelt down. It was a hair clip, one with two lavender-colored flowers attached to it. Randy stood up, holding it in his hand. He stared down the road, the van lights d
isappearing in the background, his hand open, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d seen that clip before. It was Lexi’s.
Chief Bartlett walked up behind him, “Everything okay, Randy? Looks like Bill’s about ready to get moving if you want to head back to the firehouse…” There was a pause as Randy looked at Chief Bartlett. Chief Bartlett glanced at Randy’s hand. “Oh my God. Is that Lexi’s?”
43
Emily was on a conference call with Mike, Flynn and Alice, going over some of their ideas about the evidence. No one had gotten any sleep yet. The storm was still raging overhead. Alice was in the middle of talking to Emily about the bones that had been found just a few hours earlier out in the field when Flynn looked up at the screen, his eyes wide, “Emily. The FBI knows who it is.”
A shiver ran through Emily’s body, “What are you talking about?”
“Cash just texted his team. He’s getting them all up. They think they know who it is.”
“What?” Emily jumped up off the bed and ran over to her duffel bag, changing out of the leggings she was wearing and pulling on a pair of jeans, just outside of the view of her computer's camera. “Keep talking. I can hear you. I’m just changing my clothes.”
By the time she got back to the screen, Mike was staring at his phone. “Randy Cooper went back to work tonight. They pulled a van out of a flooded ditch.”
Emily’s mind began to race. In the reports Mike had been able to intercept, there had been the mention of a white van in the park next to the Cooper’s house the night Lexi was taken, but no one had made anything of it. They thought it was just some hunters. “What happened?”
“Cash isn’t giving all the details over his cell phone, but it looks like when the fire department got there, they got the van out and then Randy found one of Lexi’s hair clips on the ground.” There was a pause, “Wait, hold on. I guess one of the firefighters took down the guy's license plate number while they were winching it out, just in case they needed to follow up after the storm.” Mike stared at the screen, “Looks like they’re calling for warrants.”
Emily froze. She could wait for the FBI to get their warrants and all of their paperwork together or maybe there was a way for Mike to get the information before the FBI ever showed up. Emily chewed her lip. Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “Em? What are you thinking?”
She sat down on the end of the bed for a minute, “If that’s the guy, then I’m not sure we have enough time to wait for the FBI to get their warrants. That could take hours, especially in this storm.” Her eyes darted left and right staring at the floor, her mind racing. If she went after whoever the fire department had seen, it was possible she’d run into the FBI while she was in the middle of trying to save Lexi. How that would go over, she wasn’t sure. “Any chance you can intercept the information?”
Emily could see Alice and Flynn standing together behind Mike, whispering, Flynn’s arms folded over his chest. They kept glancing at Mike and then at Emily. Mike was furiously typing on his laptop. He kept glancing over to the side as though he was watching his phone at the same time. “Bingo! Cash just sent the license plate number to one of the other agents. Gimme a sec and I’ll track it.”
A shiver ran up and down Emily’s spine. There was a lot at play here — the storm, the fact that a little girl’s life was at stake, and the FBI hovering all over the case. If she’d read Cash correctly, he’d want to move as quickly as possible on the person they’d identified. His career and reputation depended upon it. What Emily didn’t know was whether they had that kind of time. “Alice? Can you give me an idea how long you think this guy holds his victims before he kills them?”
Alice’s face emerged on the screen, “Based on the files Dr. Wiley sent over, I’m guessing about forty-eight hours. Maybe a little longer, maybe a little shorter. With the bodies soaking in water, it’s very difficult to get an exact read, but Dr. Wiley’s results on their stomach contents indicate something around that timeline.”
Emily did the math. Lexi Cooper had been gone just over two days. Forty-eight long hours. If the man the firefighters had spotted in the van was the one that took her, Lexi’s time was running out. Emily balled her hands into fists. She walked over to the dresser and fixed her holster onto her belt. “Mike, I need that information. I need it right now.”
Emily quickly finished getting ready, tightening the laces to her boots and pulling on her rain slicker, passing in front of the computer every few moments, her chest tight. She knew it was annoying, but it was her way of letting Mike know she was ready even if he wasn’t. Her hands were gripped in tight balls waiting for the news. “Hold on, I’ve almost got it,” Mike said, not glancing up from his keyboard. The only thing Emily could see was the flop of his long hair across his forehead and the tip of his nose as he bent over the keyboard of his laptop. Emily swallowed, running scenarios in her head, questions swamping her. Would she be able to even reach the site where this guy lived? The storm had been raging for hours. Many of the roads were already flooded. Sure, she had Bradley’s Jeep, but even then, trying to pass over a flooded road in a strange city in the middle of the night might be nearly impossible if she was hoping to beat Cash there.
“Okay,” Mike said, breathing heavily, his eyes darting back and forth in front of the screen. “Two pieces of information. First, I have the address of the guy that you’re looking for. His name is Ollie Gibson. He lives on the outskirts of town.” Emily heard her phone pinging in her pocket. The address had arrived. “Secondly,” Mike stared at the screen, his mouth open, “Cash has pinged your truck. He thinks you’re involved somehow.”
Emily swallowed, a wave of bile rising in her throat. “Why would Cash think I’m involved? There’s nothing in my background to suggest that.”
Mike shook his head, “I have no idea. All I know is that Cash knows your truck is at Bradley’s house.”
“Is he sending agents over there?”
Mike stared down for a second. Emily could see him checking his phone, “No, not yet. But you’d better be ready to make a quick escape out of Tifton.”
Emily pivoted on her heel, quickly gathering up the things that were left in her room at the bed-and-breakfast. It was the middle of the night. There was no one there, no way for her to check out, not that it mattered. She quickly folded her clothes and stuffed them in her duffel bag, sweeping the toiletries she’d left in the bathroom off the edge of the sink and into a plastic bag. She tossed it in with the dirty clothes. Two minutes later, she was packed. “Okay, I’m gonna head out. See you on the other side. Keep your phone handy.”
Closing the lid to her computer, Emily saw Mike nod, “Good luck.”
* * *
It took Emily all of another thirty seconds to exit her room. She checked both ways as she opened the door, making sure no FBI agents were standing in the hallway waiting for her. Cash’s team didn’t seem concerned that she was staying in the same bed-and-breakfast, or they hadn’t taken the time to check. Why, Emily had no idea, but she had no time to figure it out. She ran down the steps, her heart pounding in her chest, only taking a small second to pull her hood up over her head as she braced herself to run out into the storm. As she sprinted to the Jeep, she could feel a gust of wind push against her, trying to keep her from making any progress.
Emily threw her backpack and duffel bag inside and got the Jeep started, the engine rumbling to life as soon as she gave it a little gas. She needed to warn Bradley the FBI might be showing up at his house, looking for her truck. If she wasn’t careful, it could get Bradley in a lot of trouble. Cash was the kind of guy that might charge him with harboring a fugitive, even though there was no crime against Emily they could make stick. Questions weren’t a crime after all. If she could find the killer and end him, that was another thing.
Emily flipped on the headlights and put the Jeep into gear, pulling out of the parking lot. The GPS on her phone was beeping with the location she needed to get to — Ollie Gibson’s house—but it wouldn�
��t connect. There was no way for her to find her way to Ollie Gibson’s house in the storm without a GPS. She wasn’t sure the FBI would be able to either. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. That meant the only hope she had was to get to Bradley’s and have him guide her. She hoped they could get to Lexi in time.
Turning out into the storm, the wind and rain pelting at the windshield of the Jeep, the headlights barely cut through the darkness with the storm swirling overhead. Squinting at the windshield, she picked up her phone and glanced down long enough to find Bradley’s number. She tried to get it to connect, but it wouldn’t. “Cell phone service must be down,” she growled. Emily gripped the wheel tighter and swung the Jeep around, heading out of the center of Tifton. She knew she could get herself to Bradley’s house. Maybe he could get her to Ollie’s in time to save Lexi. Emily swallowed, hoping there was enough time.
* * *
The drive out to Bradley’s house took longer than she expected, the darkness of the storm making it almost impossible to see the roads. Emily had to slow down a couple of times and navigate around fallen trees and water running over the roadways. “Why do they not stripe the roads out here?” she said to herself, pounding her hand on the steering wheel, seeing another downed tree in front of her. Luckily, it only covered part of the road. She turned the wheel just slightly, keeping focused on where she was going. The last thing she wanted to do was end up in a ditch on the side of the road with no cell phone service. She’d be a sitting duck for Cash and would be no good to Lexi.
By the time she got to Bradley’s driveway, Emily could feel the tension in her chest spreading into the muscles in her back and up her neck. Her tendons and ligaments were as tight as a steel drum from the adrenaline pumping in her. She revved the engine, pulling the Jeep up the driveway, not bothering to turn it off. There was a single light on in the house. Someone was up. That was a good sign at least, she thought, sprinting to the front door. Pounding on it with her fists, her hands wet from the driving rain, she waited, hoping it was Bradley that was up and not his wife.
